“I know, baby,” he says, almost sympathetic. Almost. Not quite. He knows how hard he works my body, but he doesn’t let up. He takes my nipple between thumb and forefinger—and squeezes. He doesn’t let up even one goddamn inch.
I squirm against the pain, but that only makes it worse. “It’s too much.”
“Is it?” he asks casually, and I know he doesn’t believe that for one second. He draws a wavy path down my body, across my stomach, and down to my pussy, where he slips two fingers inside—sudden and thick.
I’m still wet with his come and my arousal, and that eases his way. He draws out that moisture and taps his forefinger against my clit, the slickness cold. It feels like ice, my own arousal used against me, and I twist, trying to get away. I don’t end up anywhere.
He makes a tsk sound. “This doesn’t feel like too much. It feels like you’re ready for more.”
“No,” I moan, but it’s a lie. My body does want more. Whatever he does to me, I want more of it. It’s sick and depraved—and God help me, I want more of that too.
His lips turn up in a lazy smile. “I like it when you tell me no.”
My breath shudders out of me, and I don’t have to force the fear in my voice. “What are you going to do?”
You might think he’d take it easy on me. It’s just a random Thursday night, and we’ve been going for hours already. If anything, he gets more worked up as we go—as if everything that came before is just a warm-up. As if he’s constantly thinking of new dirty things to do to me.
He looks thoughtful as he examines my body, spread open for his perusal. “I think I’m going to claim you,” he says.
Claim me? I’m already his. Already owned by him, body and soul.
He dips his fingers into my wet channel once more, curling his fingers just enough to make my hips jerk. Then he uses the wetness—his come—to write across my breasts. The letter M. The letter I. Then N and E.
MINE.
My breath hitches. It’s just come, but it feels like he’s branded me. I can feel it drying on my skin, soaking in and becoming part of me. I’m his.
Then his hand trails lower, back to my stomach.
He rests his palm there, flat. “I’m going to claim you completely,” he says. “I’m going to keep fucking you until it takes, until you’re round with my seed. And I’m not going to stop fucking you then either.”
I bite my lip, because that scares me worse. It’s not the first time he’s brought that up. Starting a family. Making me pregnant. Getting turned on by the thought. I’m still on the pill now, and he’s never asked me to stop. Right now it’s just talk—an extension of the dirty talk he whispers in my ear every night. But even as just talk…
God, it terrifies me. Not because I think he’ll abandon me like my parents did or all the foster parents that came after. At least I don’t think he will. More that I’m scared of what kind of mother I’ll be. I never grew up with one.
The closest thing I had to a parent was Mrs. Owens, an older woman who was my foster mom for a few months before they pulled me out again. Once I turned eighteen, I looked her up and found her house in disrepair, her Alzheimer’s getting worse every day. I ended up spending more time taking care of her than she did of me—not that I begrudged her that—but I am the last person who knows what a good mother is like. The last person to know what a family is like.
Blue’s eyes darken. He leans forward, and the brush of a kiss on my forehead is more gentle than anything that came before—or anything that will happen next. “I’m claiming you because you’re the strongest, most courageous, most beautiful woman I’ve ever met in my entire fucking life.”
Now I’m fighting the bonds on my wrist in earnest. It’s one thing for him to use me, for him to degrade me and fuck me raw. It’s another entirely for him to compliment me. I’m not made for that. I’m not used to it. It makes me itch from the inside out, like I don’t fit in my own skin.
“Shh,” he soothes, petting me, stroking me.
I don’t calm down, can’t calm down, until he pinches my nipples. The bite of pain brings me back to this bed. Sometimes it’s the only thing that can bring me back. I see a flash of disappointment across his face, so quick it might never have been there.
He understands how hard this is for me. He could whip me bloody and it wouldn’t be as hard as this—as letting myself hope for the future.
The only time I’ve ever had anything, the brief moment in time when Blue was my foster brother and he cared about me, almost loved me, I’d lost him. I think he isn’t going to leave me. I know damn well I’d never leave him. But it’s hard not to think, to fear, in my darkest moments, that I’ll lose him again.
He pinches my other nipple, harder this time, and a cry escapes me.
“That’s right,” he says, his voice stern. “You focus on me. Understand?”
It’s that low timbre that has me nodding yes. I’d do anything he orders me to in that voice, give anything to please him when he’s like this, greedy and harsh.
He rises up to kneel and kicks one knee across me, straddling my chest. “Now you’re going to suck me until I’m ready to fuck you again, got it? We’re going to keep doing this until your pussy is full, aren’t we? And then I’m going to set you up with a pillow under your ass and let all that seed work its way up.”
God. His words shouldn’t turn me on so much, but my hips are already rising up, begging to be filled.
He just gives me a low chuckle and presses his cock against my lips. “Suck.”
I open my mouth as he pushes inside. My hands are still tied to the headboard, my head supported by a pillow. I can barely move at all—instead I just lie there while he fucks my mouth. I don’t have a choice, and that makes it hotter.
He can fuck me shallow or deep, fast or slow. He can shove all the way inside and cut off my air. He’ll do all of those in turn, first letting me run my tongue around the head of his cock, tasting the flavor of his come and my arousal coating him.
Then he pushes in deep, rubbing the crest against the back of my throat until I gag. The way his hands tighten in my hair, I know it turns him on to hear me make the sound. Especially when he pulls out and pushes back in, relishing the way I struggle for him.
“Yeah,” he says, voice drunk, eyes dark slits as he stares down at me. “Work for it, beautiful. Make me good and hard.”
He’s already hard, but I can’t tell him that—not with my mouth full of his thick cock. I can’t do anything but suck in ragged breaths when he lets me, stroke him with my tongue when I can.
His fist tightens to the point of pain, and tears spring to my eyes, blurring my vision. I don’t need to see him to know what comes next. He’s holding me steady so he can fuck my mouth, fast and hard. He keeps up a steady rhythm. I manage to breathe through my nose, and for a few minutes it feels like I can handle him.
Then he speeds up and goes deeper.
I gag around him, but there’s no time to recover, no time to react. I can only struggle and fight against my ties, against him—I can only fight against the world while he invades me, relentless and cruel.
The doorbell rings.
He freezes. Carefully, he pulls back enough so that I can breathe and swallow. But his cock is still filling my mouth. I can’t talk as I look up at him.
“Who the fuck?” he mutters.
His head is cocked like he’s listening. Probably hoping they’ll go away, whoever they are.
I’m hoping the same thing, because my pussy is clamped down tight around nothing. I want his cock filling me up, rubbing against my walls. I want the hot splash of his come to soothe me.
Testing him, I run my tongue over the head of his cock.
“Fuck,” he mutters.
The doorbell rings again, and Blue swears. “If it’s Mr. Robicheaux, I’m going to barricade the damn door.”
I have to laugh at that. Mr. Robicheaux is the older gentleman who shares the floor of this swanky condo building with us. Blue reluctantly a
greed to dog sit Mr. Robicheaux’s Pomeranian one weekend when he visited his children. Ever since then his neighbor has a tendency to drop by at odd hours and share some tidbit about the dog’s sleeping habits or the TV Guide. You’d think a guy as gruff as Blue wouldn’t give him the time of day, but he’s actually been patient.
It completely charms me.
Blue pulls on jeans and a T-shirt, still grumbling. Before he leaves, he tugs at the ties on my wrists, and the cloth falls to the bed. He points at me, already heading to the door. “Do not fucking move.”
I’m grinning when he leaves. He could have left me tied up. It probably would have turned him on to know I couldn’t move. Hell, it would have turned me on. But it isn’t really safe to leave me tied up without supervision, so he didn’t do it.
Damn, it feels good to have someone care.
It feels good to have Blue care. And that is flat-out terrifying. I need him, more than he knows. And a lot more than is safe.
I hear voices coming from the living room, and they pique my curiosity. It can’t be Mr. Robicheaux unless he’s dropped an octave. And Blue sounds almost like he’s… laughing? No matter how patient he is with his elderly neighbor, he doesn’t actually shoot the shit.
I hesitate in bed a half a second. Do not fucking move.
Curiosity has me disobeying his order and throwing on some of Blue’s clothes that were lying on the bed—a white undershirt and some boxers that fit him snug but are large shorts on me.
As I open the door, I can hear the voices more clearly.
“What the fuck, man? You said you were coming tomorrow.” That’s Blue.
Another voice answers. “What can I say? I had the chance to take an earlier flight, and I couldn’t wait to see your ugly mug. The doorman sent me up. Said you were expecting me.”
There’s more laughing and good-natured ribbing. It all comes to a screeching halt when the guy spots me in the hallway. Heat rushes to my cheeks. Caught.
Blue turns and sees me. Amusement flashes through his face, along with a promise—oh, he’d punish me later. For now he smiles and reaches for me. “Come here, beautiful. This is West.”
Want to read more? One-click EVEN BETTER now!
About the Author
Skye Warren is the New York Times bestselling author of dangerous romance such as the Endgame trilogy. Her books have been featured in Jezebel, Buzzfeed, USA Today Happily Ever After, Glamour, and Elle Magazine. She makes her home in Texas with her loving family, sweet dogs, and evil cat.
Sign up for Skye’s newsletter:
www.skyewarren.com/newsletter
Like Skye Warren on Facebook:
facebook.com/skyewarren
Join Skye Warren’s Dark Room reader group:
skyewarren.com/darkroom
Follow Skye Warren on Instagram:
instagram.com/skyewarrenbooks
Visit Skye’s website for her current booklist:
www.skyewarren.com
Did you know the audio version of this bundle has a bonus book? Along with the three amazing books included here, you’ll also get Rivalry: Slay One by Laurelin Paige.
Better yet, the bundle is available in Audible Escape and includes these incredible narrators:
Veronica Fox
Maxine Mitchell
Joe Arden
Zachary Webber
and Elena Wolfe
Dark Romance Collection: A Sexy, Dark Bundle Page 58