Page 27 of Bed of Thorns

Her mouth twisted as it had done before, her back lifting and falling from her heavy breathing. She watched as I slipped two fingers inside my mouth, sucking on them for several seconds before lowering them to her bottom, sliding the tips down the crack of her ass. When she sucked in her breath, I glanced into her eyes. She was full of trepidation as well as excitement, trying to control her breathing much like I was doing.

When I positioned the tip of my cock against her dark hole, she stiffened, suddenly struggling to get away from me. I gripped her hip with one hand, pushing my other against the small of her back.

“I’m not trying to hurt you. I will never give you more pain than you can handle.”

My words seemed to confuse her, the expression on her face one I would never forget.

As if her surrender to me held more meaning than just fucking her in the ass.

I wasn’t a gentle man, at least not any longer, but with her, I wanted every experience we shared to be earth-shattering. When I pushed an inch inside, she bristled, pushing up from the table.

“I don’t think I can do this.”

Her plea was only halfhearted, her body longing for the experience, pushing back against me. I kept my hold firm as I drove more of my cock inside, struggling to control my sadistic needs. Beads of sweat formed along the back of my neck, the scent ripe, musky. I took several deep breaths, the darkness inside of me threatening to devour us both. I was close to a different edge, barely capable of remembering if I even had a conscience.

What did that matter?

Fuck.

I couldn’t get enough, finally driving the rest of my cock inside, shocked at the intensity of the still building heat between us.

She threw her head back, her soft wails doing little more than enticing the oppressive evil lurking inside. I pulled out, plunging even harder, pushing her stomach against the edge of the table. Within seconds, I was driven to the madness I’d avoided for years, my actions unforgiving. No longer was I capable of making rational decisions, the experience leaving me delirious. I continued ravaging her, driving deep inside in relentless, brutal strokes. I couldn’t get enough of her. I was lightheaded, my heart thudding with irregular beats and nothing was enough.

She was my everything, yet she needed to be punished for failing me, turning against me.

I was fraught with emotion, clinging to the last bit of humanity inside. I could only pray to God that she wouldn’t learn to hate me. There was no holding back, no possibility of providing anything else. I was spent, both of us exhausted from the blissful yet dangerous passion. As my balls swelled, I began to shake violently, gritting my teeth as I tried to hold back for just a little while longer.

Too late.

As I erupted deep inside, my vision was stripped away, leaving only blackness. I was already being dragged into hell. It was only a matter of time. But I wouldn’t be the only one succumbing to the flames. There would be others.

And I would regale in joy on that day.

The day of reckoning.

* * *

Mercedes

Edmond made me tremble all over.

Not just because of his prowess or demanding ways or the haunted look of his eyes, but from his entire demeanor. He was a shell of a man, someone who’d just awakened from a coma, unprepared for the onslaught of emotions and the burning need to experience all he’d been missing.

While eight years wasn’t necessarily a long time in the span of a life, for him it had been the years where he would have decided how to spend the rest of his life, working long hours in order to achieve success.

That’s also when he might have found his true love. I felt like a lifeline, the other tether to the past that he deemed acceptable. Did I feel every moment of his anguish both past and present? Yes. My heart ached so much so that the agony tore through every cell and muscle. Still, I could have stared into his incredible eyes for hours on end.

As he eased me to my feet, the iridescent glow he’d had all morning disappeared, darkness and the need for retribution taking its place.

“You need to be punished for betraying me,” he stated in a matter-of-fact way, as if I’d known that for years, expecting some form of retaliation and even accepting it.

The terrifying, funny, bizarre aspect was that I accepted his decision without question. Was it because of the guilt that had never left the back of my mind? Or the hope that in doling out a simple yet effective method of exacting his revenge, that it would appease the demon living inside of him?

Maybe my mind was too befuddled to determine an answer that could make sense. There was no one else I knew who would readily agree to accepting discipline for something they felt they’d had no control over.

I was allowed to live my life. Right?

The answer was as murky as the time we’d shared.

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