37
I'm on the cusp of pleasure. The feeling builds until I explode.
My toes curl. My eyes squeeze shut tighter.
I'm being stretched to my limits. Slow sensual thrusts rock my body.
I hum in pleasure as my orgasm rips through me.
The heat between my legs grows, refusing to relent.
It's been a while since I've had a sex dream that was enjoyable.
Only . . . the feeling doesn't subside. It continues.
My eyes snap open to a sweaty Kieran punching into me over and over.
A wolfish grin is seated on his lips. His piercing eyes rake over me, scathing.
I jolt forward, unable to formulate a sentence.
I shove at his abdomen. This isn't a dream. This is real.
A deep pain radiates from my lower stomach.
I groan, letting my body sag back against the cold metal surface again.
His Bugatti. My heart rate slows but he still doesn't stop fucking me.
His cock hits along my g-spot coaxing another orgasm from me like he has all the power.
I whimper through it, riding the waves of pleasure.
Guilt creeps in. “Stop.” The breathy word leave my throat as a plea.
I search my brain for what is happening.
It's jumbled, like a puzzle. The cold breeze slaps against my skin, snapping me to reality.
“Nah, I told you I'd show you the depths of their depravity. Welcome to my chaos, sweetheart,” his fingers dig deeper into my hips.
I wince. My pussy is raw. He snaps our bodies together so tightly until he roars out his release like the wild beast he is.
I feel fuller than I ever have. He fucks me through it, slowly.
His eyes glaze over, going crescent. His entire body tremors.
His words become sloppy and mumbled and, damn if it isn't the hottest thing I've ever seen despite the radiating sensation inside of me.
Clearly my stupid ass has Stockholm syndrome. This is insane.
I blink a few times, regaining my bearings.
The last thing I remember was being burnt with his lighter before everything went dark.
He releases my hips and wraps his tattooed hand around my throat.
He uses his hold on me to maneuver me where he wants.
If he keeps looking at me with his stupidly sexy fuck me eyes, I might lose all sense.
He tips my jaw down. My eyes slowly follow his direction until it falls to my stomach. My heart sinks.
He . . .
My . . .
He slows his strokes to a sinfully tantalizing tease, knowing I'm about to cause pandemonium.
“Now you're safe from their depravity. This is what they're capable of,” he says maliciously in a low rasp. His chest is still undulating under the loose fabric clinging to his skin.
“You burned me . . . you—” a tear streaks down my cheek.
I turn delirious with rage, but I find myself unable to register what he's done.
Call it a delayed reaction, knowing I'm going to lose it later.
I've always been superficial. He's ruined me.
Marked me. No one will ever want me now. My body is utterly useless.
He looks unbothered. He pulls his cock free from me. I catch a glimpse of tattoos, scars and welts along his abdomen right near his v line. He quickly pulls his shirt down, blocking my view. The head of his cock is red and raw as if he's been at it for hours.
Judging by how sore I am, he has been. He rumbles as he slips his cock back inside his jeans, but leaves them unzipped, almost as a precursor of what is still to come. He tilts head, admiring the scourging of my skin.
“You mutilated me!” I screech, trying to sit forward, but my belly rolls make me groan the moment they fold over my burnt flesh.
“Oh God,” I whine, choking out words of despair. I snap my eyes closed and let the tears fall freely. I don't care how weak I appear. He's degraded me and taken away the one thing I was able to use to my advantage to gain a leg up in this screwed up system.
I lick my cracked lips fighting the urge to lose myself and go berserk.
I hug myself as if it'll shield me from his cold cruelty and to stop myself from doing something stupid.
He's remanded me to nothing. My hair falls loosely over my face.
Kieran doesn't move or even flinch, seemingly unbothered by my internal crisis.
Why would he be? He doesn't have the capability to care for another human being. He's callous and cold.
“So perfectly broken,” he says impassively. An astute observation. I take a heavy breath in. Maybe I deserve this? Is this my penance?
He takes a tentative step in my direction.
I remain unmoved, paralyzed. Tears mist my eyes.
I feel myself faltering. My careful facade is cracking.
I'm left with nothing. He's taken everything from me.
“You're a beast.” I recite, knowing this isn't the first time I've called him that.
My insides turn numb. The familiar feeling of emptiness I've worked so hard to overcome pulls me down to the stygian ocean depths.
I'm crashing toward the eternal darkness of rock bottom.
My heart rate slows to a dull thrum. I close my eyes, trying to ignore his suffocating presence.
A soft huff leaves his lips. “You're beautiful like this,” he murmurs, dark and demented.
His expression is full of contempt. His voice has a low timbre I've not heard from him.
My hair stands tall along my neck. Against my better judgement, I peer forward through my tanglement of hair, well aware I'm a crying, sniffling disaster of a mess.
But he doesn't seem to notice, or if he does, he doesn't care.
I'm convinced he is incapable of feelings at all.
His eyes drill into me with revelation. He takes in my disheveled appearance and hums.
“Beautiful?” I repeat. Maybe my ears are broken.
I blink a few times. “You raped me. You kidnapped me. And to top it off, you scarred the only thing I had left to offer in this world,” I shout.
My entire body shakes. Something within me snaps.
I lunge forward off the hood of his Bugatti, pouncing on him like a lioness.
He's a big, rippling male whereas, I'm a tiny little thing.
He stumbles back, toppling to his ass on the hard gravel.
I bang my tiny fists on his chest letting out all my pent-up rage and aggression, unaffected by how insanely wild I look. A surge of adrenaline fills my veins.
I’m naked attacking a man double my size.
I've lost it.
My tears of despair are now replaced with an unbridled hurricane of wrath.
My cracked nails catch on his shirt, lacerating it.
I force his back against the jagged rocky gravel.
They dig into his backside, but he doesn't even try to stop me or let on that he's in any discomfort.
My stomach is on fire from the burns. His jeans are still undone, slung loosely off his hips.
His hands find my sides, forcing me down until my pierced clit sits flush with his evident bulge.
I ignore it, focusing solely on the destruction and demise I want to cause him.
His shirt gives way, ripping open exposing his chiseled, heavily tattooed abs.
It steals my breath away for a fleeting moment.
But it doesn't stop me. I viciously dig my nails into his flesh so deep he bleeds, hissing in pain.
His face contorts in a furious flare making him jolt upward.
The shirt falls off in tatters leaving him bare.
It's then I realize I've never seen Kieran naked, let alone shirtless. Then . . . I see them.
Scars. Burns.
Deep lacerating marks forged deep into his skin.
The tattoos cover most of them, but not all.
Is this why he is covered in ink? To hide his scars?
They're all healed, and obviously old. I pause, chest heaving as I soak up the realization.
The air grows thick. Was he abused, too?
These aren't self-inflicted. At least, not all of them.
A few are fresher and newly healed. My fingertips trace over the welts and scar tissue along his abdomen.
He has a raven wrapped in thorns. The raven itself appears distressed and unable to fly free.
For a moment my anger dissipates, replaced by cognizance.
It takes all but two seconds before he flips like a switch.
His enigmatic, chaotic attitude is replaced with a cold, hardened mask.
His hand snaps out and snatches my wrist in a painful hold. His eyes carry a visceral edge. He doesn't utter a word. He doesn't need to. Another piece of the puzzle. He's an enigmatic labyrinth that needs to be solved.
“That's enough,” he growls at me.