Chapter 35 BETH
BETH
Say my name like you’re praying to some god.
“Tell me.” I shivered as his finger trailed phantom lines on my spine, then pressed hard on that one jagged line that always stole my breath. “What else do I need to know about your little boyfriend other than what I have gathered so far?”
“Nothing.” The response was too quick, betraying the whole idea of getting him to believe it.
He knew too much already. And if he knew this much, he must have gone digging around about him. And you wouldn’t go digging for information about someone unless you were interested, one way or another, in the person. And that was the problem. Zaghan was not supposed to have any interest in Rowan.
Fear wove into my spine at the thought of it. I didn’t know the extent of all his threats. But with the amount of time he had fantasized about killing me, I was sure he could go to extreme measures for vengeance.
I didn’t want him to hurt Rowan.
“Nothing?” His weight pressed into me from behind, and then a shiver rolled through me as his finger glided along my cheek, combing hair away from her face.
“Did you say nothing?”
“Nothing,” I yelped when he suddenly fisted my hair, yanking my head backward so his lips were just inches away from my left ear. My eyes stared into his soulless ones.
“What did I say about lying to me some minutes ago?” His hold on my hair tightened, his free hand wrapping possessively around my throat.
“H-he liked me,” I whimpered, tears brimming at the corners of my eyes. “I liked him too. So um, we started…going out.”
“Is that all?” His hip pressed against me, and for a split second, I forgot the burn in my ass, the hand locked around my throat, as my mind raced to his thick, hard length prodding me from behind.
“We broke up some weeks ago,” I exhaled, my body betraying me, my self-control wavering. And when I found myself arching into him, almost grinding against him, I tasted shame on my tongue, revolting and bitter.
“So…he has never shoved his dick inside you, huh?” He slid a finger between my lips, his breath feathering against her jaw. “He has never fucked this pussy, has he?”
There was no point in lying. He was not stupid.
“He did.” The confession barely left my lips before his eyes darkened with something dangerous, crazed.
“How many times?” he demanded, voice razor-sharp, nose slightly flaring. He still had my face locked in his hand, forcing me to stare deep into his eyes, to see the storm brought about by my dirty, little truth.
“I can’t remember.” What was the point of these silly questions?
“I need a fucking number, damn it!” he growled, his grip on my jaw bruising. “So put your pretty head to use and start thinking!”
I could feel his nails starting to crack open a skin on my face, leaving an intense burn behind.
My mind spiralled, thinking back to my moments with Rowan. It only happened once at school. In the two months we became official, I visited his house five times.
“Answer me!”
“Six,” I blurted. “Six times.”
There was a moment of stillness, just the sound of my unsteady breaths tangling with his heavy pants, and the gentle tick of the clock in the background.
Then I felt the emptiness of his absence, the coldness that came when his warm body was no longer pressed against mine.
When I glanced behind me, he had leaned back to his height, walking away.
“Stand,” he said, leaving no room for protest.
My spine nearly cramped up when I rose to my height. And even if it did, I wouldn’t wonder why. I had been bent over that desk for at least fifteen minutes.
“Elizabeth.” My name sounded rough on his tongue, yet exotic, laced with something sinful. I hated that the sound had effect on me. I hated that maybe soon, it would be only this gruff, cold sound of my name I would prefer.
God, Callan, where are you?
My eyes followed his movements. He walked to the dresser, pulled open a drawer, and searched around until he found a hairband. Then he turned to face me, his hand lifted as he slowly gathered his white locks in his hand.
“I am a very possessive man.” He began slowly as he rolled the frosty hair into a messy bun. “One of my biggest flaws, you might say. When something is mine, I usually preferred it if no one else looked at it, touched it, or even thought of possessing it.”
A lump formed in my throat and I swallowed. I watched as he began to work on his buttons, his dark eyes pinning me down, daring me to blink or look away.
He peeled off his shirt, revealing taut muscles beneath pale skin.
“Maybe I did a terrible job at telling you what it meant when I said you were mine. And I guess that’s on me. But that is going to have to change.”
He took off his pants, leaving him in his boxers, which were also gone in a second, and now he was bare to me, his hard cock springing free.
“Get on,” he said, nodding at the large bed, and my body moved at his command before I had time to think about rebelling, like there was a remote he pressed somewhere and now I answered to his will, not mine.
I lifted one foot after the other, my pulse racing in my ears until I was on the bed. And no matter how hard I tried to keep my gaze on his face, it kept moving to his cock.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but it only made it worse.
Memories slammed into me all at once. I felt my walls clench at the ghost of him pushing that thing into me again, just like the last time, knocking air out of my lungs.
A rush of fire went straight to my already dripping core.
And I tasted bile on my tongue, felt shame like a physical wound.
Why couldn’t I have control over my mind? What was it about his voice, his touch, him that made me this way? This powerless? Weak?
“On all fours,” he ordered, crossing the room to me in slow, intentional strides.
Without protesting, I sat back up, turned around on my knees until my hands were planted on the soft bed, back arched, ass in the air.
The bed dipped in response to his weight as he climbed onto it, a zap of electricity weaving through me when he touched my hip only with a brush of his fingers.
I was busy fighting, but my body had become attuned to him that every little touch, even if it was a slap across the face, made me want to moan.
I glanced sideways, watching him, my lips parted when he ran his palm over my ass, the burn from earlier now a phantom heat beneath his touch.
“As expected,” he hummed, drawing a whimper out of me. My lashes fluttered as the pad of his thumb brushed against my throbbing clit.
“Already soaking wet…” Then his dark eyes cut to me. “…all for me.”
The thump of his finger against my sensitive bub sent a rush of pleasure spiraling deep into my stomach, unravelling me.
“Tell me.” In a velvety voice, he said, his eyes gleaming beneath the frost of his lashes. “You were thinking about my cock while my belt was pelting down your ass earlier, weren’t you? Is that why you are dripping when I haven’t even touched you?”
His thumb circled my entrance, teasing.
“I wasn’t.” Maybe he would have believed my attempt at disinterest if desperation hadn’t leaked into my voice, or if I had tried to at least mark the need twisting into my face.
“That’s not the answer I was hoping to hear,” he chuckled low, leaning over me, his hand disappearing from my pussy only to cup my heaving breast.
“Oh, god.” His warm palm kneaded my breast, his finger toying with my nipple, massaging it roughly.
My breath stuttered when he dragged the dripping tip of his cock against my entrance.
“How badly do you want this?” His tone was raspy, thick with lust as he stroked me with his length.
“I–”
“I’ll give you want you need,” he murmured, pressing his hot lips against my lower back. “I always do. But you have to tell me how bad you want me first.” He pressed his throbbing head just half an inch into my hole, pulling out and drawing a whimper of protest from me.
“Fuck.” I ground my hips, seeking, needy, unable to pretend that he hadn’t lit a fire inside me.
I wasn’t fighting anymore.
I didn’t even remember what fighting felt like when his hot mouth kissed along my spine like that, leaving marks on my skin with his teeth.
“How desperately do you want my cock back inside you, Elizabeth?”
“I–please.” I trembled, the corners of my eyes burning with the unbearable ache.
My mouth opened but the impending moan got tangled in my throat as he slid into my opening, pushing through my tight wall, hitting a spot that drove me absolutely insane.
I cried out, back arching, fingers clawing at the sheet as he pulled out tortuously slowly only to slam back in, the bed groaning beneath us.
“See how your pussy always welcomes me?” His pace quickened, each thrust a claim, a brutal devotion.
“That’s because it’s meant for me.” He grabbed my hip, perfecting the angle before he drove impossibly deeper.
“You’ll fight with everything you got but guess what?
It won’t change the part where you are mine. ”
My vision blurred, pleasure mounting into something dangerous, something consuming.
He pounded into me with a hunger that bordered on obsession, that made my body sing with the violence of it.
“This perfect pussy is mine, do you hear me?” he whispered gruffly, a promise laced with possession.
“At the early hours of the morning, in the busy days of the afternoon, deep into the many dead of every fucking night. It’s always going to be mine.
Only my cock gets to fuck and own every inch of your needy cunt. ”
“Z-zaghan,” I choked, my body unraveling, the pleasure cresting into something unbearable with every intentional thrust.
I hated every moment of this. But I didn’t want him to stop. I hated surrendering but I liked how he was so big and how perfectly he fitted inside me. I liked how he pushed through my wall, hitting places no man had ever hit before.
What was wrong with me? What kind of thoughts were in my head just now? What was becoming of me? Where was my moral?