5. Roxy #3
I swear I hear him chuckle, but when my eyes shoot open, that mask is in place.
Every slap of his body against mine has me sliding further up the bed. My tits jolt with every motion.
Growling, he grips my wrists and holds them above my head with one hand.
I’m so full, shivering with the need to come.
His hostage, one hand circles my throat, the other circles my wrists, and he squeezes both tighter and tighter until pressure builds in my face.
“You’d hit the floor bleeding before you even got the chance to swing the damn thing,” he whispers, and every quiet word sounds like an undeniable promise.
Heat from his body leeches into mine, and I stare up at our arms. Inked hands gripping mine. Our tanned skin is both littered with black ink.
We look good together.
“Kai,” I whimper, finally ready to let go.
His top lip curls, and I watch with wide eyes as he releases my wrists and delves back into his pocket.
He's so fast with the knife and wields it like another limb.
I barely flinch when the tip of the knife rests against my lips.
My chest tightens, air catching in my throat.
He's going to kill me.
Just like Jacob wanted to do. Only this time, I wanted it.
This time, I willingly slept with this man, fooled by the notion that because he was a Devil, I'd be protected.
But I'm not Maddy.
I don't live in ivory towers.
I don't have perfect blonde hair and perfect, unmarked skin.
I will never be Maddy.
I'll always be a magnet for danger, and I'm so fucking stupid for thinking otherwise.
My lip trembles, grazing against the sharp metal.
“Open,” he murmurs.
My throat works around a dry swallow. Every muscle in my body locks, but my jaw slowly drops anyway.
Lips parting, the flat side of the knife presses down on my tongue, and a terrified whimper falls past it. I want to beg him to stop, beg him to leave me alone.
But it's too fucking late now that a knife rests on my tongue.
He slides the knife, angling it just enough that pain zaps over my tongue. Blood coats it, the taste of copper bursting over my taste buds.
His hips roll into me as he pulls the knife out, inspecting my blood on the pretty steel.
Those dark eyes hood as if it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, and his tongue darts out to lick along the blade.
I watch in horrified fascination as he cleans my blood from the knife.
My head shakes softly, yet my body... my body ignites.
The knife slides into his pocket, and this time his eyes focus on my mouth, where blood drips over my lips. The soft growl that falls past his lips makes all reason slip from my mind. Driven by pure lust, my legs wrap around him to hold him impossibly closer to me.
All reason vanishes in the wind.
So he likes blood.
Sliding my tongue along my lips, I slowly, seductively smear my blood like lipstick, every movement tracked by his hungry gaze, before he lowers his head, tongue darting out to lick.
He vibrates, and for a second, I think he's as uncontrolled as I am.
Continuing to rut into me, his tongue slides against mine, chasing every drop of blood he drew from me.
I let him. I shouldn’t, but it’s the most intoxicated I’ve ever felt.
It’s terrifying that I want more. That the pain on my tongue and the taste of it makes me feel this way.
That his hunger makes me needy to hurt more for him.
My pussy flutters around him, every muscle in my body going tight as I sink my fingernails into his back.
His mouth is relentless.
When he finally rips himself away, he catches my bottom lip between his teeth, biting hard. I gasp, tasting more blood before he kisses me again, chasing my taste like I’m a delicacy.
My body surrenders completely, and when I see his lips coated in blood red, pleasure crashes over me without warning.
My back arches as wave after wave shudder through me.
For the first time, his control slips. His breath catches. His hips falter. And the sweetest, breathless sound slips past his lips, so quiet I barely catch it.
But it’s enough to drive me crazy.
Then, just as quickly as he lost control, he finds it again.
Pulling himself from me and stepping away from the bed without a word, tucking himself back into his pants with calm, precise movements, it’s as though the last few minutes never happened.
Breathless, I stare at his back, as he drags the pad of his thumb across his mouth, wiping away the taste of me.
Tangled in the sheets and stuck in a haze, every part of me turns heavy. Feeling as though he’s stripped me down to something far more vulnerable than naked.
This weird weight settles over me, and I blink away the burn behind my eyes.
It’s been a day.
Rubbing my eyes, I try to clear the haze that still clings to me from the mind-altering orgasm and remind my lungs how they work.
Yet, he’s unaffected.
Doesn’t even look back as he prowls out of the room. Seconds later, the front door clicks shut.
He’s probably out there somewhere, being the dutiful guard. It doesn’t make swallowing the taste of my own blood or prying my sore body off the bed any easier. But it does help strengthen my resolve to stop fucking, or getting fucked by, Devil men.