Page 18 of Dark Possession
She jerks against my hold, wild and reckless, but I don’t let her go. She fights, twisting, her breath coming in ragged bursts as she tries to shove me back. I let her struggle, let her burn off that futile energy until the resistance drains from her muscles, until she stills beneath my touch.
“I hate you,” she breathes, eyes blazing.
A slow smirk tugs at my lips. “You didn’t hate me earlier.”
Her pulse thrums violently beneath my fingers, the rapid rhythm betraying her. Even as she glares at me, as she drags in shuddering breaths, I feel the shift—the moment her body betrays her mind. The way she leans into me, her breasts brushing against my chest.
“Turn around.”
The order leaves no room for hesitation, no space for argument. My voice is low, firm—final.
Her body tenses. Just for a second. I catch the flicker of defiance in her eyes before she exhales slowly, resigning herself to the inevitable. She closes her eyes like that will somehow make this easier and does as I say.
Good girl.
I take my time, running a finger down the zipper of her dress, feeling the delicate tremor beneath her skin. My touch isn’t rough. It doesn’t need to be. She knows I own this moment. I own her.
The slow, deliberate sound of the zipper lowering fills the silence between us, a quiet unraveling. The fabric slackens, slides down her arms, whispering over her skin before pooling at her feet in a useless heap.
She stands there motionless, shoulders tight, hands clenched at her sides. Waiting. Bracing.
I brush the hair off her neck, exposing her to me.
Her skin is pale, soft—too soft for someone with such a sharp tongue. I trace my knuckles over her spine.
My lips find the base of her skull, pressing a kiss there, breathing her in.
Her scent—faintly sweet, laced with something darker—seeps into my lungs, into my bloodstream. My cock stirs, thickens, and I don’t stop it. I press against her, letting her feel it, letting her know exactly what she does to me.
Her inhale is sharp, jagged—like she’s just realized she’s walked into a cage and let the door swing shut behind her.
I smirk against her skin.
“Tell me,” I murmur against her neck, “tell me you don’t want this.”
Her breath stutters. Her silence is deafening.
I already know the answer.
She does, too.
My hand slips around her, slow and deliberate, palm pressing flat against her stomach. She tenses, muscles taut beneath my touch.
I slide lower, my fingertips skimming the delicate lace of her panties before shoving them aside.
She sucks in a sharp breath, her body betraying her, reacting before her mind can catch up.
I drag a finger through her slick heat, finding her clit, rolling it beneath my touch, teasing, pushing. Her breath stutters, and she grips the edge of the dresser like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.
“Already wet?” My voice is low, amused. Mocking.
She shakes her head, lips parting, but whatever protest she was about to give dies in her throat the moment I sink two fingers inside her.
Fuck. Her cunt is tight. Warm. Perfect.
I push deeper, curling my fingers, and she arches into me, her back bowing, pressing against the thick length of my erection. Her reaction fuels something primal, something possessive. She can deny this all she wants, can pretend she doesn’t want it, but her body doesn’t lie.
I keep my mouth at the base of her skull, dragging my lips over her skin, inhaling the faint scent of sweat and surrender. I kiss her there, slow and deep, before sinking my teeth into the soft flesh, biting just hard enough to make her gasp.
