From Evil: Books 4-6

by Pam Godwin

  He fucking loved her body, especially her tits and the perfect way they fit his hands when he palmed them. He curled a thumb over a nipple, tormenting the taut bud as she rocked her head on the pillow and gulped for air.

  But she still wasn’t with him. Amid her husky moans snapped the cutting words of no and stop and hate you, reminding him she didn’t want this.

  He needed her to want this. In fact, his need for her to want this became the most important thing in the world.

  “Kate.” Her name scraped from somewhere deep and echoed outside of him like a prayer in an empty church. “Let go.”

  Her glistening gaze crept down the length of her body and landed on his. When their eyes met, it was a connection so welcome it trembled through his chest.

  Shifting his mouth to her clit, he flicked his tongue. Drew the nub between his lips. Sucked gently. And never looked away.

  That was when he sensed it. The shattered sigh she couldn’t hold in. The softening in her bones and muscles. The tiny twitches along her inner thighs. The reluctant longing in her expression.

  Her crumbling resistance.

  He finally had her.

  CHAPTER 14

  Under duress, a woman would do whatever she could to cope with the pain and justify its cause. Kate could endure physical abuse and all its malicious faces, and she had, many times over. But this? She had no defenses against Tiago’s gentle manipulations.

  The blade of his tongue ravished her relentlessly, weakening her willpower. The suction of his mouth was cruel in its devotion and so damn pleasurable her eyes blotted with wet stars.

  She would die if she didn’t come soon.

  She would hate herself if she did.

  But she might not have a choice. Not with her clit caught between those wicked lips as he suckled and tortured and plotted her ruination.

  “Stop.” Her chin quivered, and she twisted her arms in the rope, too bone-tired to put up a real fight. “Enough.”

  The wound beside his eye twitched with the flex of his jaw. It was a reminder that even he had weak moments, that he could be hurt, that he could bleed, just like other people.

  All thought vanished as his tongue knifed between her legs, slicing from her pussy to her ass and spearing both holes. His mouth was hot enough to melt iron and tenacious enough to liquefy every ring of muscle he kissed, loosening every opening he violated, and consuming her with one. Simple. Lick.

  Don’t come.

  Don’t come.

  Everything below her waist felt like warm butter—soft, wet, melted, and gooey. He’d reduced her to a throbbing puddle of lust, and at this point, he could fuck her without resistance. There would be no reflexive tensing, no self-preservation. Her body was enervated, wide open, soaked to the needy core, and humiliatingly primed for him.

  Frenzied sparks of electricity swept through her nerve endings, replacing her torment with a passion that answered his.

  Good God, he had never-ending passion. Every time he touched her, fevered energy rolled off him and caught her up in the surge. With her arms bound above her, she could only lay there and absorb the frantic caresses of his lips, the trembling reverence in his hands, and the intensity in his dark wolfish eyes.

  His hunger blanketed the room, smothered her senses, and turned her body against her. His tongue laved. His fingers adored, and his breathing ran away from him. He was climbing, building to a crescendo, and taking her with him.

  Her inner muscles found a rhythm, pulsing, squeezing, knotting, needing. Soon, every part of her locked onto that steady throb, matching it, heightening it, until all she felt was one banging heartbeat against his mouth. It propelled her toward the precipice, gathering, contracting, and launching her in the wrong direction.

  No, no, no, no, no!

  Tears hit her eyes, clogging her voice. “I won’t give this to you.”

  “Then don’t.” He reached beneath his hips and shoved off his briefs, the last of his clothing gone. “Take it, Kate. Take it from me.”

  He set his vicious mouth over her clit, clamped back on, and sucked, hellbent on forcing her surrender.

  Her body engaged, glued to those lips, everything inside her heating and tightening without her permission.

  Seized by resentment, she glared into the face of the beautiful monster as it bored down upon her, tunneling in with fingers, teeth, and tongue. She scrambled away from the edge. Tripped. Lost her grip. Spiraled.

  And fell into his dark hell.

  He groaned as she plunged, and goddammit, she groaned back, shaking, writhing, unable to stop the orgasm. Then she screamed, and the world exploded as her consent ripped away, and a ballistic eruption of heartbeats blew apart the darkness in shimmery bands of color.

  She came until his breath broke. Until his hot mouth left her pussy to the cool air. Until his bare chest appeared over her, his hands tangled in her hair, and the penetration of hard, heavy fullness raided her body.

  She was still coming as he thrust, slamming his hips against hers. It happened so quickly. A single swift stroke, and that was that.

  He took her virginity.

  Buried to the root, he didn’t move, didn’t shift those arresting brown eyes from hers. His fist hung tightly in her hair, as if forgotten amid the joining of bodies. His mouth parted, but there was no breath, as if he were paralyzed by shock.

  It didn’t hurt. She wished it did, so she could focus on the pain. The anger. But all she felt was confusion and sadness. And pressure. The pressure of all of him inside all of her.

  His girth swelled against her inner walls, stretching her to the point of discomfort. There was so much of him she didn’t think she could hold him in any longer. But instead of feeling the need to push him out, she willed him to move, to slide and rub inside her like her dependable dildo.

  Her reaction was so fucked up and shameful she could never speak it aloud. But there was one thing she needed to say.

  “Put on a condom.” She squirmed beneath him. “Please, don’t get me pregnant. You don’t want that.”

  She didn’t want that. It would be the worst possible outcome, outside of death.

  “I can’t have children.” Pain slipped into the creases of his eyes and vanished just as quickly. “I’m sterile.”

  “Oh.” Startled, she glanced away, blinking, stalling, and looked back. “What about—?”

  “I’m clean.”

  Of course, she was, too. Clean as a virgin.

  But her virginity was gone. The one thing she had left was no more. She couldn’t stop herself from mourning the loss of it, couldn’t stop the ache in her eyes or the silent stream of tears that ran into her hair.

  He watched her, his gaze inches away, chillingly still, barely breathing. Was that look on his face one of contrived regret? Or was it genuine sympathy as the reality of abduction, abuse, captivity, and manipulation rode on the waves of pleasure?

  How messed up was she that she craved that pleasure? Not the kind she gave herself at home alone. But a pleasure so filthy and twisted it could only be derived from a rapist’s tongue, lips, fingers, and cock as he invaded her body, weighing her down with his sickness, ruining her in the best and worst way possible.

  Staring down at her, he just held himself there, his thick cock firmly seated inside her, with a strange expression on his face. He didn’t speak, but his eyes didn’t shut up, the depths crowded by a storm of churning thoughts. She couldn’t read him, not for the longest time. Then he blinked.

  “This means something.” His breath carried the bladed words, slashing them against her lips.

  “No. You’re wrong.” She didn’t want to hear this and shook her head, knocking more tears loose.

  “It means something to me.” He gripped her chin and wrenched her face back to his. “You have no idea.”

  Then he moved. Tiny, shallow, shaky thrusts. Mouth parted, cords straining in his neck, his eye contact was deafening, broadcasting something she didn’t understand.

 
Soft, secret grunts reverberated from a hidden place inside him. The sounds shivered into strangled noises, reminiscent of fragile things breaking apart. Noises she never imagined coming from such a hardened, vicious criminal.

  With a hand in her hair and one framing her face, he fucked her slowly, delicately, as if committing every sensation to memory. He fucked her as if this were his first time, too.

  What a ridiculous notion. He hadn’t gone down on her like a novice, and he certainly didn’t fuck like one, either. But there was an innocent attentiveness in every thrust. A thoughtful slide of motion that implied this was more than sex to him, that it was grave and significant.

  She knew she was just reading into his deceptive words and strangling herself with misguided trust. No doubt he fucked Iliana with the same dedication.

  “I hate you.” She yanked on the rope, desperate to break free.

  “Ah. We’re back to that.” A smile twisted the aroused male’s gorgeous features.

  His skin was on fire, burning against her. His weight, solid and hard as cement, tacked her to the bed from chest to feet. She registered every point of contact, every quiver that ran through his muscles, every hitch in his breath. All of it affected her deeply, the intimacy shredding and destroying her. She wanted this to be different so badly it broke her fucking heart.

  “You’re raping me.” Another shameful tear slipped out.

  The hand on her face glided through the wet track, wiping it away, stroking with too much tenderness. “If you need to hate me, then hate me. Use me. Take pleasure from my body.”

  “You’re confusing me.”

  “I’m a bad man, Kate. Never confuse that.”

  She should’ve nodded her head emphatically. But she could only stare at the stunning paradox of beauty and atrocity that embodied Tiago Badell.

  Was he really as terrible as he claimed? Did true evil admit to being evil?

  What was she thinking? He was the absolute worst. He’d poisoned Lucia, mutilated Tate’s back, kicked Kate in the stomach, locked her in a room for a month, tied her to the dinner table. Raped her.

  But he raped her gently.

  Gently?

  Could that word even be used in this situation?

  She was losing her goddamn mind.

  “Hate is a feeling.” The warm wetness of his mouth brushed against hers. “As long as you feel something, you’re with me. I need you with me.”

  “Fuck what you need.” She gnashed her teeth, aiming to bite off his tongue. “Go talk about your needs with someone who cares.”

  His cock jerked inside her, triggering an unwelcome clench in her pussy. He lowered his head, and her pulse jumped through her veins. She tasted his minty breath before his mouth closed over hers.

  She tried to fight, lips pinched and neck arching away. But the hands in her hair held her to the pillow, trapping her face exactly where he wanted her.

  Then he plundered. Just like when he put his mouth between her legs, this assault wielded the same skill, potency, and seduction. Demanding full lips coaxed and pried until they caught her bottom lip between them, tugged roughly, sucked deeply.

  His teeth joined in, nipping in warning, biting when she tried to pull back. The longer she refused to kiss him, the harder his hips plowed against hers. He wouldn’t allow her to escape his gaze, his kiss, or the toxicity of his presence.

  “Give me your mouth.” His voice dropped low, his heavy cock sliding in and out, faster, deeper, scrambling her mind.

  She searched for a breath, unable to catch it through her nose. When her lungs burned, she had no choice. She gulped, gasping, and he dove in.

  Sweeping past her lips, his tongue hunted hers, lashing, curling, claiming in a vigorous ambush of breathy kisses. He moaned into her mouth, and rumbling vibrations spiked through her, annihilating her pleasure zones.

  Her body yielded. Melted. Sighed.

  Because the man knew how to kiss. Sweet hell, he knew exactly how to own her.

  Every nibble and lick carried just the right tickle, taunt, and floaty, languorous pull. The stubble on his jaw inflicted just the right burn. The firmness of his lips created just the right cushion to caress and bruise. And his taste… Oh God, his mouth burst with flavors that were uniquely him. A fusion of sharp mint, warm caramel, and dark, bold decadence. He tasted like sin.

  He didn’t just kiss her. He devoured her with his entire body. His hands were everywhere, kneading her ass, coasting up and down her thighs, palming her chest, her neck, her face, and tangling in her hair. All the while, his hips never stopped moving, a constant piston of endless energy and forbidden pleasure.

  Frenzied ripples of sensation swallowed her resistance as he stroked his length along her walls, digging in, reaching deep, jerking, and stirring. Tongues locked, hands trailing, cock stabbing, he meant to own her. And in that moment, he did.

  It was the kiss. His fucking kiss had the power to crash walls, fuck minds, and bleed souls. It threaded between vulnerable and arrogant, selfless and greedy, polished and primal, silken and brutal, and she sucked it from him helplessly, needfully, knowing it was wrong, which only made her want it more.

  He didn’t dominate with just one technique. He mastered them all, licking the corner of her mouth, sinking his teeth into her lips, sipping at the seam, sweeping deep into the recesses, quick pecks, long deep perusals, and everything in between.

  He kissed her, and kissed her, and kissed her until she couldn’t feel her tongue, couldn’t unlock her jaw, and couldn’t taste anything but him.

  When he finally came up for air, she floated in a fog that smelled only of him—his breath, the swollen flesh of his lips, the skin on his masculine face. Even his whiskers had a warm, rough, comforting scent.

  Comforting? No, it was…

  Familiar.

  She’d been naked with him for hours, with him in ways she’d never been with anyone else. He was the most familiar thing she’d ever known. The kind of familiarity that cultivated a sense of safety and attachment.

  A vein of fear ran through her, sharp enough to shake her from his spell. “This isn’t real.”

  “It feels good and ugly, painful and fucking extraordinary. That’s life, Kate. That’s real.” Lines formed between his dark eyes as he searched her face. “It doesn’t get more real than this. I know you feel it.”

  “It’s Stockholm syndrome.”

  “Don’t give a shit what you call it.” His accent thickened, sliding across her skin. “Doesn’t change what it is.”

  The frantic wallop of her heart rang in her ears. “What do you call it, then?”

  “Ours.” He drifted closer and stabbed his hands in her hair, holding her lips to his. “You and me. Wide awake. Alive. This is all we have left, and it’s the only real we’ll ever need.”

  He captured her mouth in a brutal attack, sucking her in, commanding her heart rate, possessing, always taking. His tongue controlled hers, hot and strong, feral and unstoppable. His terrifying power curled around her, summoning her darkest shame. Promising to fulfill every depraved fantasy. Vowing to hurt and cherish her in equal measures.

  Diabolical hands found the flesh of her ass and squeezed aggressively, achingly. Palms inched over her hips, fingers splaying as they skimmed up her ribs to her chest and continued along her arms.

  The kiss didn’t slow as he reached the rope around her wrists, tugging at it.

  He was untying her?

  The restraints loosened and fell away, and her breath caught.

  She stared into his eyes, her hands lowering, free to grip the first thing she encountered—the hard bulges of his shoulders. She meant to push him away, but he was too big, too heavy, too overwhelming.

  She held on, sinking fingernails into puckered scars.

  Yanking one of her legs around his hip, he pressed his weight into her body and effectively trapped her against the mattress.

  His eyes narrowed, and ruthlessness strewed across his handsome face. “I’m going to f
uck you now.”

  “What? You already—”

  “Don’t let go.”

  Then he went off the rails.

  CHAPTER 15

  The moment Tiago relinquished his self-control, Kate realized just how much he’d been holding back.

  She lost track of time as he fucked, kissed, and tumbled her over every inch of the bed. It was nothing like before. This was a rebellion of chaos and mastery, thunder and liquid smoke.

  His thrusts trailed fire. Fingers bruised flesh. Teeth caught lips, and his sounds lost all traces of strangled vulnerability. He growled and grunted from some deep chasm in hell, roaring like a majestic beast in battle, pounding his cock inside her, fighting to get closer, raging, rabid, and petrifying.

  Shredded muscles rippled and pumped beneath her hands. Sweat squelched in the creases of their bodies. Her arousal leaked to her legs and spread between their grinding hips. His, hers, they were drenched in wetness, sliding together and burning up.

  His broad torso blocked her view of the room, the lamp light, the entire world as he bowed over her, pommeling into her body with the stamina of a fully-charged machine. Ramming. Heaving. Groaning. Kissing.

  His kiss owned her soft parts, her compassion and humanity. But this… This brutal, unruly savage of a man owned something darker, something innately carnal and animalistic inside her. He’d woken her from dormancy, ripped her away from shelter and safety, and preyed on the hunger she couldn’t hide from him.

  A turbulence of conflict tore through her gut. She feared him down to the marrow of her bones. Desired him with every fiber of her sexuality. Cursed him to the ends of her pride and back.

  She shouldn’t have to remind herself this wasn’t consensual, yet as he took her mouth with those fierce, unapologetic lips, she fell in, aching for more, drowning in the overload of his terrible beauty and passion.

  “Fucking goddamn.” His huge hand cupped the side of her face, stealing her breath and pieces of her soul. “Feels so good, Kate. So fucking honest and real. I need to come. I need…” He pushed deep inside and choked. “I can’t hold off much longer.”