Page 147 of His Darkest Obsession
His hand finds the zipper of my jeans, and in one smooth motion, he tugs them down with the same urgent need as me. Our pants puddle on the floor beneath us at the same time and I gasp at the sudden exposure.
When his bloody hand grasps me by my thigh and lift it until I'm completely exposed to him, a lusty moan escapes my lips.
I grasp his cock, finding it hard and throbbing in my hand. The tip is already slick with precum, and I give it a slow stroke up and down.
I want him inside of me.
I need him inside of me.
He breaks the kiss for just a moment, his breath hot against my lips.
"Tell me that you don't want this," he whispers. "And I'll walk away."
I look into his eyes, and see myself reflected in the eyes of the man who killed for me.
Who would burn down this world for me.
"Fuck you," I whisper back.
Then I pull him inside me, rocking my hips forward until he's buried to the hilt.
I relish the feel of his blood on my skin as our bodies collide. The sticky crimson of Bennet's demise marks us both now, binding us together in this violent act of passion.
"I hate you," I whisper against his mouth, feeling the lie burn my tongue. "I hate you."
Each word spurs him on, his rhythm growing more frantic, more desperate. The grip of his bloody hand on my thigh tightens, leaving smeared crimson fingerprints beneath his searing hot touch.
Anatoly silences me with another kiss, swallowing the words I don't mean. Tears stream down my face. Salty wetness seeps between our lips as I cry into his mouth. He consumes my sobs, my moans, and my lies. He takes everything I have to give and demands more.
My hips move with reckless abandon, slamming against him. Each movement goads him forward, making him thrust deeper, harder.
This is everything I wanted. Everything I craved since the moment I first saw him in that barbershop chair.
I keep fucking him, but it's becoming harder and harder to tell who's doing the fucking and who's being fucked.
Because every time I pull back, Anatoly thrusts forward in perfect sync. And when I retreat, he advances.
In. Out.
One of his hands pins my wrist above my head against the wall, the other holds my hip in place. It feels wonderful. Being restrained. Being taken. Being claimed.
Over and over.
In. Out.
Our pace quickens to a brutal one, and I try to wrench my mouth away from his so I can scream out my pleasure. But he doesn't let me go, and keeps me trapped in our kiss.
In. Out.
Finally, I bite down on his lip, hard. And he snarls like a wounded animal. I tear my mouth away from his, tasting his blood on my lips, and scream.
"FUCK YOU!"
"Look at me!" he commands, and I do.
In. Out.
I stare into his eyes and it's fucking intense. I whisper it again. "Fuck you!"
