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“You wouldn’t,” I breathed, twisting my head around to narrow my eyes at him.

His charcoal eyes glinted with amusement. It almost seemed to be rolling off of him with a malevolent energy, that sadistic bastard.

“You almost died today, Bianaca,” he snapped, his hips moving slowly, languidly, against me. His cock brushed against my walls deliciously, and my pussy clenched around him.

I had to admire his self-control. Despite a single hiss of air through clenched teeth, he didn’t show any sign that he was falling apart. His pace never increased. He seemed content to piston in and out of me in a slow, lazy fashion.

“Why do you even fucking care?” I didn’t know why I was provoking him, only that I was. “You hate me.”

He didn’t answer. Not that I expected him to.

Instead, he grabbed my hips once more, forcing me onto my hands and knees, and began to fuck me ruthlessly. My tits bounced madly with every punishing thrust, my nipples begging for his hands on them.

“You stupid”—thrust—“idiotic”—thrust—“perfect fucking woman.”

He reached around my body to strum my clit, his fingers spreading around my wetness. When he removed them, he brought them to my lips, forcing them into my mouth until I tasted myself. I licked at his fingers the way I wanted to do to his cock, swirling the tip with my tongue and licking up and down the sides.

“Fuck!” he growled, removing his fingers from my mouth. Instead of returning them to my clit, he brought his hand to my throat, applying just enough pressure to say that he owned me. Possessed me. Used me.

My eyes must’ve closed with bliss, because when he pressed down on my airways, I opened them in alarm.

Only to have them meet a familiar pair of hazel orbs.

I didn’t know what the fuck possessed me, but the word left my mouth before I could stop it.

“Kace.”