Page 146 of The Contract

And God help me, I say the unimaginable.

“Cut them off.”

CHAPTER 50

Riley

All it takes is a single flick, and the cold steel whispering along the tender skin of my inner thigh cuts clean through the fabric.

I’m exposed—completely, shamelessly soaked and laid bare beneath his scorching gaze.

My breath hitches as his thick finger glides leisurely, long strokes along my entrance.

I fumble with the buttons of his shirt—one, then another—baring heat and muscle. The faint sheen of sweat slicks his skin draws light to every hard line and shadow down to his tattoo.

The serpent wrapped around his arm. The devil. Him.

His fingers glide between my thighs, dragging slowly along my slit. He groans softly, voice roughened with need. “Fuck, Pom. You’re soaked. So…wet. So fucking pretty for me.”

Then he shifts, and the blunt, thick head of his cock—slick, gorgeous, and glistening with pre-cum—is suddenly right there, nudging gently at my entrance.

Right now, moving is impossible. Hell, breathing is impossible.

All I can do is feel him, crave him, and wait.

Abruptly, he stills.

His lips skim the shell of my ear. “Last chance, Pom. Once I’m inside you, there’s nowhere to run.”

My chest heaves. The breath drags in and out in a daze, my teeth nibble the corner of my lip as my fingers explore his soft, thick waves. I swallow hard. “Is running from you even an option?”

“Run. Fight. Hide. Do your worst, Pom. It’s you—or fucking no one at all.”

His grip on my hair tightens, anchoring me to him. All the pain, the fight, the hate—it surges between us, until it’s nearly stripped away.

Teeth graze my shoulder, a sharp, feral bite that draws a broken whimper from my throat.

Then, with one merciless thrust, he’s in me—buried deep, stretching me, filling every desperate inch.

“Fuck…”

His words fracture inside my gasp.

I feel every inch of him inside me, sharp pain smashing into pleasure in one violent, electrifying collision.

My thoughts scatter. Heat flares. He grunts—low and feral—when my nails dig into his shoulders. Marking him. Claiming him, as much as he claims me.

He pauses for half a beat, trembling for control, forehead pressed roughly to mine, breath ragged, strained. “Pom.”

My name slips past his lips like a whispered prayer—a curse, a plea.

Then his mouth finds mine. A kiss. A tasting lick. A slow, needy suck.

A memorizing kiss that sears through every part of me, all at once.

The smallest shift, and I’m pinned beneath him. He’s so fucking deep—stretching me, holding me exactly where he wants me.

He’s holding back, gripping a thread of control I don’t fucking want. His body trembles with restraint, like a bull trapped in a too-small pen, seconds from tearing through everything in its path.

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