Page 57 of Black Sheep

The rush and the roar build to a breaking point. I know I’ll forever be damned for the pleasure I take from the monster who ruined my life. But I can’t think, can’t function beyond the bliss bearing down on me.

His eyes pin me, absorbing every twitch and tremble, gasp and moan.

“Axel.” It’s not a scream but a whisper.

“Fucking give it to me. Everything.”

“Oh…Oh…Axel.” The deepest, darkest, headiest orgasm rolls through me, singeing me from head to toe. My limbs jerk like puppets, my thighs squeezing the jaws of my psychopathic captor.

“Yes…holy fuck.” His tongue quickens against me, staying true to his word and lapping up everything I have to give. When his gaze drops from mine, I sag back against the roof. I’m not sure if the stars above me are the real thing or a byproduct of my bliss.

A minute passes. Two. He eventually trails his lips along one inner thigh, then the other.

His hands leave my body, and I hear his zipper lowering. My gaze drops as his jacket comes off and is tossed onto the hood. His ripped, superathlete’s body is exposed and framed against the shadowed trees.

“My turn.”

Chapter Fifteen

P OR A

Oh God.

I tell myself there’s no way to stop this from happening. That I’m caught between the rock of a merciless father and the hard place of a demon son. But a part of me rebels against that complete damning. The part of me that remembers Axel’s look of anguish when he saw my bruises earlier. His gentle hands as he tended to my ribs.

I hate the recollection. I don’t want to explore the tiny voice that says he’ll stop if I say no. Because the probability is high that, if that happens, my fate will worsen. My heart rushes to embrace that reasoning. Because given the choice between one devil and another, surely the devil who takes time to draw pleasure from my body before he takes his is better than the one who uses violence?

I shake my head, quelling the dissenting voices in my head. I know which side is winning. The side that already has me panting on top of his car like a bitch in heat.

A clack of his belt, then the distinct sound of another zipper lowering.

He pulls my knees up and apart, exposing me more widely to the night air and his gaze. For a long moment, he stares down at me, one hand pushing his pants and boxers off his hips.

I look down as his cock springs free. My mouth dries. I’m not sure if time and distance has distorted my memory but the boy I knew and the man I’m looking at could be two separate beings.

Because where the Axel of youth and imagination was seriously impressive, the man before me is dauntingly overwhelming.

Even without the benefit of adequate lighting, his length and thickness trigger a quivering deep in my belly. As I watch, he grabs and strokes his cock with his left hand, slowly, lazily from root to tip. The drop of pre-cum that pools at his crown catches on his forefinger and is spread along his length on a downward stroke, leaving the underside of his heavy rod glistening.

The word tattooed on his arm ripples with intent as hooded eyes climb up my body to my face, his hand still leisurely pumping his cock.

“Take off the shirt,” he orders, his voice pulsing with power and need.

My hands are heavy as I move to obey. Somehow I get it off, idly sense it sliding down the hood to join his leather jacket.

Fully exposed to the elements, my nipples harden to painful nubs.

His lips part, and I catch the hungry flick of his tongue over his lower lip as his gaze latches on to them. “Cup those tits for me,” he rasps. “Offer them to me. I want to taste.”

My hands slide beneath the heavy globes, and my moan catches me off guard. An existence steeped in unrelenting fear and bleakness doesn’t leave much room for exploring one’s own body, and I can barely contain the new sensations drowning me. Heart slamming against my ribs, I squeeze and lift my breasts to him.

He falls forward, one hand braced on the hood as he lowers his head. His tongue swirls over my areola for charged, mindless seconds before he sucks the tip hard into his mouth. The power of his suction hollows his cheeks. Within his warm mouth, he flicks his tongue against the sensitive peak, driving me out of my mind.

When I imagine I’m about to explode, he transfers his attention to the other peak, repeats the madness. Back and forth, he ravages my breasts. Mouth, tongue, teeth collude to drive me insane. Between my legs, my slickness intensifies, my clit screaming with the need for attention.

As if he senses it, his cock nudges against me. Apprehension ramps up high. He’s big. Too big.

“Axel…I…”

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