Page 42 of The Villain
“Deny it all you want,” he rasped in her ear, rocking against her and sparking a flame of pleasure in the place where their bodies met. “But we both know no matter how hard you try to fight me, your body craves what I can give it. Isn’t that right, my little whore?”
A shudder tore through her, her only response a low whimper as the thick tip of his cock rubbed against her inner folds, pressing down against her swollen clit. Pleasure stole her words, and primitive need overtook all her other urges. The word ‘whore’ struck her like the lash of a tongue against her clit, sending another ripple of heat and desire throughout her being. She wanted to deny it, to protest his treatment and argue that she would never be his whore, but could not think beyond the steady pressure and friction of his cock against her clit.
She arched her back, tipping her chin up as he began to consume her, devouring her vulnerable throat with his lips and tongue and teeth. He lapped at her pulse point, then sank his teeth into the taut tendons, each suckling pull sending a lightning strike of pleasure straight to her core. One hand tightened around her wrists while the other pawed at her breasts, squeezing, kneading, pinching. Her hips rose up off the floor, undulating against his and adding a sweet counterpoint to his rhythmic thrusts.
Her juices coated his flared head and soaked his shaft. A moan fell from her lips, then another, the way between them made slippery by her wetness.
He sank his teeth into her breast, sending another jolt of pleasure stabbing into her core … and then she spiraled. The climax rushed over her so swiftly, she could hardly catch her breath, the powerful spasms wracking her body with violent shudders. Her cunt clenched around air, seeking more as the flutters of the orgasm began to dissipate, leaving her bereft and longing instead of satisfied.
As if sensing the path of her thoughts, he angled his hips so the tip of his cock kissed her honeyed opening, poising himself to enter her. Her eyes flew open, her lips parting as she tried to wrap her mind around what would come next. It seemed impossible for the large, flared head to fit inside her—for the thick, long root jutting out from his body to follow. She squirmed beneath him, her shoulders burning from the position of her arms, her body balanced on the edge of anticipation and fear.
Adam loomed over her, his eyes glassy and unfocused, his breath coming in harsh pants as if he barely held himself in check. Gritting his teeth, he released a primal growl, pumping his hips with a force that left her stunned.
Her lips parted on a silent cry, a searing pain stabbing between her legs as if a flaming hot poker had been shoved into her sheath. Her back bowed, the tension in her arms and shoulders now unbearable as she fought against his hold, the invasion of his body as he forced his way into her. Her lungs burned from the breath she held, but she could not release it to draw another, could not move. She could do nothing but lie there and feel, the throbbing agony of her channel stretching to accommodate him mingling with the phantom bliss of her recent climax.
“Christ,” he groaned, pulling away slightly before plunging again. “So fucking tight.”
She bit her lip until she drew blood, tears welling in her eyes as he surged and withdrew, driving himself deeper into her. He had only given her half of his length in the first thrust, and with each surge of his hips, he opened her more, tearing into her, forging a path into her most secret of places. It seemed unending, the slow progress he made as he inched his way through her, the agonizing burn she would be hard-pressed to ever forget.
But then, she exhaled, her body easing back to the carpet as his pelvis met hers, his body coming against her as she sheathed him to the hilt.
He released her wrists, falling onto his elbows atop her as he rested inside of her. She trembled against him, her thighs forced wider by his weight bearing down upon her, her channel throbbing around the thick, intrusive organ taking up space inside her body.
His fingers tangled in her hair, and he shifted his hips, rolling against her. She cried out, the sound reverberating through the chamber and resonating like the notes he’d coaxed from the pianoforte. The stroke of his cock against her inner walls created more of the tortuous burn; yet, his pelvis grinding against her clit created a burst of pleasure. The dueling sensations warred against one another as he moved again, then again, taking up a slow, agonizing rhythm. Her body unwound even more, her back sinking into the rug, her legs falling as wide as they would go. Her body opened to him, her channel stretching for him, more of her wetness easing the way.
“Fucking hell, little dove,” he growled in her ear, increasing his pace as he wound a thick strand of her hair around his fist. “You feel … Christ, you feel so bloody good.”
She moaned, the sound strangled by a sharp gasp when he gave her hair a vicious tug, tipping her chin up and exposing her throat once more. Then, his body began hammering hers, his hips pounding her against the unrelenting floor.
Her core clenched around him, the ripples of pain intertwining with pleasure until they became one. The deep, throbbing ache radiated outward from her womb, sending tingles of ecstasy over the surface of her skin from scalp to toes. He suckled at her neck like a starving man, biting her chin, claiming her lips with a fervor that took her breath away. She struggled to breathe through her nose, opening her mouth to his thrusting tongue. Her hips undulated on their own accord, meeting his rhythm, the pounding cadence of his pelvis engaging her in a primitive duet.
Tearing his lips from hers, he stared down at her, the blazing fire in his eyes searing her to the soul. The tension in her middle wound tighter and tighter, her thighs trembling on either side of him as he urged her closer and closer to the inevitable end—one she somehow knew would be far more powerful than any she’d ever experienced.
“Please,” she panted, groaning and writhing beneath him mindlessly, rational thought fleeing as her body begged silently for what only Adam could give. “Please …”
She did not know what she begged for; yet, he seemed to. Still fisting her hair in one hand, he slid the other between them, his thumb finding her clit.
“Oh,” she whimpered as he began stroking it in rapid circles, the thrust of his hips adding weight behind his strokes. “Oh, God …”
Release slammed into her with the force of a battering ram, her sheath pulsating around Adam and drawing him in deeper. Her back arched, and her toes curled, her arms coming around him, clinging, pulling at his shirt, her nails digging in to find purchase. He groaned when she dragged them down his back, his hips jerking against hers once, twice, then a third time before he pulled his cock free. He took hold of his shaft, pumping himself with a tight fist until he spent, the hot spurts of his seed staining the silk covering her belly. With a shudder, he lowered his head, releasing his breath on a guttural sound, his hair shadowing his face.
She lay beneath him, suddenly cold despite the fire blazing in the hearth. Shivering uncontrollably, she began feeling about for her dressing gown, her shaking fingers refusing to close around the damask fabric. Her head swam dizzily, her limbs refusing to respond to the prompting of her mind. She needed to stand, to walk, to escape. To run away from the shame that overwhelmed her now that it had ended … now that he had defiled her and made her enjoy it.
He sat back on his haunches and pushed his hair out of his face, his chest heaving as his breath began to slow, his heavy-lidded gaze fixated upon her. She became acutely aware of the picture she must make as he looked her over—hair hopelessly mussed by his rough handling, face flushed, lips red from the pressure of his, gown ripped and fallen around her waist, the grey satin stained with an offensive mixture of his mettle and her virgin’s blood.
More of the same smeared her inner thighs, the red streaks a startling reminder of what he’d just taken from her.
His breeches still hung open, his flaccid cock visible through the gap. She’d torn the buttons on his shirt, and it hung off one shoulder, ripped at the seam. His hair spilled around his face and down his back in a tangled curtain.
He closed his fall with steady fingers, not bothering to right his shirt or tuck it in.
Reaching for her dressing gown, he moved it from beneath her limp hand and draped it in the crook of his arm. Then, he slid a hand beneath her shoulders, manipulating her as if she were a rag doll. She let him, lacking the strength to move on her own. She lay still in his hold and allowed him to drape the dressing gown over her shoulders and take her into his arms like a child. The world tilted and whirled around her as he strode from the room, the warm interior of the music room giving way to the coldness of the corridor.
She shuddered, and a part of her wanted to believe his hold tightened on her in response. Yet, that could not be true … surely, she imagined it.
He pushed open a door and entered a chamber—her chamber, she realized, recognizing the decor. The light streaming through the parted drapes stung her eyes, a reminder that dawn had come and gone while Adam had torn her apart in the music room.
“Close the drapes,” he said in command to someone he could not see.
