Page 56

Vivienne

“Tell me,” Vivienne shiv ers as Zev’s finger trails phantom lines on her spine, connecting the jagged, crooked lines on her back. “What else do I need to know about your little boyfriend other than what I have gathered so far?”

“Nothing.” The response is too quick, betraying the whole idea of getting him to believe it.”

He knows too much. And if he knows this much, he must have gone digging around about him. And you don’t go digging for information about someone unless you are interested, one way or another, in the person. And that is the problem. Zev is not supposed to have any interest in Ian.

Fear weaves into her spine at the thought of it. He can’t hurt Ian. He can absolutely not touch a hair on his head.

“Nothing?” His weight presses into her from behind, and then a shiver rolls through her as his finger glides along her cheek, combing hair away from her face. “Did you say nothing?”

“Nothing.”

She yelps when he suddenly fists her hair, yanking her head backward so his lips are just inches away from her left ear, her green eyes staring at his soulless one.

“What did I say about lying to me some minutes ago?” His hold on her hair tightens, his free hand wrapping possessively around her throat.

“H-he liked me,” she whimpers, tears brimming at the corners of her eyes. “I liked him too. So um, we started dating.”

“Is that all?” His hip presses against her, and for a split second, she forgets the burn in her ass, the hand locked around her throat, as her mind races to the thick, hard length prodding her from behind.

If he moves just a little, if she raises her hips just a fraction more, his cock will be flushed against her throbbing core.

Focus, Vivienne. Stop being a cheap whore for once and fucking focus.

“We broke up a couple of months ago,” she exhales, but her body betrays her as she arches slightly against him.

“So, in the two months with him, he has never shoved his dick inside you, huh?” He slides a finger between her lips, his breath feathering against her jaw. “He has never fucked this pussy, right?”

There is no point in lying. He is not stupid.

“He did.” The confession barely leaves her lips before his eyes darken with something lethal.

“How many times?” he demands, voice razor-sharp, nose slightly flaring. He has her face locked in his hand, forcing her to stare deep into his eyes, to see the storm brought about by her confession.

“I can’t r-remember.” She really has no idea why he wants them to go down this road. Why irritate himself with numbers when the simple fact that they got intimate angers him this much? Is he purposely trying to make himself enraged?

“I need a fucking number, damn it!” he growls, his grip on her jaw bruising. “So, put your pretty head to use and start thinking!”

She can feel it, his nails starting to crack open a skin on her face.

And she can feel it, the burn, the pain.

Her mind spirals, thinking back to her moments with Ian.

She recalls that they always had sex at his house.

It only happened once in his classroom after school.

In the two months they became official, she visited his house eleven times.

And they always had sex. So eleven at his house and one at school.

Twelve. They had sex twelve times.

“Answer me!”

“Twelve,” she splutters. “Twelve times.”

There is a moment of stillness, just the sound of her unsteady breaths tangling with his heavy pants and the gentle tick of the clock in the background.

Then she feels the emptiness of his absence, the coldness that comes when his warm body is no longer pressed against hers.

When she glances behind her, he has leaned back to his height, walking away.

“Stand,” he says, his voice leaving no room for protest. Not that she has any intention of protesting.

Her spine nearly cramps up when she rises to her height. And even if it does, she won’t wonder why. She has been bent over that desk for at least fifteen minutes.

“Vivienne.” Her name sounds rough on his tongue, yet exotic, laced with something sinful, and it makes her think of sex.

“Yes?”

Her eyes follow his movements. He walks to the dresser, pulls open a drawer, and searches around until he finds a hairband. Then he turns to face her, his hand lifted as he slowly gathers his white locks in his hands.

“I am a very possessive man.” He begins slowly as he rolls the hair into a messy bun. “When something is mine, I usually prefer it if no one else looks at it, touches it, or even thinks of possessing it.”

A lump forms in her throat and she swallows. She watches with anticipation as he begins to work on his buttons, his dark eyes pinning her down, daring her to blink or look away.

“And that time in Russia when I marked you as mine.” He peels off his shirt, revealing taut muscles beneath pale skin.

“Maybe I did a terrible job at telling you what that means. And I guess that’s on me.

But that is about to change. How? You might ask.

Well, I can’t go around wiping every man that has ever fucked you off the face of the earth.

That’s too much work no matter how exciting it sounds.

So here is what we are going to do.” He takes off his pants, leaving him in his boxers, which are also gone in a second.

And Vivienne would be damned to hell if she tears her gaze away from his cock which is as hard as she imagined it to be.

“Get on,” he commands, nodding at the large bed.

Slowly, Vivienne lifts one foot after the other, her pulse racing in her ears until she is on the bed, on her knees.

And no matter how hard she tries to keep her gaze on his wickedly handsome face, it keeps moving to his cock.

And the thought of the way he always fucks her so rough and so hard, and the memories of her squeezing around his length and begging for more, causes a rush of fire to her already dripping core.

“I would rather you be on all fours, ladybird,” he says as he crosses the room to her.

Without protesting, she sits back up, turns around on her knees until her hands are planted on the soft bed, back arched, ass in the air.

The bed dips in response to his weight as he climbs onto it, a zap of electricity that ends yet again between her legs, weaving through her as he touches her hip only with a brush of his fingers.

Her entire body has become attuned to him that every little touch—even if it’s a slap across the face—makes her want to moan.

She glances sideways, watching him, her lips parted when he runs his palm over her ass, the burn from earlier now a phantom heat beneath his touch.

“As expected,” he hums and she whimpers, lashes fluttering, lip caught between her teeth when the pad of his thumb brushes against her throbbing clit.

“Already soaking wet…” Then his dark eyes cut to her.

“All for me.”

“Oh god.” The thump of his thumb against her swollen clit sends a rush of pleasure spiraling deep into her stomach.

“Tell me.” His voice is velvety, eyes gleaming beneath the frost of his lashes. “You were thinking about my cock while my belt was pelting down your ass earlier, weren’t you? Is that why you are dripping when I haven’t even touched you?”

His thumb circles her entrance, teasing.

“Zev—please,” she whimpers, desperation leaking into her voice as she tilts her head back.

“That’s not the answer I was hoping to hear,” he chuckles low, leaning over her, his hand disappearing from her pussy only to cup her sensitive breast.

“Oh, god,” she whimpers as his warm palm kneads her, his finger toying with her nipple.

Her breath stutters when he finally drags the dripping tip of his cock against her entrance.

“How badly do you want this?” His tone is raspy, thick with lust as he strokes her with his length.

“Please.”

“I need to hear you say it.” He presses the throbbing head of his cock just half an inch into her hole, pulling out and drawing a whimper of protest from her.

Her hand reaches behind her, desperate to guide him inside her.

But a yelp tears from her lips when he slaps the hand away. “Good girls wait until they are given.”

“Oh god, please.” She grinds her hips, seeking, needy.

“How bad?”

“S-so bad.” She trembles, the corners of her eyes burning with the unbearable ache.

Her mouth opens but the impending moan gets tangled in her throat as he slides into her opening, pushing through her tight walls, hitting a spot that always drives her insane.

She cries out, back arching, fingers clawing at the sheet as he pulls out tortuously slowly, only to slam back in, the bed groaning beneath them.

“See how your pussy always welcomes me?” His pace quickens, each thrust a claim, a brutal devotion. “That’s because it’s meant for me.” He grabs her hip, perfecting the angle before he drives impossibly deeper.

Her vision blurs, pleasure mounting into something dangerous, something consuming. He pounds into her with a hunger that borders on obsession, that makes her body sing with the violence of it.

“This perfect pussy is mine,” he whispers gruffly, a promise laced with possession. “At the early hours of the morning, in the busy days of the afternoon, deep into the many deads of every fucking night. It’s always going to be mine. Only my cock gets to fuck and own every inch of your needy cunt.”

“Oh, god, Zev please,” she sobs, body unraveling, the pleasure cresting into something unbearable with every intentional thrust.

But she doesn’t want him to stop. She loves how he is so big and how perfectly he always fits inside her.

She loves how he pushes through her walls, hitting places no man has ever hit before.

She loves how roughly he plunges in and out of her, how she drips her juices all over him even without him trying too hard.

And she loves it even more when he pauses inside her and she can feel it all, the fervent throbbing of his cock.

And she loves it too, when he empties himself inside her, raw, unrelenting.