Page 132 of Executing Malice
Terrified of getting seen, I shove at his head. Try to twist my body away.
But he’s stronger. His hold is unforgiving as he forces me down, pins me in place. His mouth is at my sex, tongue lapping, fingers invading. Three all at once, no hesitation or warning. The assault sends my back up off the hood with a wail. The burn makes my teeth grind as anger wells up over the catacomb of emotions.
“I said stop!”
My fingers twist in his hair and I yank.
But all that seems to do is spur the monster inside him. It has him climbing up over me. The entire car rattles and shudders as he captures my wrists and slams them down on the glass. The pain is faint compared to the unexpected thrust of his cock.
I scream and he snickers as he pounds into me. Fast. Hard. Merciless in his rage to take me.
“Louder, little whore. Let everyone hear what you’re letting me do to you.”
I bare my teeth and glare up at him. “I’m not letting you.”
“Then use your safe word.”
“No!” I snap.
His grin only deepens. “Feel that?” He slows just enough for me to feel how easily he’s moving inside me, how wet my channel is, how hungry for more. “Little fucking liar.” His mouth clamps on my breasts. The nipple is captured between his teeth hard enough to draw blood and another wail from me. “Your filthy mouth says no, but your body wants this. Wants me to hurt and use it.”
He’s not wrong, but I’ll be damned if I let him believe that.
With what little leverage I can find by digging the heel of my feet into the metal, I try to buck him off, but end with him slamming deeper.
“You can’t fight me.” He bows his head to my injured nipple and licks the droplet of blood. “I will always win, and you will always wind up with my cock in your cunt.”
I hate that he’s right, but I hate it more that my body thrives in that knowledge. That it wants to submit and take everything he wants to do to me.
But my brain roars. It rages with indignation and a bone-deep refusal to submit so easily.
I buck again and get him this time when his footing slips. His hold loosens on my wrists and it’s all the opening I need to plant my palms against his chest and shove.
Again, not enough, but with his torso back, I drive the heels of my feet into his chest and kick.
He stumbles, but I’m already rolling over and off the edge ... straight down on broken pieces of rock. Jagged chunks that take me to the ground, to my knees and palms that tear beneath the serrated edges. I cry out as blood runs from the cuts almost immediately. As it rains to the earth in tribute. But I force myself up, force myself to run. Hobble to the driver’s side. dark, shiny wetness smears the handle as I fumble for it and yank.
Locked.
“Looking for these, Leila?”
The faint jingle of keys has me glancing back to where Dante stands, legs shoulder width apart, cock out, shiny with my essence and erect. The multitude of lights from the festival catches on each bar and my brain has to remind my body we do not want to crawl back and lick him.
Fucking guy and his perfect fucking penis.
Breathing hard, I edge away from him. From temptation. I’m aware of every retreating step with every fresh cut across my feet.
Like something from a horror movie, he lunges. It’s so sudden, so paralyzing that I scream. I turn and try to run, but he’s faster — and he has shoes. He catches me with one hand twistedin my hair, ripping out strands from their roots as he drags me to the back of the car.
I think he’s taking me around to the passenger’s side.
I am not expecting when the trunk pops open.
“What are you—?”
He shoves me in. The confined space catches me as I tumble inside. My flailing arms and legs are smacked and twisted down with me as I fight to climb out.
“Dante, no. Please, don’t!”
