Page 77 of Red Flagged
“No,” I snapped. “I’m fuckingaddictedto it. To you.” A pause. My lips met the back of her neck. “To owning you.”
She whimpered. A real one that was deep and guttural.
“And if you’re not ready to be handled like something precious and feral at once,” I said, “then tell me now.”
She didn’t.
“Then be a good boy and claim me.”
“With every goddamn piece of me,” I rasped, gripping her tighter, “even the ones you think you don’t want.”
The rain hit the roof in uneven sheets, loud enough to drown the world, but not loud enough to drownus.
We were louder.
“Do you think this fixes it?” she barked, voice raw.
“I don’t give a fuck if it fixes it,” I growled, shoving the hem of her soaked black dress up over her ass, exposing the curve of her thighs. “We’re not done.”
“We’re never done,” she snapped back, hips pushing back toward me.
“Then stop running.”
“Then stoptalking,” she hissed. “You already said enough.”
I thumbed the tattoo at the small of her back. My mark, my obsession. “This still mine?”
She didn’t answer, so I spanked her again.
Her voice cracked. “Fuckingyes.”
“Louder.”
“YES,Sir.”
I growled and yanked her thong to the side like it offended me she’d worn anything at all. The headlights caught the glint of arousal between her thighs, the tender flutter of her rim, the wet, desperate glistening of her cunt.
Mine.
My cock pulsed, painfully hard, blood rushing so loud I could barely hear the rain. I was dizzy with it.Blindedby it. Drunk on the heat of her skin and the scent of her arousal and the way her body bowed like prey daring the predator to pounce.
She braced herself. I palmed her ass, wide and perfect under my grip, my thumb pressing into the bruised dip just beneath her cheek. She was shaking, but not from fear. No—this was a needy sort of madness.
And I fucking hovered there—still outside her, every muscle in my body screaming to take. To consume.
“I’m gonna split you open,” I warned, “and you’re gonna thank me for it.” She whimpered, high-pitched and wrecked, thighs trembling against mine. I unzipped my dress pants with one hand, the sound lost to the storm, and freed my cock—heavy, flushed, leaking, aching for her. The cool air met the heat of me, and I grunted through my teeth. “You gonna keep running that bratty fucking mouth?”
I lined myself up, thick and straining, head already dripping with her arousal as I dragged the tip through her folds. Slow and punishing in preparation.
Her laugh was deranged. “Only if you don’t fuck me like you mean it.”
I snapped, my vision tunneling. All I saw washer. All I heard was the sound of her heavy breathing and the blood in my ears and her voice echoing in every lifetime I’d ever lived without her. I drove into her with a savage thrust. No warning, no mercy, all devotion and instinct.
She screamed.
Her palms slammed the hood, nails screeching against the metal like she was trying to claw herself back from oblivion.
“Fuck, Cal—harder?—”
