Chapter 31 ZAGHAN
ZAGHAN
She was a fucking witch.
“You stink.”
I inhaled the spot between her ear, the strange scents clinging to her skin making my jaw tense.
The little witch, ever defiant, glared at me, rage flickering in her eyes like a dying candlelight.
“You fucking reek of other men, Elizabeth.” My lips brushed against the sensitive shell of her ear, earning me a tiny gasp.
I closed my fingers around her jaw, my thumb dragging across the red of her lips–smearing, tainting, marking.
She jerked in resistance, trying to shake free of my grip.
She was always trying to push me away, always trying to fight me.
But every time, every damn time, her will collapsed and she would surrender, bend so quickly to my command.
She had no idea yet. But that darkness inside her worked like a magnet, pulling her to me the harder she tried to pull away.
Her body was stiff, muscles fighting against my captivity, but her pupils had already dilated, her breath quickening. She would soften soon, in a little while. She always did.
I inhaled her skin again and my nose flared. Beneath the layered scent of men’s cologne, her arousal thickened in the air, suffocating me with its truth.
“You know I have to fix that, right?” My hands slipped from her jaw to wrap around her neck. Perfect, as always. Like she was made to fit into my palm. It was as though, whoever created her, placed her life in my hands and told me to do whatever I wanted with it.
“Fix what?” Her voice came out smaller than she intended, thick with need, despite the rage in her eyes.
My fingers flexed around her throat, thumb stroking the delicate line of her artery.
“Fix the fact that you stink of other men.”
I had been choking on those scents since I picked her up from school. The sharp mix of at least ten different brands of men’s cologne clinging to her skin. One might belong to that little friend of hers. But the rest was a fucking provocative mess.
Heat licked beneath my skin, tilting something dangerous in my head.
The thought of those boys, their hands on her made my fingers twitch with the urge to snap her neck.
Fucking end Julian Bourdet’s bloodline and have an impressive number of people call me a hero.
A lot would love to know that the serial killer who took their loved ones’ lives had incurred a loss, too–his precious daughter.
But that would be a waste. There were just too many things I could make her do. Killing her now wouldn’t change anything.
“What are you doing?” she demanded when my hands knotted in her curls, dragging her across the room.
She screeched, her skinny arms flying over her head to claw off my hands, but I was already shoving her onto the open kitchen counter.
Her bare chest hit the polished surface with a dull thud, her nipple brushing over the cool wood.
“Who were they?” I demanded, her naked ass brushing against my straining cock, and my vision pulsed black at the edges.
She was wet. Fucking soaked. The sight of her slick thighs caused my restraint to fray by the second.
I hated how every fucking second, chipped away at my urgent desire to kill her.
I needed this girl gone. I had to end her as soon as possible.
But when she produced those little sexy sounds, when her body molded into my arms like that, when she arched into me and reeked of arousal that I had caused, what the hell was a man supposed to do?
She was a fucking temptation. And it was clear from the beginning that she wanted do to me, whatever she’d done to my brother–wrap me tight, pull me under, drown me in whatever spells she had spun.
But I knew better. I would never let her inside my head, my system. I would never let her take anything away from me.
I would break her first.
“Who?” A whimper settled in her heaving chest, her cheek pressed into the counter.
I tugged her head back, forcing another sound from her throat. “Don’t fucking play stupid,” I growled, the sound of my belt’s buckle hissing through the air before the zipper of my pants was yanked open.
“Who the fuck touched you at school today?” My voice carried the lethality of poison. “Your string of boyfriends? Is the one you were whispering sweet nothings to earlier part of them?”
“They’re just friends.” Her fingers clawed at the counter, nails digging into the polished surface as if grounding herself.
She didn’t need my instructions, her body already bent to my will, back arched, ass pushed out in offering.
Such a pretentious, little slut.
She didn’t dislike me. She just disliked how she couldn’t fight me, how easily she shattered in my arms like glass.
“Friends?” A harsh sound left my sneering lips, my free hand disappearing inside my boxer briefs, pulling out my cock, which without surprise, was thick, throbbing, fucking aching for her.
“Am I supposed to believe that?”
“What you believe isn’t my business. I don’t owe you any explanation. I don’t answer to you. I am not yours. Never will be. I am Callan’s.”
She was taunting me. Using the phrase she knew I had come to despise. And it was fucking working. Something dark unfurled in my chest, a sickness, a fucking hunger.
She was mine. She answered only to me. Her body bent only to my will. She was a pawn in my game, my fucking puppet. How dare she say otherwise?
The room tilted, my vision blurring in a haze of black, grey, and red.
That fucking sentence. That fucking lie.
The urge to wring the breath from her lungs clawed at my control.
I grabbed her throat, squeezing just enough to feel her pulse skitter beneath my palm.
Enough to remind her that she was nothing if not a fragile thing.
A little squeeze, a little pressure, and she would fall limp in my arms right now.
Angrily, I shoved her thighs apart, fingers gripping her hip. No warning. No teasing. I drove my cock into her, and she choked on a gasp, body seizing.
“You.” Thrust. “Are.” Thrust. “Fucking.” Thrust. “Mine!”
She cried, her cunt swallowing me whole, dripping down my length.
Her nails scraped against the counter, tiny veins surfacing along her knuckles as she gripped the edge.
“I don’t care what you think.” I yanked her head back until my lips hovered over her ear, my voice a low, lethal whisper.
“I don’t care what you feel.” I thrust deeper, making her whimper.
“You are mine. Your body is mind, your soul is fucking mine. And you see this tight pussy of yours? All. Fucking. Mine!”
Tears beaded on her lashes, before tracking paths down her cheeks, rage and bitterness burning in her eyes. But I didn’t care. Why the fuck would I, when her wetness was already soaking my cock, dripping down her thighs, and slicking the floor beneath us, drowning us?
“Now.” I released her hair, but didn’t let go just yet. “Let’s try that again, shall we?”
I pulled out, and a whine slipped past her lips before she could stop it, while her folds clenched around nothing. Pathetic. She had no fucking self control, begging for the cock of a man she claimed she didn’t belong to just a moment ago.
“Look at you,” I taunted, rubbing my cock against her swollen clit. “Dripping for me, crying for me. If you want this cock back in your needy, little cunt, tell me who you fucking belong to.”
She glared at me, fire burning in that deceptive eyes.
“So…” I tilted her head to the side, a slow smirk playing at my lips. “Who do you belong to, Elizabeth?”
She hesitated, lips trembling, her body humming as she contemplated her next choice of word.
“Answer me.” I squeezed her neck, hard, and she choked, her body locking as she gripped the edge of the table with whitened knuckles.
“Who do you belong to?”
“Zaghan?” she whispered it, barely audible, like it was a curse, a secret she didn’t want another ear to hear. She called my name like it was…shame? How dare she?
“Say it again,” I growled, my lips in a sneer. “Say it loud and say it proudly. Say my name like I am your god. Who the fuck do you belong to?”
She didn’t answer me. She fucking chose defiance, pride.
My fingers closed around her neck and I squeezed, not to scare, but to fucking end her. I was going to fucking kill this girl right now.
“P-please,” she choked, bucking, her chest tightening, eyes wide as her face turned purple.
“I’m going to ask one more time.” My breath fanned hot against the green veins spreading across her cheek. “Who do you belong to?”
“Z-zaghan,” she forced out, her eyes turning blood-shot red as tears streamed down her sullen cheeks.
“Again?” I loosened my hold just a fraction, barely noticeable.
“Zaghan.”
“Again,” I murmured, my voice strained, cock jerking at the sound of my name on her seductive lips.
“Zaghan.” My self-control frayed, sanity slipping as my hip took her again, driving into her without mercy, burying myself so deep like I couldn’t quite get there enough.
Her pussy was too tight. Too fucking good. Too, too perfect, I just couldn’t help but unravel.
My fingers dug into her hip, wet sounds piercing through the air as our skin collided in a rhythm.
“You might not like me, it’s quite obvious.
But you can’t deny the truth. You like how full this pussy gets when I’m buried deep inside you,” I panted, my body shaking, sweat slicking down my back, soaking into my shirt.
“That’s why you get so angry, isn’t it? You despise me because I am not what you dreamed of, hate that you can’t seem to control yourself around me. ”
“I hate you,” she whispered, tears unceasing, and I chuckled at the irony, watching her back arch like a puppet on my string, watching her ground harder into me, into the cock of the man she hated so fucking much.
“Really?” I teased, punching air out of her lungs with one brutal thrust.
“I hate you, Zaghan, I hate you so much,” she cried, and I could swear a dam had broken inside her tear gland. Where the fuck were all these tears coming from?
“I really hate you.”
“Yeah, say that again,” I teased, slamming into her harder, deeper, just to feel her wall tremble around me. “but when you’re not clenching and squeezing around my cock like this, and who knows, I might actually believe you.”
Her reddened eyes flashed with rage, fingers curling into a fist on the table. She hated the truth that was staring at her in the face. Her so-called declaration of hate was invalid if she couldn’t stop bouncing on my cock.
“See, it’s not really me you hate,” I said, each word breaking past my lips followed by a brutal thrust. “It’s the things I make you feel. The things you find strange but can’t deny, can’t fight.”
She clenched around me, milking my cock as I fucked her harder, feeding her the pleasure she was too weak to deny.
She was a wreck. A soaked, ruined, and dripping wreck.
Despite her rage, the scent of her arousal was thick and intoxicating, filling the room, filling my lungs, sending my mind spiralling into a deeper madness.
God, I really hated this girl. Every fucking thing about her.
I didn’t know what the little witch did, what sort of fucking spell she wove that was strong enough to make Callan even think of sealing me away, breaking the sacred pact between us.
I hated the way I wanted to unravel at just a look from her, the saccharine cheer in her voice. I hated the illusion of innocence in those wicked, deceptive eyes. And I hated the way she fucking turned me on without even trying too hard.
She was a witch, this I knew. But she wouldn’t get me the way she got Callan. Just a few more, just a little more taste. I just needed to get over this sudden, weird obsession with her, then I would fucking end her.
But until then, if any man so much as lay a hand on her, if anyone dared to look at her with even a whisper of claim, I would not hesitate. I would maim. I would burn. I would kill them.
All of them.
If the world itself dared to stand in my way, I would set it ablaze. The sun would be nothing against the inferno of my wrath.
Nothing in this world would keep me from making Beth Fraser mine…even if it was just for the moment.
Because I was a very possessive man. And that I wanted her dead didn’t mean I wanted to share her with another.