Page 144 of Sin Like the Devil

I need the safety and control of surrendering to someone else. Someone evil. But I don’t know if I can even call Xander that anymore. His icy nonchalance hides a far more horrifying reality that I’ve yet to unearth. I don’t know who he really is.

The enemy?

The man who saved me?

Both paradoxes wrapped up in one?

Seizing the pain that’s setting my mind alight, I focus on my throbbing wrists. It’s a wonderful juxtaposition to the way my limbs are turning to mush.

Xander is slamming into me, his tempo inching ever higher. But his attention doesn’t waver. After all these months, he’s still studying me. Searching for whatever answers he’s so willing to sacrifice everything for.

I know I antagonise him. His icy façade can’t withstand whatever the fuck this twisted sickness burgeoning between us is. I don’t understand it and wouldn’t expect anyone else to either.

We’re as toxic as all good tragedies are, and that only makes me want him more. Finally accepting that feels like a defeat. This man has brought nothing but grief and misery into my life, but in this moment, that doesn’t change a thing.

I want Xander.

I want every emotion he has left.

I want to hurt him back.

Releasing one wrist, he moves his grip to my chin. His short fingernails dig into my skin as he drags my mouth to his. Our lips clash. There’s no hesitation on my part this time. I want to bruise him just as badly.

Tongues meeting, his spearmint taste fills my mouth. I bite down on his bottom lip, luxuriating in the blood that wells up to meet me. A deep, satisfied groan rolls up from his throat as I suck the bloodied lip dry.

Taking that tiny bit of control back and hearing his reaction fires me up. I’m already a sweaty mess, clawing ever closer to the edge of a welcoming oblivion. He’s tortured me enough. I want to spiral and explode now.

With my freed-up hand, I stroke over Xander’s neatly-packed abdominals. The tight lines of muscle are visible beneath layers of scar tissue. Seeing those marks again only reignites the questions I’m too scared to ask.

Years have softened each light-pink laceration but failed to obscure them entirely. He must’ve been so young when he started cutting himself. Young enough for the marks to bear witness to all he’s done to avoid feeling ever since.

My broken boy.

My twisted, damaged man.

“Eyes on me,” he grinds out. “Now.”

I drag my attention from his scars. Xander is glowering at me, unable to stand being ignored for even a second. Like somehow I could forget he’s making it his mission to command my every thought.

Seemingly appeased, he lowers his face to my breasts. I cry out at the sudden onslaught of his lips. He lavishes each nipple, alternating between kissing, sucking and biting down hard enough to sting. Each sensation makes my nerve endings sizzle.

My legs clench around him, holding his waist in a vice. When he rolls one nipple between his fingers while sucking on the other, I feel an orgasm begging to take over. My nails dig deep into his mottled skin.

“Please,” I beg for a release.

“I don’t think so,” he clips out.

When his lips disappear from my breast, the steely warmth of his cock within me vanishes. I hit a brick wall and ricochet, an unbearable pressure threatening to rip me apart. My orgasm is cruelly snatched away before I can gasp.

Xander holds himself over me, observing each iteration of disappointment. I cry out in shock at the sudden loss, my thighs clenching tight around him, like I can force the clock to rewind and give me the release I need.

“No… Please!”

His grip on my chin loosens. “Hurting, little toy?”

“God-fucking-damn you, Xander!”

“That’s more like it.” His grin is full of sinister satisfaction. “You haven’t begged enough.”

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