by Fox, Logan
Our lips meet in a warm rush of mingled breaths.
She relaxes into me and crushes her mouth against mine in sheer desperation.
Chapter Nineteen
Clover
Hunter tastes of weed and port and intoxicatingly sweet saliva.
I know this is wrong.
I know this is fucked up.
I don’t care.
My body wants release. Why can’t Hunter provide it? Doctor Hunter fucking most eligible bachelor of the year Hill wants me to trust him?
I give you my cunt. Now tell me I don’t trust you, asshole.
But this isn’t vindictiveness flowing through me. It’s not revenge.
It’s lust.
And that’s all it is. He’s the first piece of decent meat I’ve laid eyes on in six months. Sure, I think he’s a condescending prick, but when has that ever stopped me fucking someone?
He thinks he’s noble? He’s not. He’s a man, and he has a dick, and he has needs just like me. He might not acknowledge them like an ordinary person, but they’re still there.
Why does he want me to trust him?
Haven’t I trusted him for the past six months? Sure, not him. Not Hunter fucking Hill. But I’ve been putting my trust in the Hill Institute, believing their six-month program will cleave this fucking monkey from my back and cast it back into the hellfire from whence it came.
I’d love to think this is all beyond my control. I want to relinquish responsibility—like I always do—but I’d be kidding myself.
I want him.
I need him.
And I don’t even care if the dark watches us—I want him to end my suffering and soothe my soul.
Even just for one night.
Because maybe, tomorrow, I’d wake without this craving clawing away at my brain like a feral animal too long contained.
Because even if there hadn’t been anything in that joint…
If I’d landed on the street tonight, I’d have woken up in a crack den tomorrow morning with no fucking clue how I got there.
Fun fact: Clover Vos has a shitty fucking life.
Six months of rehab didn’t change that—I know a night with Dr. H. Hill won’t change it either.
But I’m buying myself some time.
Twenty-four hours.
I’ve sold myself for much less before.
Part Two
Obey Me
“Trap her in the woods
See her hood flashing red through the pines
Briars in her hair
Bloody lip where I’ll sip, lapping red just like wine”
Elysian Fields
Chapter Twenty
Hunter
Despite my meticulous plans, something wholly unforeseen is happening. For one, I have a one Ms. Vos in my arms.
I’m kissing her.
And I want more.
I will be the first to admit that I’m a recluse, a hermit more at home with my research at my isolated home in the mountains than at any fine dining establishment in Mallhaven. Sex is something I have little time, or patience, for. I can deal with my most primal urges more efficiently by myself than having to endure a game of cat and mouse with a complete stranger.
But this is something else entirely.
And I have only one vague hypothesis to explain it.
I’ve studied Clover closely these past few months. There is a chance I may have become enamored with her, transferring my obsession with her into something else.
I guess the time for analytic study has passed. I fumble our kiss, and she draws back with wide eyes.
No surprise; I’m acting like a virgin on his first date.
Am I panting? I must sound like an animal. Who wants that? I suppress my furious breathing and swipe the back of my hand over my mouth when I notice that I’ve smeared her lipstick.
In the landing’s low light, it looks like blood. I taste my teeth with my tongue to make sure it isn’t.
I lost myself there for a moment.
“Ms. Vos, I must apologize.” My voice sounds strangely thick.
Hers is barely a whisper. “You must?”
“This…this is most inappropriate.”
“It is?”
My teeth grit. She’s being unhelpful, and I suspect she knows it. I’m sure I’m not imagining a certain smugness under that faintly surprised expression of hers.
I want to push her away, but the hand in her hair tightens instead. Her head tips back a little, and stray light gleams from her lips.
She lets out a tiny gasp when I barrel into her. As I surge forward, she’s forced back. I stick out my hand and shove open my bedroom door. No wood in this house is varnished, but everything’s been polished to a luxurious sheen. The wood feels like wet clay under my fingers as it slides away and slams into the wall.
I trip over something—a sandal?—and our legs tangle. I have just enough momentum to lift her and toss her on the bed before I collapse on top of her a moment later.
Her breath washes over my face. She squirms under me, her livid eyes so wide, so spectacular.
Our legs are hanging over the side. I shove a hand under the small of her back and lift her, forcing her higher up the bed. Her dress is between us, twisting around her legs and mine.
I kiss her, trap her, make her mine.
She’s struggling, but whether to get out from under me or to untangle from her dress, I can’t say.
Right now, I couldn’t care. If she wants out, she’ll have to scream or kick or bite.
This is her fault. She stole inside me when I wasn’t paying attention and lodged herself deep in my brain, in a part I don’t ever take notice of. In a single encounter, she’s torn apart whatever flimsy barriers I had erected.
I grope my way down her body until I find the hem of her dress, which I hike up to her hips.
There’s an ambient glow in my room that casts a sensual haze over her face, her hair, the pale stretches of her legs. My fingers graze over her thighs and encounter a ridge of flesh.
I look down and catch sight of a thick scar on Clover’s inner thigh.
But that’s all I can see before Clover grabs my straining cock through my pants.
Chapter Twenty-One
Clover
I’m Dorothy. I was in Kansas, and now I’m on the way to fuck knows where. The tornado that sweeps me up got hold of everything else; my emotions, thoughts, desires.
As I’m spinning, it’s tearing me to pieces.
His strength terrifies me. I’ve been under heavy men, men who spend more time in the gym than they do sleeping at night, but this is different.
He doesn’t just pin me with his weight, he’s keeping me here with some kind of force of will.
I want out, but not as badly as I want to remain his captive. I’m aching for him, my body crooning from the memory of his lips. When he pulls up my dress, so intent on fucking me that he doesn’t seem to want to bother with more foreplay than our few rough kisses, my core contracts in hedonistic expectation.
But then he finds a scar and looks down.
Brief anger flares like a newly struck match inside me. I shift, but he’s already seen it. There’s a frown on his face, and he opens his mouth as if to ask—
I grab his dick. It brings him back to the present, but it sends me out of my mind with desire.
Fuck, I had no idea he was this turned on. My body responds instantly—my legs twine together and my nipples bunch into tight little buds through the fabric of my dress.
Hunter shoves a blade of a hand between my legs, trying to pry me open. I want him to touch me, but I don’t want to give up the delicious thrumming my thighs are pressing into my cunt, either. He leans on an elbow, grasping roughly at my breast, weighing it in his hand as his thumb and forefinger tweak my nipple.
He kisses me again, hard, as if he’s threatening pain if I don’t open to him.
Doesn’t he get it yet? I don’t take well to command.
I twist my hips
, dislodging his hand.
My punishment is another hard grope of my breast, another painfully tweaked nipple.
This is what happens when you don’t get laid for six months—the smallest thing turns you on.
It’s the only explanation I have for the fire splashing over my core at this man’s brutal touch. I squeeze his dick again, trying to bite back with some of my own punishment.
I’m rewarded with a groan.
Deep, low, primal as fuck.
Goosebumps break out on my skin. He dips his hips, forcing his erect cock over my pelvic mound. The sensation thrills through me, and it’s all I can do to catch my breath as his mouth descends on mine.
I taste blood in my mouth.
Somehow, I know it’s mine.
I guess he was holding himself back before because shit just got real.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Hunter
What has this woman done to me? I consider myself a gentleman, but there’s nothing gentle or manly about the way I’m treating her.
Filthy. Brutal. Savage.
Those are the only words I can summon to describe the things I want to do to her.
How will these unchecked desires of mine affect the trial? What if I contaminate my own data? What if—?
“Fuck, woman, open your goddamn legs!” I don’t recognize my own voice, or the obscenities flowing over my tongue.
She laughs.
The fucking harpy laughs at me.
Fabric tears as fibers give way under my fingers. The delicate lace of her bodice is in tatters.
I can’t kiss her anymore—I think I tore her lip—so I bite at her breasts instead. She gasps, writhing under me like a fish. I get my hand between her legs, but she’s clamping her thighs closed with such determination that I can’t even touch her.
And fuck, how I want to wet my fingertips with her.
I lift myself, wedge my knee between her thighs, and drive down so hard that she has no choice but to open. Her shocked gasp tears through me. My head darts up, catching the tail end of that sound with my lips. She moans, and I realize I’m hurting her bruised lips. I draw back, our lips barely brushing now as a rake my nails up the inside of her thigh.
She’s not wearing underwear.
I stop an inch from her cunt, grasping roughly at her thigh to control myself.
She grabs my belt buckle and fumbles with it. Her breath becomes a furious pant that paints sweet warmth over my lips. I run my tongue over her bottom lip, then the top. She mewls, and finally pops open my pants button.
My muscles contract when her hand dives behind my silk underwear. She grabs my cock and gives me a hard pump. Her legs come up, heels hooking at my waistband and tugging my pants down over my ass.
My boxers are next.
Now there’s nothing between us but warm air.
Despite the dim light in my room, I can see she’s watching me. I lean on one hand, our gazes locking as I wrap my hand over hers.
Clover arches under me, bringing her slit in contact with my knuckles.
She’s soaked through.
I go down on an elbow, grip a handful of her soft, silky hair, and guide the tip of my cock to her cunt. She squirms, goes quiet. Her panting breath slows in anticipation.
I tighten the grip in her hair, earning another arch of her slender back, and then I’m inside her.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Clover
Christ, this man knows how to fuck. I stretch deliciously warm around him as he fills me. My legs hook around his waist so when he thrusts into me, I’m at the perfect angle.
Ready, waiting.
And thrust he does. Hard and fast.
I cry out, grab his shoulders, sink my nails into his skin.
He doesn’t notice.
I arch when he tightens the fist in my hair, and grind against him to urge every single inch of his cock inside me. His breath changes into a hard pant that sends tingles of pleasure over lips throbbing with abuse.
Our mouths brush, but not for a kiss—he whispers my name. It should have sounded sexy, desperate, wild. Instead, it sounds like a curse.
Like he hates the fact that I’ve unraveled him.
He eases out of me, leaving a trail of sparks and a dull fire in his wake. I have a chance for one breath, such a brief respite, before he fucks me again. I can’t go anywhere—he has me pinned. He’s still wearing his shirt and his pants are still around his legs.
I struggle, wanting out of a dress that’s chafing my skin. Skin against skin, sweat. That’s what I want to feel. But the buttons for this dress are on my back, and Hunter doesn’t seem interested in undressing me.
Writhing furiously, I whip my head away from his accidental kisses. “Take my dress off.”
“Quiet.” His voice is a growl, and as punishing me for interrupting him, his fingertips sink dimples into my thighs as he yanks me against his cock.
“Please, Hunter, my…” The words trail away.
At the mention of his name, his breath hitches.
“Hunter,” I say again.
He groans, forehead pressing hard against mine as he struggles for breath.
Fuck you, Dr. Hill, you’re not coming yet. I’m still far from done.
I twist my legs and drive my knee into Hunter’s stomach. It’s a move I’ve pulled before, so I know I won’t hurt too—
He grunts as air leaves his lungs. There’s a moment where we’re both scrambling for purchase on each other’s bodies. I manage to sit up, and work furiously at my buttons while Hunter’s trying to pin me down again. My shoulders are free—the dress is around my hips now.
Hidden lights in Hunter’s room cast a low light over everything.
He stops trying to fuck me when he sees my dress around my hips. His tongue swipes over his lips as he grabs my breasts, urging me up the bed and against the headboard.
I squirm furiously along the way, trying to wriggle out of my dress.
I think he finally realizes what I was trying to accomplish.
Hunter sits back on his heels, cock standing proud from his narrow waist as he studies me for an agonizingly long moment. Then he starts unbuttoning his shirt, for all the world like we’ve gone straight back to foreplay.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Hunter
I can barely breathe. Her knee struck my solar plexus with impressive precision. I welcome the pain though—it hauled me back to this plane of existence. I don’t know where the hell I’d been, but it wasn’t here. I’d been lost in a dark jungle, vines and roots snagging me.
But my head’s clear again.
I almost stop. I almost get off the bed. There’s a half-formed apology brimming on my lips, and it feels perfectly correct to tell her that I shouldn’t have touched her. That I’m sorry—
But I’m not sorry.
I’ve wanted to touch her ever since she stepped into the dining hall at the Hill Institute.
She’s mine.
I claimed her six months ago.
I’ve been watching over her day and night. I have thousands of hours of footage stored on my hard drive.
Clover, sleeping.
Clover, eating.
Clover, showering.
I’ve been fooling myself all this time. I realize she’s far from the perfect candidate for my research trial but she was the only patient I would consider.
I’m diseased, damaged, terminal.
All because of her.
She’s infested my mind.
Perhaps she’s even become my new disease.
My buttons feel cool between my fingertips as I twist them open one after the other.
She lies in front of me, legs spread but her most intimate self hidden behind a veil of fabric—her dress, pooling at her hips.
I pause on the second last button. She’s trembling, and the shaking grows stronger when I lay my hands on her ribs. I slide them down, my eyes on hers as I slide off her dress.
It’s ruined anyway…just
like me.
Just like her.
She lifts her legs up and to the side to facilitate the dress sliding from her ankles. I snag them, twine them together. I press my lips to her ankle bone, and her eyes flutter at the touch.
Using a hand to keep her ankles on my shoulder, I undo the rest of my shirt. She runs her gaze over my body as I shrug out of my shirt and toss it to the floor.
My pants, still bunching around my knees, are next. My silk underwear.
We’re both nude. Both quivering with palpable anticipation.
I move onto my knees, lifting her hips from the bed. Her eyes go wide, and she reaches up behind her to grab hold of my head board.
I guess she’s done this before.
I grab the pulsing length of my cock in a fist and guide myself to her cunt. She starts squirming and wriggling.
I slap her ass so she’ll keep still.
She bucks, letting out a ragged gasp. My hand stings, and it’s warm when I grab my cock again. This time, she holds still. Her lips part, and I can see the small slit where I tore her delicate skin with my teeth.
I’m not sorry about that either, although I should be.
Forcing my way into her feels as deliciously fucked up as it did the first time. She stretches to accommodate me but, just like everything else with her, it’s a struggle.
“Hunter.”
My name leaves her mouth mingled with a moan.
A whiplash goes through me.
I don’t think anyone’s ever called my name out during sex.
Ever.
I almost come from the sound of it.
I jerk out of her and shove two fingers deep into her slit. She bucks against my fingers, and her arm muscles cord as she pulls herself tight against the headboard.