by Max Henry
“Baby …” His pupils dilate to the point where I can’t pick the color of his irises anymore.
“I want you to fuck me so hard I’m feeling it for days.”
“As if I’d do anything else,” he says with a cocky sneer.
My head whips to the side, his renewed grip in my hair directing my body to where he wants it. He twists and pushes, tugging my neck around as he makes me turn and bend over; my face buried in the bedspread, my ass high in the air. The slap of his erection against my butt cheek sends a jolt straight through to my core, the buzz yet to die off when he drags the tip through my slick folds.
There’s no slow and gentle with Dallas, only the violent truth as he takes what he wants, how he wants it.
I cry out into the bedding as he slams into me hard, his cock filling and stretching me until his balls press against my mound. It’s exactly what I wanted, and yet I can’t help but hope he has more, does more. I want to be shocked still; surprised at how badly I crave the punishment he gives.
Dallas’ hands clamp down on my hips, his fingers bruising in my flesh as he pummels me over and over. My shoulders slide up the bed, forcing him to put a knee on the mattress between mine to stay with me. And yet he doesn’t stop. He never stops, even as I bury my fists in the bedding to stop myself moving under his assault.
I ache, I shiver, and I soar on the high the onslaught on my body has me under.
I want more. Always more with him.
“Fuck, April,” Dallas moans as he doubles over my back, slowing his pace. “You look so good on the end of my dick.” He places a soft kiss between my shoulders, taking the edge away from the hand he slips around my throat. “I can’t last tonight. I want you too much,” he murmurs against my skin. “Come when I tell you to.”
The loss of his heat against my back disappoints me, and yet the hand at my throat pulling me hard against his erection as he restarts his brutal attack more than makes up for it. My muscles clench and pulse, my climax close. I brace myself on one arm, moving the other underneath me to reach between my legs and rub my clit, yet Dallas tears my hand away, pinning it to the bed beside me under his palm.
“Not … your … job,” he grinds out, punctuating each word with a bruising thrust of his hips. “You come when I want you to.” As though to prove his point, he pulls out, teasing me with the tip of his cock, edging me, testing me.
“Please,” I moan, all out of fucks to give about how needy I sound.
How owned.
“Please, Dallas,” I beg. I don’t want the high to end, to lose how it feels to be on the brink, to lose what comes after.
“Please what, bitch?”
My walls pulse at his insult. “Please, let me come.”
He moves the hand from my throat to my back, sliding it down until his palm rests over my tailbone, and then presses his thumb against the rose of my ass. A rush of adrenaline leaves my head spinning as I suck in a sharp breath, surprised at how much I love the feel of his thumb tracing a lazy circle around the tight hole.
“He ever do this to you?” Dallas asks as he rocks his hips, pushing his thick cock deep inside of me as he applies light pressure to my ass. “Did he ever know how good it feels to have your tight hole strangle his dick?”
I’m such a perverted whore. “I’m happy he didn’t.”
“Why?” he asks, throaty and raw.
“Because I want you to show me.”
“Fuck, April.” He slides his thumb lower, pushing around where his cock enters my pussy to cover it in my arousal. “You mean that?”
No turning back now. “I do.”
“Another night,” he mumbles as his wet thumb returns to my rear. “As much as I’d love to fuck you in the ass tonight, baby, I don’t want to put you off.” He hums as he circles the tight hole, pressing against it every so often. “My cock is pretty damn big, and your ass is fucking tight. I need to ease you into it.”
I gasp as he pushes his thumb inside, picking up pace with his hips at the same time to soothe the ache with his cock in my cunt. My nerves all spark to life as he slowly pulses his thumb, tingles sprinting along my spine to bring another heady rush to my already jumbled mind.
“Now you can come.”
Dallas plays me like a damn fiddle, knowing just how to hold me and where to press to make beautiful music with his unconventional methods.
I come apart under his touch, collapsing to the bed as he pulls his thumb free and finishes with a grunt, pounding his release into my bruised pussy. I’m sore, spent, and used up in all the best ways.
“I could pound into that greedy hole of yours all day,” Dallas says as he pulls out and rolls away. “In fact,”—he lies on his side, head propped on one hand—“I might do exactly that.”
I groan as I roll over, stretched out on this madman’s bed as I marvel at how he made me come harder than I have in … ever? “I’ve got nowhere better to be.”
“Come have a shower first,” he says, stepping off the bed. “And then we can get something to eat so you don’t pass out when I fuck you again.”
“I can’t move,” I whine, my body jelly after his onslaught.
“Don’t then,” he says, reaching out and grabbing me by the hand. “Let me take care of you.”
I swoon at his words as he jerks me upright into a seated position, and then heaves me over his shoulder. His cum leaks from my still swollen pussy while we head to the bathroom, yet he doesn’t seem to care as it rubs off on the arm he has pinned over the back of my thighs. He keeps me in place, slung in his hold like a ragdoll as he leans in and turns the shower on.
I could go to sleep like this; safe and secure, knowing I’m in the arms of a man who would kill to protect me … who already has.
“Thank you,” I murmur as he gently sets me down on the closed toilet. “For what you did last night, today.”
Dallas stands before me, seemingly lost on what to do. Has nobody thanked him before me? “I’d do it again,” he says with a frown.
“I know.”
He tests the water, and then reaches out for my hand. “Tell me, April. How did it feel to see me take his life?” He guides me under the warm spray as he waits for my answer.
How did it feel? Fuck, is he serious? “Terrifying,” I answer as my eyes slip closed. The water on my exhausted body is heaven enough, but when he puts his soapy hands on me and starts to massage … how can I love a man so much, and yet fear him as well?
“Did you enjoy it?”
I suck in a sharp breath as he runs one hand between my legs, carefully cleaning my folds. “Not particularly.”
“Why?” His hand slides up my stomach to my breasts, massaging first one and then the other.
“Because I didn’t know if I’d be next.” I steady myself by placing my hands on the wall.
“Are you afraid of dying?” he whispers as he presses his front hard up against my back. The man has a goddamn erection again already.
“Not dying,” I admit. “Afraid of missing out.”
Death doesn’t scare me—the thought of being forced off the ride early does. I might not feel as though I have any purpose in this world most of the time, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see where the twists and turns life throw my way will take me next.
I want to know if I will eventually find a reason, a point for my life.
My lips part on a sigh as Dallas rocks himself into me, his fingers working magic on my nipples. How can he fuck me so hard, and be ready to go again so soon after? I’m spent, my mind willing but my body screaming “Hell no!”
“Would you kill for me, April?” Dallas asks out of the blue. The pressure disappears from my back as he steps away.
I turn to face him, feeling strangely free yet also hollow at the loss of his touch, and frown. “I don’t know.”
“If somebody had my life in the balance, I want to know, would you take theirs?”
“Perhaps.” What a strange question to ask. It's as though he know
s something I don’t. “I guess I’d hope that I would have the guts to if that were the only option.”
His left eye twitches as he lifts his hands to the wall to cage me inside his arms. “If you love me, you would.”
Love? I’ve known him barely a day, and yet, “Of course I love you.” How could I not love the man who saved me from hell and then took me on as his with such fierce conviction?
Dallas sighs as though awestruck I’d feel this way, and then closes the gap between us to press my body up against the wall while he takes my mouth with savage appreciation. My hands roam the hard planes of his chest, feeling the rough scars that I never noticed before—each one a testament to how fearless and strong this man is. He walks through hell with his head held high, knowing that if he can look the devil in the eye, then nothing can touch him.
“How sore are you?” His question warms my heart; a cue that he does care about my well being, even if he doesn’t realize it himself yet.
“Never too sore for you.”
“Right answer,” he says with a smile as he hitches my leg higher and enters me on one forceful thrust.
Stockholm syndrome, a result of posttraumatic stress—I don’t care what it is that brings me back to this man, that pulls me in and makes him my world. I do love him.
I’ve never been so consumed by a man. But if this is what it’s like to dance with a demon borne straight from hell, then I’ll gladly endure the burn of the fire to stay by his side.
I’m his, caught under his spell. And what’s worse is now I totally agree with everything he said.
He owns me.
Body and soul.
EIGHT
It takes until they break down the door for Dallas and me to realize we have company, my legs around his neck as he does precisely what he said he would after we ate: pound into me relentlessly.
He slams a hand over my mouth as I cry out my release, my pussy still twitching around his cock despite the fact I now watch his panicked face with wide eyes.
“Police! Remain where you are with your hands raised!”
Oh, fuck no. No way. “What the hell?” I scramble to untangle myself from Dallas as he throws the nearest article of clothing at me: his T-shirt.
“You’ve got to be fucking with me,” he mutters as he strides over to his bureau.
I watch as he jerks the top drawer open in all his naked glory before I snap myself the fuck out of it. He continues to grumble under his breath as I throw the T-shirt over my head and punch my arms through the sleeves to the sound of cops tearing up the house as they get closer.
“What are you doing?” I whisper-yell as he pulls a handgun out and sets it on top of the furniture.
“What I do best.” He frowns, as though the answer should have been obvious. “Get behind the bed and stay there until you hear my voice.”
“Dallas!”
It’s no use. He jerks on his jeans, sans underwear, and storms out the door with the gun in his hand.
He’s sure to get himself killed. He’s going to be shot down by the police, and all I can think is that I hope he wins because I’m not ready to be without him just yet. Fucking ace priorities there, April.
The voices all blend into one masculine roar as Dallas hollers at the cops to fuck off, they reply with their demands for him to cease and desist, and all fucking hell breaks loose. The first shot is fired, followed by at least half a dozen in quick succession. I slide off the bed with a whimper and barricade myself against the nightstand, my heartbeat clear as day as it beats a bass drum in my ears.
The yelling stops, followed by the sickening roar of Dallas from somewhere deep in the house. Somewhere far enough away that I know the boots that stomp around the bed can’t possibly belong to him—especially given he was barefoot when he left. Fuck.
I shrink into the furniture, cursing Dallas for having a bed base that almost reaches the floor and not one that I can fit underneath.
“Up!”
I lift my head to find the business end of a rifle pointed at my face, one angry blood-covered officer on the tail end.
“I haven’t done anything,” I protest as I lift my hands and struggle to get upright without the use of my arms.
“I said up! Now! On your feet!”
“Fuck! Okay.” I place my left hand on the floor and jolt as my fingers connect with something hard, something steely cold under the edge of the bed.
Do I? Would I have the skills to bring it out before this guy could unload one into my head? Of course not, you idiot. I make a mental note of where the gun is and rise to my feet, hands raised again.
“Lie face down on the bed with your hands behind your back.” The officer’s eyes repeatedly flick from me to the door, and back again.
He doesn’t know where Dallas is.
The knowledge gives me a much-needed boost of courage as I pretend to have misheard the officer’s instructions. “Lie on my back?” I ask with a frown.
“Your front,” he barks, moving one hand off the rifle to roughly spin me around with a punishing grip on my shoulder.
I twist toward the door, placing a hand out to balance myself as the stuff nightmares are made of marches into view. Blood peppers Dallas’ face, his hand covered with red as he lifts the pistol and points it at the officer behind me.
“Shoot me, I shoot her,” the cop says calmly.
Dallas’ chest rises and falls in harsh jerks while he appears to calculate the risk. I can’t move, can’t think clearly when the bite of the rifle’s barrel digs into the back of my head. This cop means business, and judging by the haunting silence that followed Dallas in the room, I’d say he’s the last man standing.
My gaze falls to Dallas’ leg, to the dark patch that blooms above his knee. He’s shot.
“You’re not here for her,” he tells the cop, limping forward. “You’ve got no business threatening her.”
“You’re right,” the cop laughs; piquing my interest at the carefree way he talks to Dallas. There isn’t an ounce of professionalism in the guy. “But what’s a little collateral damage, huh? We turn up for a routine raid, and hey, the guy goes crazy. What was I to do?”
“There isn’t anything fucking routine about it,” Dallas snaps, a slight sheen of sweat across his flesh.
He’s in pain. The cops have hurt him and yet he still tries to keep up the illusion of being in charge.
“How long did you think you could sweet-talk your way out of the shit, asshole?” the cop says. “Nobody is completely untouchable. Not even the Governor’s son.”
The what? My mind scrambles to remember what Camille told me about their family, about Dallas’ birth father—the nice guy.
Holy shit.
“Duck, April.” The words are barely out of Dallas’ mouth before he pulls the trigger.
I dive to the bed, a choked squeal breaking from my throat as I hope like hell I ducked in the right direction. The rifle goes off, yet the round hits the ceiling, raining powder from the stipple down over my head … right before the cop lands on my back with a weak groan.
“Oh my God,” I scream, pushing the dying, or possibly dead, man off me.
“Baby,” Dallas says, wincing as he quickly limps to where I sit on the bed. “Are you okay?”
I lock gazes with the cop as his mouth opens and then goes slack. “He’s dead?” My stomach roils knowing I just observed a man pass over, witnessed his final seconds of consciousness.
“Pretty sure he wouldn’t survive that,” Dallas says dismissively as he sits with his back to the cop, his full attention on me. “Are you hurt?” His hands go to my face, my shoulders, seemingly feeling me out for injuries.
I snap out of my trance and launch an assault on Dallas, the rush of adrenalin fuelling my fists as I rain them down on his head. “You could have got me killed!”
“But I didn’t,” he says, a cocky smirk on his bloodstained lips.
“Are they …” I look toward the door.
“All dead.
Yeah.”
As though on cue, a blood-curdling scream comes from the front of the house. “Dallas?”
“Camille,” he mutters, pushing off the bed. “In here!”
He limps toward the door as she comes skidding into view. “Oh my God!” Her hands fly to her mouth. “April?”
“I’m fine,” I say, hands raised as I carefully get off the bed so as not to disturb the dead cop. Still not okay with that.
“I heard the gunfire,” she babbles, “and I came right in.”
Dallas stills halfway across the room. “The gunfire.” He cocks his head to one side.
“Yeah,” she says, looking over at the dead guy on the bed. “There were so many shots all at once. I panicked.”
“How long were you in here with this guy, April,” Dallas asks me even though his gaze never leaves Camille. “Best guess?”
“Five minutes, maybe?”
“Five minutes,” he repeats to his sister. “And yet you ran right in?”
She falters, her eye twitching as she takes a step back. “I didn’t want to get shot myself.”
“See, here’s the problem,” Dallas says with a pained frown. “Right after I took one to the leg, I walked out front and shot the fuckers that were next to the patrol car so they couldn’t radio in for backup.” He turns to look at me. “That’s why I took so long to get to you, baby.”
“It’s okay.” I offer him a soft smile, which seems to calm him, yet only for a fleeting second.
The look he gives Camille when he glances back her way is pure murder. “You weren’t there.”
“I was hiding,” she tries to explain. “I was scared.”
Dallas lets his shoulders go lax as he stares her down. I can’t look away; intrigued by the way he manages to get her to fall apart with body language alone. She twitches a smile, her eyes darting across to me as though searching for support before she looks at Dallas again.
“I love you, little brother.”
He steps forward, lifting a bloody hand to her shoulder so he can brush her hair out of the way. “Do you?”
“I did it because I love you.”
“Did what?” I step forward also, yet I know my actions wouldn’t be so kind if my hands were near her neck.