Page 75 of Conjure
CAMRYN
It can’t be?Can it?But the longer I stare at the old photograph, the more convinced I get. Yes, it’s the same guy I saw back at the house with a dead hen in his hand when I was rooting through photographs in the attic.
He looks exactly like my mystery guy?—
My thoughts scatter when Dominic’s lips descend on the curve of my neck. He bites and nibbles, pulling me against his growing erection.
“Look at this picture,” I coax in a breathy voice.
Dominic trails his lips back up my neck before giving it a cursory glance as he palms my tits. “What about it?”
“It looks like the guy from the woods.”
Humming near my ear, he pulls down my tank top to free my breasts, his rough fingers palming their weight as he sinks his teeth into my neck.
“Maybe Wilfred has a nephew that looks like the man in this picture.”
“You talk too much.” He takes the picture from my hands and places it back on the shelves. Then he spins me around and crushes his lips to mine. “I need to be inside you.”
“Now?” I ask between kisses as he tweaks my tender nipples and shoves my shorts down my thighs. “Wilfred could return any minute.”
“Scared?” he taunts, echoing my question from earlier.
“Excited,” I counter, drawing a filthy smile from his lips.
“That’s my girl.”
Those three words make my heart swell, but he doesn’t seem to notice that I’m not returning his kiss. He spins me around and presses up against my back, trailing his hand down my stomach until he’s there, his expert fingers trailing through my soaked slit.
He hums low in his throat. “Always ready for me.”
I whimper when he sinks two digits inside my sore core.
“Always so fucking wet and needy.”
“Dom…”
“I can feel your pussy squeezing me. You’re greedy, aren’t you?”
His intoxicating scent. Those filthy words. I almost cry from the loss of him when he steps away and grabs my arm, but I don’t have time to react before we’re on the move. I stumble along, his pinching grip forcing me forward. After stripping me of my shorts and panties, he bends me over the edge of the couch with his hand on my neck, the musty scent of the moth-eaten fabric assaulting my nostrils.
“Do you like the thought of being discovered?” he asks as he frees his dick and runs the crown through my sore slit. “Hmm?”
My breathy admittance makes him chuckle, and I hold my breath as he circles my tender entrance. I’m a whore for him and his painful touch. A whore for the hard smack against my ass that rocks me forward.
Pain spreads across my cheek, and he grabs my hips before impaling me on his cock. I scream at the sudden intrusion, the sound muffled by the cushion. When he fists my hair, my sobssoon morph into choked moans and whimpers as he takes me hard and fast on Wilfred’s couch. Fucking me like he hates me. I love every second of his rough treatment.
My nipples chafe against the musty cushion while I stare at the doorway, clutching anything I can for balance. Not that it matters when he has such a ruthless hold on my hair.
My tits bounce, my breaths grow choppy, and my pussy soaks his dick. I’m a begging, pleading, sobbing mess.
“Such a good slut,” he praises from behind me. “You take my dick so fucking well, don’t you?”
I’m close to coming already.
My pussy clamps down on his length, but before I can freefall, he pulls out and flops beside me on the couch.
His slick cock rests against his T-shirt, and I swallow at the sight of the angry purple veins and weeping head.
