Page 46 of Brutal Knight

Connor pants as I start to move a little faster, more confident, sure that I can handle him. I can taste the salt of his skin, smell the same wood and musk of his cologne that I’m so entranced by. He smells like a man, like something primal and rough, and it makes my heart thunder in my chest.

There’s nothing violent about his strength—not toward me, anyway, not the way it was with Dmitri. I don’t doubt Connor could protect me, but I don’t think he’d ever turn against me.

And that makes me want him even more.

His hand tightens in my hair. He’s starting to lose control, thrusting a little, like he can’t help himself. But the muscles of his arms are tense, his entire body taut, and I know he’s holding back.

“Let me see,” he says, his voice a low murmur. “Show me your face.”

I look up at him, sliding slowly off his cock as I take a few deep breaths. I watch him as I take him in my mouth again, easing each inch past my lips. From the way his jaw clenches and his eyelids fall halfway shut, I can tell how much he wants this. A low groan vibrates in his throat, and I swear I can feel it all the way down to my clit.

“Fuck, Willow.” His fingers knot in my hair, tugging just a little. “Take it. I want to see you take me. Faster.”

His words send a rush of heat through me, arousal building in me. He’s turning me on more than I thought he could. His words, the way he looks at me, make me feel powerful and a little dirty—but in a pleasurable way.

I feel like I have control over this moment, like Connor is just waiting for me to give him what he wants. I can’t believe how good that makes me feel.

I take him faster, relaxing as I let his cock hit the back of my throat. I can hear the sound I make as I practically swallow him, my lips popping around him. Connor growls when he fills me, curses hissing past his clenched teeth. I know he’s stopping himself from just slamming into me at full force.

I love how much I’m making him want to lose control. I suck him harder, digging my fingers into his hips as I take him in my mouth. The weight of his cock resting on my tongue is perfect. I love the way he tastes, rich and foreign.

I keep going, sucking and running my tongue along his length until he comes hard, gasping as his hands tighten in my hair. He groans as I swallow every last drop, pulling off his cock and sucking him clean as I go. I lick every inch clean, hungry in a way I can’t explain.

This is different. I’ve never felt this kind of desire before.

I know what I must look like. I know how dirty this is, how messy I’ve been. I know I’m panting and red, know my lips are probably dark. I don’t care about what happened to my hair or makeup. My body is buzzing, and I feel almost high.

Connor reaches for me. He pulls me up again, and I sway a little, out of breath. He kisses me hard, his tongue in my mouth, and I grab his shoulders just to hold myself up.

God, I can’t imagine anything better than this.

But then Connor reaches for my clothes. I feel his hands slip around to the back of my dress, fingers dipping just under the bodice. I know he wants to undress me.

And just like that, I shut down.

I pull away, taking a few steps backward until my back hits the wall by the door. I’m still panting a little, still overcome with what just happened.

There’s a faint look of confusion on Connor’s face, and he shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it. His cheeks are a little flushed, his eyes a bit glazed. It’s clear he enjoyed what I just did for him, and that he wants even more from me.

But I can’t give it to him. Not now.

I don’t waste another moment. I take the stairs as fast as I can in my wedding dress, my heart hammering. I’m just glad the skirt isn’t so long or big that I can’t make my getaway. I wonder if he thought about that too.

The second I get into my room, I shut the door behind me and slide against the door. I hit the floor with a muffled thud, my dress cushioning my fall.

What I just did broke some of my barriers, some of the carefully constructed walls I used to keep myself safe from the outside world. It took years for me to build them up, build a tolerance against all things that could hurt me.

Now that I’ve broken them, I feel raw and exposed. I feel like a second skin was pulled back, like I’ve left my beating heart open to the air. It’s terrifying.

More than that, I feel too emotional. I’m used to shutting emotions down, used to the process of killing them the second they surface. I never allowed them to come to fruition. It was always too dangerous. Emotion clouded judgment, and emotion made it easy to be controlled.

Easy to be hurt.

I hate the word and the thought, but nothing describes it better: I feel broken. I feel like a vase someone dropped, cracked and cobbled together with glue that isn’t strong enough. I’m not quite whole anymore. There are pieces missing.

The pleasure of the moment is gone. All I can think about is the reality—what happened at the wedding.

My father is a ruthless man. He was ruthless to me, his own flesh and blood, and he never held reservations about what he would do to me. There’s nothing in the world my father hates more than losing.

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