Page 51 of Cursed
And it does. Despite my protests, despite my struggles, I’m racing toward the edge of oblivion in his arms.
Landon’s breath is hot against my neck as he pins me harder against the pillar. My wrists ache from his iron grip, but the pain only intensifies the electricity racing through my body. I struggle against him, twisting and writhing, my resistance making every sensation sharper, more intense.
“Stop fighting me,” he demands, though his eyes tell a different story. They’re alive with hunger, drinking in my struggle.
“Let me go,” I gasp.
He leans in, his lips brushing against my ear. “I like it when you fight me,” he admits. “When you struggle and resist even as you take my cock so perfectly. And I know you like it too, little butterfly.”
The truth of his words burns through me. I can’t deny it—don’t want to deny it. This dance of resistance speaks to the part of me I’ve always feared but can no longer hide from, not with Landon.
I turn my face away. “I don’t,” I lie.
“Lie all you want, I know the truth,” he growls. “Your body can’t lie to me.”
I renew my struggles, pushing against his chest, trying to twist from his grip. “I said stop,” I insist.
“No,” he says simply, tightening his hold. “I’m going to take what’s mine.”
And he does, mercilessly, while I maintain my pretense of unwillingness. Each thrust feeds the twisted fantasy we’ve born together—his of conquest, mine of surrender without choice. The violence of our passion surges, becoming beauty and ruin bound together.
Landon’s grip tightens on my wrists as he thrusts deeper.
“Tell me you don’t want this,” he demands.
“I don’t want this,” I gasp.
“Your mouth says no, but your pussy’s fucking begging for it.” His rhythm slows to torturously slow strokes. “Say it again. Tell me no while you cream all over my cock.”
“Stop,” I whisper.
“You don’t get to decide anymore. Your body belongs to me now.”
I struggle against his grip. “You can’t just take what you want.”
“But I am taking it.” His fingers dig into my flesh. “And you’re giving it to me. Feel how wet you are? That’s your body surrendering.”
“I’m not?—”
“You are.” He shifts angles, hitting a spot that makes me see stars. “See? Your body knows what it needs.”
“Fuck you!” I spit, even as pleasure builds.
“That’s exactly what I’m doing to you, little butterfly.” His pace quickens. “My perfect little slut.”
The degradation sends a forbidden thrill through me. “I’m not your slut.”
“No?” His hand slides between us, fingers finding my most sensitive spot. “Then why are you about to come on my cock while begging me to stop?”
I bite my lip.
“Say it,” he growls. “Say ‘I’m your slut, sir’ while you pretend you don’t want me to fuck you.”
“I won’t?—”
He withdraws almost completely. “Then I stop.”
“No!” The word escapes before I can stop it.
