Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“Especially here.” Her hands are already working at my belt. “With all your trophies watching. With the proof of what you really are spread out around us.”
I slide my hands under her thighs, lifting her until her legs wrap around my waist. The stone wall is cold against my palms as I brace us, but Saylor is fire in my arms, her body arching against mine like she can’t get close enough.
Saylor makes a noise like she’s been set on fire, and it lights up every molecule inside me. Her body wraps around mine, pulling my hips to her as if she’s afraid any sliver of space will let the world slip in and ruin this. She tears at my shirt, popping another button and scraping her nails over my skin hard enough to remind me what pain is meant to do: keep you awake, keep you honest, keep you here. The taste of blood is on my tongue—hers, mine, I couldn’t care less—as the world narrows to the pair of us pressed against a wall in a sanctuary of death.
Her legs tighten around me and I’m already bone-hard, the animal in me roaring at the rawness of it, the mess, the stench of acid and rot. I push her panties to the side and she’s already soaked, primed from her earlier rage. My cock is so fucking hard that I can’t wait another second. I thrust into her, one hard stroke and then another, no hesitation, no foreplay—her dripping wet cunt tells me she doesn’t need it and neither do I. Sliding into her tight pussy with one brutal movement, her breath catches on a gasp that’s half pain and half laughter as I moan out her name.
She clings to me, clawing at my back, her teeth finding my shoulder and biting down just enough to make me see white at the edge of my vision. I fuck her hard against the wall, the edge of the stone catching her hips and marking her, her glorious mess of hair tangling in my hands. The ghosts in the room see everything: my hunger, my need, the way I can’t distinguish lust from grief from relief.
Wet heat pulses around my cock, every thrust met with a sound from her that gets louder, more ragged.
“Fucking love you,” she hisses in my ear, and it tears something open. I rut in deeper, driving her into the stone hard enough that her spine will remember it. My hands find her wrists, pin them above her head—a little leverage, a little violence, the old language we speak best. She fights me, because she wants to, because she can, and that resistance is pure fire. Her thighs squeeze so tight around my waist it hurts.
She cocks her head back and grinds into me, meeting every thrust with more. The wall thuds, and I realize, distantly, that the friction of her ass against the stone might be scraping her raw. I don’t stop. She doesn’t want me to stop. There’s nothing gentle to this, nothing that could be called loving by any sane definition, but we were never built for sane.
I want to devour her, and I almost do, kissing her hard enough to bruise, biting at her jaw as I piston deeper. She meets me, thrust for wild thrust, grinding down to chase the pressure just right. Her hands fight my grip and I let go, just so she can slap me, once, across the face. It’s not even a slap, more like a wake-up call, and I want to say thank you, but I’m too busy breathing in all of her.
She comes first, sudden and violent, the muscles inside her clamping down on my cock like a vise. Her whole body seizes and she screams, actually screams, so loud I hear it bounce off the stone and down the hallway, a call to every ghost in the building. I lose my grip for a second and she bites my jaw, hard, leaving a wet patch of blood. The pain brings me over, and I bury myself in her and fill her up, shaking with it, every ounce of control gone.
She milks me with her aftershocks, writhing and cursing with every jolt, squeezing me dry before I let go of her wrists and drag her mouth back to mine. The first time I come it’s half rage, half relief, and all of it inside her. I want every one of these corpses to watch, want the past to see what it can’t have. I fuck her through the end of it, cock softening just enough to keep going, the salt-bitter mess of her and my blood slicking our bodies together like paint.
When I finally pull out, she drops her feet to the floor and goes slack against me, panting like she just ran ten flights of old stairs. For a minute we just cling together, silent except for the sound of skin and heartbeat and Saylor’s breathing.