Page 83 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part Two
I shake, my body betraying me, yet my brain goes offline when I pull the condom out of my bra and hold it up like a damn weapon between two fingers.
“Fuck me, Storm. But wrap it up. I don’t know where that thing’s been.”
My heart races, and for a split second, I wonder if I’m making a huge mistake. I hate myself for it, but my body still craves him, despite everything—despite how much I want to push him away. I’m not begging for this, but the words are out before I can stop them.
His eyes flash, his cocky grin not at all reassuring, but with a slowness that feels almost criminal, he pulls his fingers from my body.
“I suppose I could say the same about you,” he replies, his dark tone meant to maim.
But then, he sucks his fingers clean.
Snatching the condom from my grasp, he tears it open with his teeth and pulls his sweatpants down, barely clearing his hips. With swift movements, he dons the rubber, and then?—
“Oh, shit!” I shout, forgetting just how big he is—how full he feels inside me.
My body burns, stretches around him, pulling me deeper into this madness.
“Still the best cunt I’ve ever been inside,” he grinds out, teasing, but not in a good way.
I shouldn’t love his words. I hate that I love his words.
I should hate that the refrain he sang all those years ago—we fuck, and we make love—isn’t true in this space.
This fucking is fueled by hate.
“You gonna talk or are you gonna fuck me?” I demand, straining my body to deliver the words with an unaffected tone. But instead of getting to work, he slows all the way down.
Which drives me closer to my peak than anything else.
“This is fucked, Shae,” he vows, keeping steady movements and looking directly into my eyes. “You’ve stolen half of my children’s childhood from me.”
He delivers a punishing plunge with that statement that has me hissing as he bottoms out, but then he returns to that slow, grinding rhythm that hits all my spots.
“You ever gonna take responsibility for your actions, Storm? You seem to want to blame me for all of it, and yet, you’re the one who never answered the fucking phone.”
His eyes flash, and I feel like poking at him even harder.
“You wanted to punish me. Is that it?” he asks.
I open my mouth, trying to come up with a retort, but he takes all control away when he slams into me hard over and over, making me pay for my perceived sins with his body.
“Eight years. You owe me eight goddamn years,” he mutters, and I suck in a shuddering breath as he shifts to hitjustthe right spot.
“I don’t owe you a goddamn thing,” I throw back.
“You sure about that?” Again with the cocky smile.
“Fuck you,” I spit out, my voice trembling.
His grin cocks to the side, and he slows his strokes.
“Nah, baby. That’s your job.” Then, he shifts in just the right way, at just the right speed, to put me on the train to my peak.
How is it possible to hate someone so much and want them so much at the same time? I hate this. I hate him. I hate how he makes me feel.
I hate how much I want him—how much I’ve dreamt ofthis.
“Storm,” I pant. “I’m gonna come.”
