Page 131 of Executing Malice
No warning.
No preparation.
He pounds every inch home while I gasp and struggle to accommodate him, but it’s too much.
“Quiet, little whore,” he growls into my ear when I sob. He rips down the neckline of my dress, baring my breasts. “I’ll have to share you with whichever fucker finds you like this just to keep him from telling the town what a greedy whore you are.”
I know there is no way in hell he would ever share me, but the fantasy of it has me growing slick. Has my hips driving back to meet him.
I get a cruel snicker in response.
“I knew you’d like that. Getting tag teamed in the dirt like some filthy gloryhole. Cunt and ass full of some stranger’s cum.”
In reality, the idea is a hard no, but the way he’s taunting me, the cold mockery in his tone as he tells me what a filthy girl I am, has me shuddering with the first roll of approaching climax.
But Dante jerks out before I can tumble over. His fist closes into the back of my underwear and the fabric is dragged back. I can’t see what he’s up to, but when they’re pulled back into place, they’re soaked. The crotch is dripping and sticky, heavy with the weight of his jizz now clinging to my naked lips. Adding to my already drenched core.
“Don’t worry,” he drawls into my ear, chest mashed against my back. His hands drift around to palm my breasts,squeezing my nipples. “We’re not done. Walk back to the car, little whore.”
Walking without giving away that there is a gallon of cum warming my panties is an experience I never thought I would have to face. But I manage to without drawing attention.
The parking lot is empty. The remaining few vehicles gleam under the faint lights of the rides. My car is halfway from the gates, within view, but nearly hidden behind two rows. I’m honestly relieved to see it knowing we are finally going home so he can finish what he started.
But boy am I wrong.
Dante grabs me by the arm and yanks me over the hood. His hands, bruising and strong, shove me up to sit on the cold metal.
“Say stop, sweetheart,” he prompts, pushing my knees wide to claim the spot with his hips. “This is where the games begin, and I will not hold back.”
I’m scared.
My heart is thundering a thousand miles per minute. My limbs are trembling, and I am so fucking wet I can’t think straight.
“No.” The word is jagged, torn from somewhere deep, dark and twisted. “Don’t stop.”
His fingers are punishing, clamping down on my jaw, cutting the skin inside on my teeth. “That’s my good girl. Give me a safe word.”
Breathing hard, I blurt the first thing that comes to mind. “Pumpkins.”
His features soften just a fraction before returning to their twisted state.
The kiss is brutal, violent. I taste blood. I taste him as he tears into the soft folds of my lips until there are tears in my eyes.
Face a mask of raw, animalistic hunger, Dante jerks back. The light glints over the crimson stain marring his mouth, staining his teeth as he bares them in a smirk.
My blood.
I shift against the hood, every nerve ending in my vagina on fire to feel him, to get railed so hard I see stars.
But his hands are twisted in my neckline. The fabric is torn. The sound deafening in the tinkle of music and rustle of naked branches.
“Dante!”
My yelp is met with the grip of my ruined dress and the hard shake for silence. There is no light, no life in his eyes as he wrestles me out of the tattered remains. As he snaps my underwear off and tosses both to the ground.
Naked, vulnerable, I’m shoved against the windshield with my legs thrown over his shoulders as he forces his head between them.
“Stop it!” I hiss, frantic.
