Page 29 of Crescendo (Beautiful Monsters #1)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Daniela

He feels like glass under me when I finally straddle his broad waist—unbreakable, bulletproof, thicker-than-steel glass.

It’s a fragile, terrifying game to balance myself over hard muscle and twisting sinew.

His erection stabs at the air. His eyes set the room on fire.

He’s calculating my every move, and it’s a good thing the camera won’t be able to catch his expression from this angle.

My ruse would be over before it’s even begun.

I try not to tremble when I reach down to place the flat of my hand against his chest while I shift my weight to bring myself closer to his hips.

I can feel his heartbeat—it rails against me, fierce and brutal.

For a brief, faint moment, I consider scrambling away and insisting they find someone else. Anyone else.

Lucifer is too... everything. His cock aims away from me, and I swallow hard while I try to entertain the notion that he could ever fit inside me. It will hurt. Some sick part of me even craves that pain.

Not Vinny. He’s not Vinny, this little voice at the back of my head screams. Vincent Stacatto would never lie back and let me mount him like this.

He wouldn’t merely stare while my shaking fingers reached for his cock.

He wouldn’t dare me with his eyes, issuing a silent challenge to just do it. Fuck him already.

I press my knees into the bed to find enough leverage to lift myself off him.

He’s steel in my grip, and it’s almost a struggle to place the head of him against my entrance.

Lube won’t be enough to ease him inside me.

I know it, and it’s nearly impossible to swallow the wave of fear that washes up, threatening to pull me under. ..

But I do. My gaze drifts above Lucifer’s head and finds the ever-watchful eye of the camera. I stare into it while I lower myself onto him, trying to force him inside me. He grunts. I gasp. There is burning tension already. He’s too big. Too much. He’s...not Vinny.

I let that single thought drive me as I flex my hips and sink down hard .

God...it burns. He’s an inferno inside me, swelling and raging against the confines of my body.

I’m consumed by the feeling. I see black; the pain is so much.

Grunted sounds tear from Lucifer’s throat.

He strains, twitching inside me, begging for more friction.

My vision is a blur when my eyes open again.

My head’s thrown back, my gaze on the ceiling.

One of my hands is at my lips, trying to smother the sound of pain I made—and a sudden, terrifying realization batters me down.

Vinny owns me even here. Even with another man inside me, I can’t erase the damage he’s done, the reactions he trained my body to perform instinctively.

I can’t. I can’t...

“Fuck.”

The coarse sound yanks at me like a tether. I glance down and find Lucifer staring up at me, his dark eyes hooded. He wants me to move...on him. I can see the need in his eyes even though he tries to counter it by clenching his jaw .

I flex my hips ever so slightly, feeling my body protest at the intrusion of his. The blue fire grows hotter. Searing. Biting my lower lip, I move again, bracing my hand against his stomach for leverage. Again.

His pupils dilate. His hips jerk beneath me.

I swivel harder, gasping out when he nudges inner parts of me, as hungry and brutal as a battering ram.

With every sick, painful movement, Vinny can’t touch me.

I move faster, rocking an instinctive rhythm back and forth, forth and back.

Up. Down. The faster I move, the better I feel. Oh, God, he feels...

The bed shifts. He’s arching up, changing the angle of pressure.

I hiss between my teeth, but I don’t resist. I gasp again.

Colors spot my vision. My fingers curl, snagging a fistful of his shirt, yanking him closer.

..and then shoving him right back down. I almost forget Vinny in the dizzying rush.

Then my eyes spot the camera capturing every moment.

It’s like surfacing from an eternity spent underwater when I rip the ring off my finger and throw it into the corner of the room.

I’m drunk on the feeling. Freedom? It prickles all over my body, gathering between my legs and traveling up my stomach.

I feel him everywhere, Lucifer, even though he digs his nails into the bedsheets rather than touch me.

And I need him to. I need Vinny to see. I need to feel. I need, need, need, and for the first time in my life, I just take what I want. My hands grab his wrists and I place the callused fingers on my hips, my breasts. Touch me.

He doesn’t want to. I can see the challenge blaring from his eyes. He wants this over. I need this to continue.

“Please.” I don’t recognize the woman who calls out.

Her voice is a plaintive little howl, but Lucifer’s nails graze my skin as he starts to grope, punishingly and brutally at my flesh.

My hands clutch his wrists, manipulating his touch.

Here. There. I want every part of me raked raw by his fingers.

I want him to mark every single inch of me .

My eyes drift shut, and my body moves of its own accord, driving him in, deeper, deeper, deeper. Harder. Faster. Harder. More. More.

I’m not prepared for the heat that swelters. Sweat slicks my skin. He roils beneath me, too strong and heavy to fight, but he lets me stay on top. He lets me set the pace. He lets me keep control.

And I’m drowning beneath that power.

We fuck for Vinny. We fuck each other. We fuck , and there are no pretty words to describe it.

I’m a base, primal creature hungry for only one thing.

He gives it to me, holding me in place for several brutal, hungry thrusts that claw noises out from my chest. His own growls echo mine, tense and strained.

They reveal the secret he didn’t want me to know—when he finally throws his head back and groans out his release, I feel the truth hit me like a kick to the gut.

He wanted this.

It’s a bitter victory some part of me gloats over. I let him grip me. Bruise me. Use me. Hold me up while he thrusts out the rest of his release and fills the condom.

I’m laughing when it’s all over, and Lucifer relaxes beneath me if only for a second, his body devoid of that animalistic tension. I laugh when he shoves me away and peels the bloody, sweaty, filthy used condom off. Our desperation marks it, mine and his.

I laugh and laugh until I don’t even notice the tears that fall down my cheeks as I lie limp and used on the mattress. I’ve never felt dirtier than I have now. I’ve never felt cleaner. I’ve never felt better. For the first time in my life, I truly feel free, if only in this moment...

A stranger between my legs had to give me this, driving the sensation into my body like a nail.

The devious thought makes me stop laughing. It makes me hate him—how many women experience this with him ?

But, for some reason, that thought only makes me hungry for more.

It isn’t fair.

Dante

My head’s still separated from my body when I stand and toss the used condom onto the floor. The camera flashes a red light to let us know it’s still fucking recording. Still watching. Still waiting for us to put on a good show.

I nearly knock it over when I jab my thumb against the button to shut it off. It trembles on its tripod, that ever-watchful eye swaying back and forth, threatening to turn Vincent’s princess’s little exploits into nothing more than smashed metal and film.

Oh, but no princess I knew of could fuck like that.

She’s a little predator wrapped up in the skin of a lamb.

It takes one to know one, though my disguise was shredded long ago in favor of my true form.

I wear it when I face her again. She’s slumped on the center of the mattress, her eyes swollen, her chest heaving, her nipples stabbing at the air, her legs still parted.

The rules of her little game were simple. We play nice for the camera. We put on a good show for her big, bad fiancé. I let her ride me like a cheap circus attraction.

But the show’s over now. It’s time for the dancing animals to be shoved back into their cages behind the stage. There’s a mess that needs to be cleaned up. Fresh tickets to sell.

The little bitch doesn’t react when I grab her by the ankle and drag her to the edge of the bed.

She watches me, a grim smile playing over her mouth like she knows the thoughts circling through my head when I sink onto my knees and pull her legs apart, throwing one over either shoulder.

She doesn’t even flinch until I seal my mouth over her cunt and shove my tongue inside her.

She makes a sound she didn’t learn from those porno videos, however. Her hands claw at my shoulders. Then my hair. She whines when I find her clit and graze the bundle of flesh between my teeth. Her taste floods me, more potent than any of the shit Arno has stocked in his bar.

One hand on her waist keeps her pinned down while I taste the little bitch inside and out. She’s sweet, if it’s even fucking possible. Sweet like liquor. Sweet like heroin. She’s an addict’s kind of bitter taste—my own personal hit of dope.

I take every dose until she’s writhing. Until the sounds she makes cease being sounds at all, and she’s merely grunting beneath the brutal, twisted fuck.

I taste every single goddamn inch of her.

Then I use my fingers to finish her off, trapping her clit beneath my thumb and rubbing until her back bows and her nails break my skin.

It’s only when she’s limp and panting that I come up for air.

I don’t take the time to observe her flushed body when I spot my jeans lying in the corner and I shove them on. With single-minded determination, I rip the camera from the tripod. When I toe the threshold, I finally look back and find her watching me, her eyes unsettling...