Page 63 of Buried in Blood
Smart girl.
I lean closer, lips at her ear. “I let your friend’s little boyfriend go.”
She shifts. Barely.
“But not before I fed your little friend my cock in front of him.” I chuckle. “She cried when I finished. Not because she hated it—because she wanted more.”
Harmony’s whole body goes still. She’s breathing, but shallow now. Silent.
“Do you want more, Harmony?”
Her throat works. “More what?”
“Me,” I hiss, dragging the covers off her body. “Do you want me to treat you like her?”
Her lip trembles. “No.”
“No?” I echo, grabbing her by the ankle and yanking her down the mattress. “But you used to. You used to beg.”
Her silence pisses me off.
I crawl over her, pinning her down by the throat, letting just enough pressure build to make her squirm. Not to hurt. Just to remind.
“You used to scream for me,” I growl. “You used to fucking cry if I didn’t come inside you.”
Tears pool in her eyes.
I smile.
“There she is,” I whisper. “My good little girl. My favorite sin.”
I shove her legs apart and press myself against her thigh, hard and hot through my jeans. She tries to roll away.
I don’t let her.
“Don’t act like you’re better than Brooke,” I sneer. “At least she knows she belongs to me.”
“I don’t belong to anyone,” Harmony chokes.
I slam my palm beside her head, teeth bared. “You do. You always did.”
Her breath hitches.
I grab her wrists and pin them above her head with one hand, the other tearing the nightgown down the center.
“You want soft?” I whisper. “You should’ve run when you had the chance.”
My mouth crashes onto hers—possessive, devouring, cruel.
She bites me.
I taste blood.
And I fucking smile.
Because now?
Now it’s real.
