Page 24 of Ink

I cocked an eyebrow daringly. “You didn’t seem too concerned about me wanting this when you dragged me up here in front of everybody.”

“Xiomara.” My name was a mere warning on his lips.

My breath hitched, and I reevaluated my answer, “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Hmm.” He reached between me and the mattress to grasp my neck, holding me firm. I liked the roughness of his fingers digging into my skin. “If at any point you want me to stop–”

“I won’t.” I wanted this more than I wanted air. I wasn’t sure when it happened, how it happened, but at one point between us the lines had blurred. I was drowning in life, in grief, in anger, and it was only him who could save me.

“But if you do–”

My hands wrapped around his waist and yanked him down so his body was flush against mine. The scrape of his jeans against my boxer-clad pussy nearly had me moaning. I rubbed myself against him, searching for friction against my clit. Little bursts of sensation flicked through me at the contact, but it wasn’t nearly enough.

“Ink.” I was breathless. “Fuck me. Now. Hard. I don’t want to talk or think.”

Take control,my eyes pleaded.

I wanted the promise of safety. I wanted the loss of control. I wanted the release of brutality. A fight for pleasure and pain. I wanted everything I knew Ink could give me andmore.If only to feel. For once in my life.

He emitted a low growl before he pulled away from me. Something in his eyes darkened even deeper than the shadows in the room.

He didn’t speak again as he grabbed me by the hips and flipped me face down against the mattress. His hands were rough and demanding as they yanked my lower half up until my knees were planted firmly on the mattress, ass in the air.

I buried my face into the covers, biting down on the material to avoid mewling like I really wanted to. My hands tightened into fists when Ink’s fingers pulled at the black boxers, sliding them over the curve of my ass.

A draft of cold hit me as he shoved it down my thighs. His rough palms warmed me right up again as he squeezed and kneaded, touching me at his leisure. I sighed softly, nearly melting into the mattress right before a yelp came out of me when his hand cracked down against my skin.

The slap stung, and yet when he did it again on the other cheek, the brief bite of pain gave way to a different sensation that had me flooding, wet and eager. A groan of absolute pleasure rippled through me. I wiggled my ass, wanting more of that pain while rubbing my thighs together for much needed friction. But he didn’t slap me again. At the slide of his stubbled cheek against my skin, I twisted my head at an uncomfortable angle to stare at him.

The kisses he trailed against me left warmth, and I could feel the soft scraping of his jawline against my light brown skin. Holding my hips tightly with his hand, Ink leaned forward, and I cried out as his tongue licked a stripe up my pussy.

“Fuck.” My hands tightened even further, everything in me electrifying at the warm, wet touch.

“You like that?” His voice rumbled against me.

“Yes.”

I liked it a lot, and I wanted more of it. More of him. Suddenly I was dripping, aching to be filled to the brim with his cock. I leaned back a fraction, my version of begging, even if I wouldn’t say the words.

Because Ink understood me–perhaps more than anyone else–he chuckled, smacking my ass lightly enough to send a frisson of excitement throughout my body.

“My cock is too hard for foreplay,” he growled.

“And I’m too wet to be bothered with it.”

I liked foreplay–who didn’t?–but we’d been dancing around one another for far too long already. I didn’t want to wait any longer.

“Fuck me,” I said. “Hard. As hard as you fucking can.”

I heard the clink of his belt, the slide of a zipper. Everything inside me trembled with anticipation for what was to come. The shuffle of his jeans as he shoved them down. His hands on my hips as he yanked me backwards.

I counted down the seconds, waiting, holding my breath.

The tip of his cock pressed against my folds, hot, slick. I clenched around empty air, my body all but begging to hug him close.

With one hand digging into my hip, the other lashed out to grab me by the back of the neck. It was precisely the kind of roughness I needed to send my thoughts flying. He buried my face into the blankets. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. Fear gripped me the longer he kept me face down, so long that my lungs screamed, and yet the pleasure onlyheightenedalongside the unknown danger of the moment.

He was suffocating me and it was only in the best of ways.

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