Page 196 of Endgame
Except he does. Everett once again proves to me that he wants me in every possible way.
He grabs the neckline of my nightgown and yanks. One pull, and he rips it down the middle. The fabric bends beneath his will. The threads are tearing beneath this all-powerful god.
Down to my navel, that’s how low Everett goes before he stops.
“You’re mine.” His touch is fire on my skin as he pushes the straps down my shoulders. “Not because you’re my enemy’s daughter. Not because you might be my sister’s girl.”
The nightgown falls in a heap at my feet. I’m stunned into silence by the position I’m in. Bare except for my blood-soaked panties. With the toilet paper stuffed inside them.
With my husband standing in front of me.
A light smear of blood coats his inked forearm. I’m getting turned on by seeing my blood on his arm, and just—no. His eyes eat up every inch of my body. Everett sucks in a breath as he takes in my face, my breasts, my clenched thighs.
I’m more vulnerable than I’ve ever been.
“Please.” I clasp my hands at the front of my panties. I’m ashamed of my blood. Of my arousal. “Let me wash up real quick, and then we can”—no, we can’t fuck while I’m bleeding—“talk. I’m yours, I promise. We aren’t blood”—oh God, that word—“related, so it’s okay. Just let me go.”
“Wash up?” He bats my hands away, grabbing my hips.
His firm hold on me and his sheer strength allow him to push me back against the nearest wall.
“Yes.” My neck is on fire. “I have to wash myself.”
“You’re not washing up.” He’s as violent and possessive as ever, thrusting his hips into my trapped body.
“Stop, please.”
My blood rubs into his clean jeans, and I’m just going to die.
I also wish so fucking hard that he’d take my panties off. That he’d fuck me.
This ache in my pussy, the pain of needing Everett. I’m losing my mind. This man is stealing my sanity.
“Stop?” He shoves a hand into my panties
I can’t help it. I scream, “No!”
He ignores me. Everett pulls the toilet paper from my panties and lets it fall to the ground.
“Everett, please.”
Nothing. No reply. I’m hot everywhere when he presses a knee to my thigh, pinning me in place as he shoves two fingers into my sex. Fucking me with them.
“This?” When he pulls his fingers out of me, he raises them between us. “That’s what’s bothering you? A little blood? It’s nothing.”
Without waiting for my reply, he sucks on them. He sucks my blood.
“You can’t be serious.” But he is. I’m turned on watching his red-tainted lips, the feral look in his gray eyes. He’s feral, possessive.
An animal.
Horror and arousal slam into me, choking me. I can’t do anything but watch him. Moan for him.
His lips purse as he keeps sucking, and the depravity of it turns my need into a wildfire.
We’re both captivated by the other. Me, seeking friction from his knee, and him, groaning as he licks me.
We’re both so fucked.
