Chapter 39 #2
“What did you take?” I reply, crawling up next to her on the mattress.
Rolling her eyes, she exhales with annoyance. “I was nervous to meet you.”
I smirk, and her eyes dart to my mouth. They linger there, and I wonder if she’s dreaming about how my mouth would feel pressed against hers. No matter my plan, she won’t be finding out.
“And…”
“And so we smoked a joint and took a few shots of whiskey.”
“Who?”
“Me and Karson.”
“Who’s Karson?” I try to keep my tone light, but mentally I’m keeping a list of grievances against Mr. Smythe.
“He works here.”
“I gathered that. Did he touch you?”
“No…yes…”
“Elaborate. Now.”
“He didn’t touch me…inappropriately. I guess you could say he’s in charge of me…maybe? He collected me from Richmond’s room, then clea—”
“Is Richmond the one who cut you up?”
She nods.
I fight the way my lips purse in irritation, straining to keep my expression neutral. Her hand lands over mine. The one absentmindedly fisting the blanket tightly. I hate being disobeyed.
“Karson is good, I think,” she whispers. Rose’s innocence is sweet. Stupid. Liable to get her blindsided. But sweet nonetheless.
“No one in this world is good, flower. Don’t be naive.”
“Fuck you,” she spits like cobra venom, slamming her palm into my sternum. “I’m not a simpleton.”
Oh, that smart mouth is going to get her pinned beneath me and whining for my cock.
Gripping her wrist, I tug Rose toward me. Her breasts press into my chest, lips hovering a hairsbreadth away from mine.
Her breath catches when I ghost my lips over hers, trail them along her jaw, and down her neck. Deeply, I breathe her in. “So you have proof of his morality?” I whisper.
She stutters, about to speak, but then catches herself, quickly reining in her rebuttal. “No,” she replies softly.
Her pulse pounds against my tongue as I taste her. “Such a terrible liar,” I whisper against her flushing skin before I sink my teeth into the sensitive area.
She cries out, ecstasy ringing through the room. Wrenching her wrist from my grip, she sinks her fingers into my hair. Instinct demands I band my arm around her and crush her to me, but her injuries have me pausing—re-evaluating.
Fisting my hair tight, she yanks my head back, pulling my mouth from the mark forming on her nape. “What are you gonna do about it?” Whatever feeling had her winding her hips in taunting before is back full force now, and sizing me up.
In my thirty years of life, I’ve never backed down from a challenge. I don’t intend to start now.
With my eyes locked on hers, I cup her breast. Dipping my head down, I seal my mouth around her nipple. My tongue swirls, working it into a stiff peak I can abuse until she’s writhing.
“Spank me again,” she pleads.
My hand glides up her thigh, rounding over the curve of her ass before cracking off the tender skin.
Rose pulls her leg up over my hip, surprising me. Never have I ever let someone lead an encounter. Her grip in my hair tugs me back up her body. “Again,” she pants, gazing far too deep into the chasm of my soul, looking for what resides there.
Nothing, flower. That part of me was scraped bare a long time ago.
My hand leaves her skin, rising up, prepping to come down hard and fast.
Her lips slam onto mine, freezing me in place.
Memories grasp for me like claws, greedy to sink their sharpness deep and drag me close.
I do not kiss. I taunt and tease, make my partners ache until they cry from frustration, but never deliver.
Shantel’s begged years for my kiss, all that gets her is face down and gagged.
Now, Rose is taking what I’ve withheld from everyone since I was a teenager.
The panic from the past works its way up my chest, torturously asphyxiating me.
Her tongue skims across the seam of my lips, cracking the shell of the statue I became. Reality bleeds back in, the room of my youth vanishing from my sights.
Tentatively, I nip at it. Giving in to her needs can only further my scheme. It’s worth it, I decide. No matter the cost it has on my psyche, watching her become dust before me will wash away all the horrors her kiss dredges up.
I let Rose’s curving smile pull me in as I bring my palm down hard. Her resounding cry spikes my adrenaline, goosebumps erupting down my spine.
Her hand trails down my neck and across my chest, tracing through my tattoo and over the scar. “An answer for an answer,” she says, eyes flicking from my near life-ending wounds to my own lust-soaked gaze.
“I got shot.”
“You probably deserved it,” she says, biting back a smile.
My hand wraps around her throat, throwing her back onto the mattress. I pin her body beneath mine. “Enough of that smart mouth,” I growl, rolling my hips.
My hardness presses into her naked clit and her eyes roll back. “Make me feel good. Please. I want to feel good.”
“Enough demands.”
Rose parts her legs, wrapping them around me, coaxing me closer. “Make me feel good, Mr. Morgan,” she says through a sly smirk, forever pushing my boundaries.
With my name coming off her lips, I launch myself at her.
The kiss shocks her.
Fuck, it shocks me.
She’s pulling me to her like gravity, eclipsing everything I’ve ever known with this new temptation.
My kiss is starved.
Violent.
Fucking needy.
What has she stirred within the pit of my smothered emotions?
Her nails drag up my spine as she whimpers beneath me, riding the onslaught of my desperation, never faltering. Shit, she even has the nerve to bite back after I drag her bottom lip between my teeth.
“What do you want?” I pant, hating every second that my lips aren’t glued to hers.
“This,” she replies, pulling me in once more. She writhes her body against mine, the little sounds coming off her driving me fucking crazy.
Her fingers find my waist, trailing lightly along the top of my pants to the front.
With a glint in her eye, she pulls back from our kiss, watching how I react to her touch.
She drags out the agony, slowly popping the button, making sure the sound of my dropping zipper rivals the time it takes to run a mile.
In fact, I’m sure I could run a marathon faster than Rose undresses me.
She pushes the dress pants down over my ass, toying with the band of my boxer briefs. Coyly, she bites her lip, slipping her hand beneath the fabric.
I shift my weight, fingers uncurling from around her throat as I kneel between her spread thighs. I push the boxers down, cock springing free as she continues to stroke me. “Fuck, Rose,” I rasp.
My tunnel vision clears as she sits up. Leaning forward, she spits onto my cock.
It’s then, when I watch her lean back again, clearly satisfied with herself for slowly undoing me, that I see the wet smears of blood.
I scramble back, tangled in my trousers, and end up slipping off the edge of the bed.
“Are you okay? What happened? Did I do something wrong?” she asks, moving to peek at me over the side of the mattress.
“No, you’re bleeding.”