Page 63 of Wicked Spite
“What the fuck are you doing?” I demand, my voice shaking. I try to pull away from him, but he’s too quick—before I know it, he’s pinning me down with his strong body, his grip like iron on my wrists.
“Relax for me like the good girl we both know you can be,” he murmurs, his voice smooth as silk even as his actions betray something far more sinister. “You know how important symbolism is to me. This little mark will serve as a reminder of our time together long after we’re parted.”
His words do little to quell the panic rising within me. I’m no stranger to pain or self-destruction, but this feels different. I realize in the moment that I’m more bothered by the fact that he’s mentioned how this fake marriage will be over eventually. I’ll have what I thought I wanted. I’ll be free of my father and my sister will be safe.
But I’ll also be free of Penn Blackwood, and up until this moment I don’t think I realized how much I’ve come to find comfort in even the most psychotic things that he does. If he brands me with the Blackwood symbol, it’ll be a constant reminder of him, and what could never be. I have a suspicion that even without it, I’ll miss him every single day.
“Let me go, Penn!” I snarl, trying to twist my body outfrom under him. But he’s relentless, using his considerable weight and strength to keep me immobilized.
“That’s it, baby. Fight me,” he insists, his tone darkening. “This is happening whether you like it or not, but I’ll enjoy the process.”
“Like hell it is!” I spit back. But even as I struggle against his hold, I can’t help but feel a flicker of arousal at his dominance. A fact that infuriates me all the more.
“That’s my little hellfire,” he chuckles, his fingers tightening around my wrists until I can feel the bones grinding together.
“Fuck you,” I hiss, the words barely more than a whisper as the pain of his grip intensifies. And yet, despite my fear and anger, I can’t deny the part of me that craves this.
“Haven’t you had enough?” he smirks, his free hand expertly maneuvering the heated ring toward my vulnerable skin. “But for now, let’s make sure you never forget who you really belong to.”
As the searing metal closes in on my flesh, I brace myself for the pain, the mark that will forever brand me as Penn Blackwood’s possession.
The scorching metal of the Blackwood ring presses against the sensitive skin at the nape of my neck, searing pain lancing through me like a white-hot blade. I clench my jaw, fighting back the scream that threatens to tear from my throat. I won’t give Penn the satisfaction of hearing me whimper or beg in pain.
Even as the agony radiates through my body, I can feel the twisted heat of arousal coiling in my core.
“Like it or not, Mrs. Blackwood, you’re mine,” he growls into my ear, his breath hot and heavy against my neck. The words send shivers down my spine, a mixture of fear andexcitement coursing through me. I hate how much I crave this connection with him. My pussy clenches, responding to his touch and the forceful way he holds me down. Tightening his grip on my wrists and leaning in closer, his hazel eyes are dark with lust, and I can’t help but be drawn in by their intensity. “You need to remember who I am. Who you belong to. And when we’re apart, you’ll still have my protection. This ensures that.”
He pulls the ring away and I can feel the raised, angry welt forming, a permanent reminder of his possession branded into my flesh. He admires his handiwork, fingertips tracing the tender skin around the mark.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, voice rough with desire.
Before I have time to protest, he reaches down with one hand, wrenching my thighs apart. I buck my hips up against him as he forcefully penetrates me again, causing me to gasp at the suddenness of it all. He’s thick, hard and stretching me in the most deliciously painful way. My anger flares, but it’s quickly overshadowed by the pleasure that surges through me. I know I shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t let him have this control over me, but it’s impossible to resist.
“Admit it, baby,” he taunts as he thrusts deeper, keeping me pinned to the ground. “You love it, don’t you?”
“Go to hell,” I retort, choking back a moan as he hits a particularly sensitive spot. But my opposition seems to spur him on, making him only more determined to break through my barriers.
“Keep fighting me all you want,” he says between gritted teeth, his voice strained with effort. “It only makes this more fun for me.”
My nails dig into his back and his eyes roll up. He loves thebite of pain, and I scrape down his spine, giving him exactly what he wants.
As Penn continues to dominate me, a part of me wonders if he’s right. After being with him, I’m petrified to admit that I don’t know if I could go back. If I could go about my life with Reese and settle down with some nice, dependable partner. My entire adult life and most of my teen years have been chaos that I’m afraid that I won’t know how to function without it. It’s the one thing I can always count on. He’s chaos personified.
“Harder. Fuck me harder,” I whisper, allowing myself to give in to the pleasure, to let go of my anger and resentment for just a moment. To stop thinking about the what ifs of the future. “You may be a monster, but you’re my monster.”
My breath hitches as the intensity builds, Penn’s movements growing harder and faster, giving me exactly what I’m demanding. I wrap my legs around his hips and his mouth finds my breast, biting down and claiming me. Sweat glistens on both our bodies, highlighting every flex of muscle and curve of both of us. I find myself matching his rhythm, falling into a cadence that feels like we’ve been fucking longer than we’ve been married.
“My sweet fucking hellfire,” he groans, the sound almost animalistic as it escapes his throat. “You’re…incredible.”
“Please. Let me come,” I gasp out, my voice raw from the moans he’s ripped from my throat.
Penn’s hands grip my hips roughly as he thrusts into me again and again, his hazel eyes burning into mine. I try to look away. The connection between us is too fucking intense like this.
“Look at me,” he growls. “I want to see your pretty face when I let you come.”
I glare at him defiantly even as I feel the pleasure building. He knows just how to play my body like his own personal instrument.
I crash my lips to his, biting and sucking as we move together. The taste of blood mingles with our kiss. I’m close, so close, and I know he can feel it.
