Page 62 of Kings Fear No One
“Logan, you’re hurting me—” She squirms in my grip.
But I only clench harder, leaning in ’til my face hovers inches from hers. “You want me to hurt you some more? You want me to ruin you? ’Cuz that’s what I’m capable of!”
Teysha whimpers as I grab her by the face and force her lips to mine in a rough kiss. I spare no time being gentle. Being considerate like she deserves.
I bite her lip and thrash my tongue against hers. I hold her still, locked within my grip, and kiss her like I’m about to ravage her.
No sweetness, no affection to be found.
Teysha’s immediately overwhelmed, shrinking, tugging away. She tries to turn her head but my hand slides into her hair. My fingers twine ’til I’m clutching her strands in a fist.
“Where do you think you’re going?” I ask, so close we feel each other’s breath on our lips. “You wanted this, right? You wanted me to have you?”
I kiss her again. Just as hard. Just as forcefully.
Teysha makes another strangled noise that’s halfway between a whimper and words. Her fingers claw at my forearms and then chest as she struggles with what to do. If she’ll fight harder or she’ll concede this is what she wants.
This is the lesson she wants me to teach her. The only way she’ll learn.
I can taste the salt in her tears, feel the quake of her lips pressed against mine.
The temper I’ve lost manifests in other ways—blood pumping, adrenaline racing, muscles twitching, I’m a wild animal that can no longer be tamed. I’ve descended into a headspace I’ve been avoiding. Dark impulses that haunt me.
I’m going to have Teysha tonight, and tomorrow when the sun comes up, I’ll look in the mirror, riddled with shame for the things I’ve done. Just like I have every other morning she’s been under my roof.
For now, I’ll let myself enjoy it.
Every detail about her and the moment that’s been on my mind nonstop.
Her full, bow-shaped lips that I’ve stared at a thousand times since I’ve met her. The way, being so close, her flowery scent permeates the space and makes me borderline feral. How her soft body feels gripped by my calloused hands.
Teysha clenches fingers shut in my t-shirt and twists her hips as if determined to jerk away. But then I realize she’s both fighting and giving in at the same time. She’s holding onto me the way I’m holding onto her.
She’s in tears, then she’s letting out a small little moan. I’ve dragged my mouth from hers and dropped more rough kisses to her throat. I lick up her tears and relish the salt and shove my hand under the hem of her dress.
“Is this how you want it?” I growl into her ear, groping her pussy. “’Cuz this is the only fucking way I give it. Spread your legs.”
I kick them apart and tug her panties down her hips. Another little sound comes out of her, one of shock, as she goes still. She’s inexperienced, she’s only ever experienced what happened in the Chosen Saints, and that’s never been more apparent than in this moment.
But I keep going.
I keep giving her what she’s asked for.
“I’m going to fuck you,” I tell her, sucking on her throat. “See that couch? I’m going to have you with your ass in the air and your pussy clenched around my dick.”
Her misty eyes widen.
“Don’t look surprised now. You asked for this.”
My groping hands and biting kisses are met with a sharp cry. She’s got no choice but to bear it as I cage her within my arms and let primal urges take over.
Teysha Baxter is a bright, beautiful woman who probably dreamed of her future husband making love to her in some candlelit bedroom sprinkled with rose petals. She probably expected him to whisper sweet fucking nothings in her ear and hold her afterward.
Her fantasies damn sure never included losing her virginity on some cult’s sacrificial altar by a guy like me, made to do it.
Every time after that was no better—performances for Abraham’s sick enjoyment ’til he got bored of that and then wanted her for himself.
I failed to stop him.
