Page 71 of A Wreck, You Make Me (Bad Boys of Bardstown #3)

“Because he knows how to make you feel good,” he replies, taking a step toward the bed, and instinctively I move back.

Seeing that, his eyes narrow further and he keeps coming at me as he continues, “And that’s his only job tonight.

To make you feel good.” I keep moving back, sliding up the bed, not because I want to get away but because I want him to chase me.

And he keeps coming, watching my retreat with flashing eyes.

“To make you feel so fucking good that you beg for it. You beg for it even when you’re sore.

Even when your pussy is all red and puffy and hurting, and every time you move, you feel it.

You feel how fucked she is, how well-used and trashed.

How wrecked and how fucking loved she is.

You beg for it even when you can’t sit down, baby, and I tell you we should stop.

We should probably give it a rest, ice you down there, yeah?

But you’re so goddamn horny for it, for my monster, hurt-y dick that you don’t want to.

That you hunt me down and make me fuck you.

That you sneak into my room and climb my fucking body so you can take a ride. ”

I’m up to the headboard now, my chest heaving and my channel throbbing and throbbing with his filthy words, with the graphic images he paints for me.

And he’s up on the bed now too, on his bloody knees, his dick in his hands, tugging it, sometimes lazily, sometimes harshly, when he continues, “But you know what’s wrong with that picture? ”

I press my spine into the headboard. “What?”

He runs his eyes over my trembling and flushed form.

My nightie is a modest one, more like an oversized t-shirt than anything else; he’s seen me in much, much less.

But the way he looks at me makes me think I’m wearing one of those dresses I used to, back at the club.

No, actually the way he looks at me, with starving eyes and features that scream hunger, makes me think I’m already naked.

His eyes go down to my thighs, to the place between them that’s still smarting from my countless orgasms. My dress has ridden up and he can see my panties, wet and useless, as he rumbles, “You don’t have to hunt me down and make me fuck you.

Because I’m already either rolling you down on your back or flipping you on your hands and knees and pushing inside you before you can finish saying my name.

Because you love saying my name. Isn’t that right, baby? ”

I nod, my lips parted with broken breaths.

“Yeah, I know,” he goes, staring at my panties. “And as soon as you sneak into my room, I’m already on you. I’m already tearing off your clothes and making your panties history. I’m already putting you on my dick like it’s your throne and giving my princess the ride of her life.”

“I’m your… p-princess?”

He looks up then. “Yeah, because I guess that’s what you call the girl you’re a slave for.”

My heart squeezes in my chest. “Shepard?—”

“Unless you call her your Little Strawberry. Either way, I don’t think even I can keep my dick away from you.

” He bends down then and, grabbing my ankles with both his hands, one of them wet and somehow so much more erotic as it makes contact with my skin, he pulls me forward.

I squeak as I go down on my back and find him climbing over my body.

Once he’s settled between my thighs, he continues, “Away from your strawberry pussy. One way or another, that’s where I’m ending up.

So tonight, we become best friends, yeah? My dick and your pussy.”

I put my hands on his bare shoulders and hug his bare, hot waist with my thighs. “Okay.”

He buries his fingers in my hair and stares into my eyes. “We’ll do it the right way, yeah?”

I nod, squirming against him, feeling his dick on my belly, hard and hot, like every inch of him. “Will you call me your good girl?”

His lips tip up on one side as he rubs his thumbs on my cheeks. “You like that, huh?”

I nod. “But I also like when…”

He grazes his nose against mine. “I know.”

I keep looking into his eyes and ask, “What is that? Why do I feel like that? That I want to be your good girl but I also want to be your whore. I want you to kiss me and pour all your air into my lungs but also, wrap your hands around my throat and squeeze really hard so that I can’t breathe.

Why do I lose all my will around you? Why does it feel like I’m… ”

Intensity swirls in his eyes as he whispers, “You’re what?”

“I’m more yours than I am mine. That you own me.”

That I love you so much I’ll live forever but also die this instant.

Of course, I don’t say that, and I’ll never say that because it’ll only freak him out and make him think he hurt me when it’s my choice to be doing this. But this is the closest I’ll ever come to telling him. And since we’re doing this the right way, I might as well do it my way too.

And the moment only becomes sweeter, so much sweeter when he whispers, “Because you own me .”

And I’m so overcome by emotion that I move my face to the side and catch his thumb in my mouth.

I suck on it and lick the blood off his skin.

It’s dried now but not too much that I can’t taste him or get the hint of metal on my tongue, making me even hornier.

This, too, brings everything full circle because he drank my virgin blood two nights ago and I’m drinking the blood he shed for me because of that.

Which he understands, because his chest moves with a large breath and his dick lurches against my stomach before he descends on my mouth again.

After that, he proceeds to do everything the right way.

He proceeds to prepare me for his invasion with deep, scorching kisses and wandering hands.

He takes off my nightie so gently that it feels like a dream.

He pushes my panties down so tenderly that it feels like I’m walking on clouds.

And then, he traces his tongue along the column of my neck.

He sucks on my skin, nips it, places both feathery and hard kisses along my collarbone before moving down and putting his mouth on my breasts.

I don’t have big breasts or anything like that, but he plays with them so that he makes me feel like they’re the perfect size for him.

He plumps them up with his hands, grabs them, gropes them.

Pulls at my nipples, rolls them between his fingers.

Then he does all of that with his mouth, with his tongue and his teeth mixed in, and I’m a slippery, trembling mess.

I only get worse when he pays the same attention to my ribs and my belly.

To my silver hoop that I still haven’t taken off from that night weeks and weeks ago.

He’s only ever played with it with his fingers, but tonight, he flicks it with his tongue, and it feels like he’s licking me down there.

He tugs it with his teeth and it feels like he’s tugging my clit.

And when he sucks on it, it feels like I’m going to come.

It could also be the fact that I’m rocking my hips due to his ministrations.

I’m arching my back and digging my heels in.

I’m rubbing my dripping, swollen pussy along his sculpted chest.

Whatever it is, I’m soon reduced to a trembling, orgasmic mess—my go-to when it comes to him and all the things he does to me—and by the time he enters my pussy, I want him so badly that I hardly feel it.

Or if I do feel it, I don’t mind as much.

I don’t mind the stretch, the burn. I don’t mind the sheer heft of his dick as it slowly, very slowly , makes its way inside of me, making me feel he’s in my stomach.

I say, looking up at him, “Y-you’re… I feel you in my tummy.”

He stares down, his brows sweaty, his whole body sweaty and taut between my thighs. “Wait for it.”

I dig my nails in his biceps, confused. “What?”

He doesn’t answer me for long seconds, his hips working over my body in shallow thrusts as I rock back against him.

And then, he clenches his jaw, and I feel his hips jerking hard.

At which point, I realize I don’t need him to answer me any longer because I already understand.

He wasn’t in my tummy before, but he is now.

Or at least it feels like it, because he’s finally all the way inside of me and I have to arch my back even deeper to accommodate him.

I have to claw at his arms, bite my lip and clench my eyes shut. To make space for him inside my body.

And even then, it’s hard. Even then it feels like he’s plundering and pillaging, wrecking my insides.

I guess I spoke too quickly, huh? About not minding the stretch and the burn.

I guess I hadn’t felt the full extent of it just yet.

But then in all of this, I forgot one thing.

I forgot the best weapon in his arsenal, the best balm that only he can give me.

His hand around my throat.

And his words in my ears, calling me his good girl, as he starts moving inside of me.

Telling me how well I’m doing as he goes in and out.

Slowly but surely. He tells me I’m doing even better than the other night.

That my pussy opened right up for him and feels so good and hot and wet around his dick as he pumps and pumps.

He tells me only good girls like me have such a slutty pussy.

That juices up so good for their man. Only good girls like me open their thighs so wide that I may as well be doing splits for him, giving him full access to use me.

Only I know how much to arch my back so he goes all the way in before sliding all the way out, and only I know how hard to claw his skin so I draw blood.

“Because you’re the only girl I’ll ever bleed for, baby,” he whispers against my mouth. “You’re the only girl I’ll ever kneel on broken glass for. Or lick a leather boot for. You’re the only girl I’ll ever be hungry like a fucking dog for.”

“Shepard, I…”

I come before I get to warn him about it.

About my orgasm and how hard my pussy is going to clench around his length.

So much so that he goes over the edge only a few seconds later.

And it’s such a steep drop that he falls on my body, his hard chest pressing into my breasts and sensitive nipples, his pointy abs stabbing into my soft belly.

And despite not being able to breathe, I wind my limbs around him.

I wind my arms around his neck and my thighs around his waist, crossing my ankles at his back, feeling his haphazard jerks.

Despite not being able to have much of a conscious thought, I still tilt my neck to the side in invitation. And he takes it and sinks his teeth into my flesh, giving me a necklace made of bruises just as he gave me his cum.