Page 26 of The Hitch
The motherfucker drugged me, kidnapped me, and married me. And now I'm in his house, wrapped up in his bed, with a sore spot on my arm. I don't quite remember howthatgot there, but I definitely remember what happened when he chased me. When he caught me.
My cheeks burn at the memory of his thick cock buried to the hilt. The primal growling he emitted when he came. And the way I was so…sointo it when he chased me.
I shouldnotbe turned on by a fucking stalker chasing me through his home. I shouldnotbe sneakily thinking of ways to get him to chase me again.
I should, however, be running for safety, out the door and out of his life. My rational side is screaming at me to get up, to get dressed, to leave immediately. But the irrational side of me… kind of likes it?
Maybe I can get a good therapist with all his rich-boy money. Get some medication. Get back on my feet. Disappear to Mexico like I've dreamed of for so long.
"Good morning, wife."Fuck.
I freeze, barely daring to peek at him. Those piercing green eyes seem almost soft in the morning light, but beneath all of his luxurious trappings is a psycho stalker.
Unperturbed by my fear, he sits up and stretches, yawning loudly. His hair is perfectly tousled. The jet black strands lay effortlessly across his brow, while the undercut sides look like he just walked out of the fanciest salon in the city. He sweeps his hair back and out of his face, revealing those freckles again. Seven of them dot his forehead, two sets of three in near-perfect vertical lines, and the seventh between the top two. Another one decorates his chin, and the last is on his left cheekbone.
I hate to say it, but it's almost endearing. Tiny imperfections in this perfect-seeming appearance. I have no doubt that he has enough money to get them lasered off—if that's a thing—but he chose not to. I wonder why, then shove the thought out of my mind with prejudice.
"Do I have something on my face?" He rubs at his jawline, furrowing his brow. "Or were you just admiring yourhusband?"
"Fuck, no." I grimace and turn away, the heat of my blush crawling up my cheeks.
Quicker than I can react, he envelopes me with his arms. Spooning me. I roll my eyes and try to wriggle free when I notice something hellishly hot and intensely hard poking into my lower back. Is that… oh,fuckno.
"Forgive me, Melody. You're just such a delightful sight." He kisses the side of my head and lets out a satisfied rumble, rubbing his cock against me.
"Absolutely not. No fuckin' way. Last night was… a mistake. A weird, high-intensity mistake." I yank the covers up to hide my face.
"Was it, now? So you weren't soaking your panties for me? You weren't begging me to fuck you?"
God, kill me. I seriously wish he'd just fucking kill me and get it over with already. Even if he's not associated with Phil or Charlie, this whole marriage thing has to be a sham. Why does he want me to pop out a kid so bad? Surely he has enough money to hire a surrogate or something, right?
Trying desperately to ignore his advances, I peek around the room and notice the broken lamps, picture frames, and a mirror still on the wall—shattered in its frame.
He must notice my attention is elsewhere because he pops up and follows my gaze. "Ah, that. If you promise to be a good girl, I'll build you your own rage room in the basement."
It absolutely shouldn't, but the termgood girlwashes over me, and a shiver runs down my spine. I shake my head and glare at him, willing the building heat between my thighs to go the fuck away.
"Well, if you're going to be likethat, then don't mind me." He throws the blankets down and reveals he's not wearing pants. Or underwear. His thick, veiny, uncut cock stands at attention and I gulp.
I can't even look away as he snakes one hand down those defined abs, down to the base of his cock. He grips it and stifles a groan—I clench my thighs together—while staring directly into my eyes.
Dante bites his lower lip as he takes long, slow, deliberate strokes of his cock. His foreskin glides smoothly over his slick head, coated in precum already. Under my gaze, the strokes become faster, more frantic. His breaths puff out with effort, little grunts of pleasure sneaking through as well. I'm absolutely mesmerized by the sight of it. To my dismay, heat builds between my legs.
"Oh, fuck yes, watch me. Watch me, love. Keep those gorgeous eyes on me," Dante moans out, working his cock faster still.
I'm entranced. The juxtaposition between the pink head of his cock against the rich black of his tattoos has me fixating on him. Precum pours down the back of his hand, glistening against the dark ink. I fucking hate him—why do I want to lick him so bad?
"You're so fucking beautiful, Melody," Dante grunts. "Watch me. Watch me come undone for you."
"No," I whisper. "No. Stop."
He instantly stills, giving me a questioning look, still panting. His hips flex almost imperceptibly, but I watch the head of his cock poke through his fist.
Fuck. "I want it."
That's all he was waiting for, apparently, because he pounces on me like a mountain lion. I let out a gasp as he invades me again. He fills me so completely, almost to my limit, but nothing about ithurts. No, he doesn't hurt me. He drags his cock back, and I feel every single inch of him.
"That's all it takes, hmm? Good to know," he murmurs in my ear. The whispering heat of his breath raises goosebumps down my neck. He snaps his hips, and I can't help but squeal at the sudden jolt of pleasure. He lets out a dark chuckle. "You're mine, Melody. You're fucking mine."
