Page 59 of Prey

“Roman.”

Tears stung my eyes. I didn’t know how much more of this I could take, and I didn’t think I could come when he was moving like this. There wasn’t enough friction to drive me over the edge.

He moved his hand down and grabbed my breast, gripping it forcefully before he pulled on my nipple.

I grabbed his wrist and tried to get him to lessen up when it became too much.

“Tell me you like it when I make it hurt.”

I shuddered. I shouldn’t fucking like it when he makes it hurt. There was something wrong with me because I could feel more wetness seeping out of me between us.

He moved his hips in and out of me two more times.

I swallowed.

“Baby.”

I looked straight into his eyes, brown, bottomless eyes—and I swore, I saw my own soul reflected there—and said softly, “I like it when you makemehurt.”

He let out a small groan and nipped roughly at the skin where my neck met my shoulder, hard enough that I felt it all the way down to the very depths of me, hard enough that I couldn’t help but convulse slightly beneath him.

And then finally,finally, he fucked me.

He quickened his pace, the thrust of his hips coming in rough, shallow stabs that had me seeing stars. My blunt nails raked down the skin on his back. I couldn’t get enough of him.

And the pain seemed to spur him on.

We were nothing more than two sides of the same coin. And like me, Roman loved it when I hurt him, when I fought him.

When I pretended I didn’t want him, just so he could forcefully take from me what was already freely given, if only he worked a little harder.

Just a little harder.

Harder.

“Please,” I moaned out. “Hurt me. Use me.”

Pleasefuckinglove me.

Could he sense it?

Could he sense the desperation bleeding from my voice? Could he see the gut-wrenching feeling blooming deep in my belly, trying to claw its way out of me just to get closer to him?

Could he see how badly I loved him?

So much so, it fucking hurt so good.

The truth was right in front of me all along. Why I wasn’t more scared that he had drugged me and taken me to his remote cabin.

Why I didn’t hate him for stalking me or for watching me in my most intimate moments without my permission.

Ifuckingloved it.

And I fucking loved him.

That was why I drove back to the cabin with him. Why I tended to him, why I slept in his bed, with him beside me, and why I felt so fucking safe, even when I caught him sneaking out last night to talk to his brother—the man who, no doubt, wanted me dead.

Tears streamed down the sides of my face.

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