Page 40 of Crescendo (Beautiful Monsters #1)

In the end, I’m the one forced to look away, but I settle for eyeing the steady rise and fall of her chest. The bitch may have aced her poker face, but her body gives her away.

Her pulse is ten beats too fast. She flinches every time I exhale, though she makes her limbs stiff in an attempt to disguise the reaction.

She’s not afraid of me... No. But she is wary, and I intend to go from there. Inspiring fear is like stoking a flame into a full-fledged inferno. All you need is a spark.

When I reach down and graze her breast through the fabric of the borrowed shirt, it’s like striking a match. She was expecting pain—not this. Not soft, gentle, squeezing motions. I can see her eyes flicker as she struggles to process the sensation. Pleasure?

Though the bastard may have held back from fucking her, he never gave to her, either.

He never ground his presence into her skin with his bare hands.

Never tasted her cunt on his tongue. He never made her writhe, wanting his cock.

I know better than most that pain can be withstood and faced with gritted teeth—pleasure isn’t so easy to resist.

Her body tenses when I lower myself against her back like a wolf aiming to deliver the killing blow.

I continue to stroke her while my mouth grazes the nape of her neck, my tongue attacking the line of her pulse.

Her nipples rise sharp to attention, greedy and demanding, practically grazing my palm through the layer of fabric.

From the corner of my eye, I see one of her hands flutter as if she means to shove me off before she braces them both flat against the mattress.

When I tease her with my teeth, she jumps, and an answering jolt shoots through my cock. This game is a double-edged sword, but I intend to win.

“Get...on your knees.”

I pull back and watch her consider disobeying.

Her eyes stray, fighting to return to that distant place—but she can’t, and she resigns with a slow, deliberate shift of her ass.

Suddenly, she’s on her back, looking up at me.

She pulls herself upright and then leans forward on her hands, arching her spine. ..

Fuck. I shift backward, dismounting the mattress altogether. Her eyes glow through the shadows, daring me with a silent taunt. Make me bleed. Scream. Do it. Erase him. Make me yours...

I don’t want her. I don’t, but I’m reaching for the buckle of my jeans anyway.

I’m hard, a shock I ignore in favor of watching her gaze drift down to find me erect and straining.

She inhales, the broken sound playing like some fucked-up melody.

Her tongue shoots out, dabbing her bottom lip as if in anticipation of my taste.

“Open,” I grit out, rising to my feet.

She obeys, parting her teeth, her tongue lying passive in the center.

I use the pink flesh as a bull’s-eye as I shove my cock deep into her mouth.

Her cheeks contract automatically, trying to force me out, but before I can, she relaxes, and fuck.

.. It’s like the bitch tries to swallow me down whole.

She’s sloppy. She’s never sucked a man off before me—I can see it in her eyes as they meet mine, taunting me to make her stop.

My fingers grip the back of her skull instead, using the contact to guide her, steer, control.

Once again, she proves to be a fast learner.

Her tongue strokes the underside. Her teeth graze the shaft.

The tension ratchets up, coiling in every muscle until I’m rocking onto my heels, grunting out curses through clenched teeth. Damn. Fuck. Shit.

Too soon, I have to shove her back, panting while my body struggles to regain control.

I clench my cock at the root, tightening my grip until the impending release gathers in the pit of my stomach and stays there.

I consider just jerking myself here and now, pelting her with the evidence. Her owner would surely like that.

But she wouldn’t. She’d want me inside her, deeper than the fucker could ever reach. She wants to be tainted, owned, and destroyed—but I’m not sure if I want to be her pistol this time.

I don’t know how long I fucking stand here, about to boil over into my own fist. Maybe it’s the sound she makes when I start to turn away? It’s a gasp—a protest, a plea. Words are beyond this little lamb now.

“Take the shorts off—”

The command is barely out of my mouth before she has the boxers shed and tossed onto the floor. She lies back when I step forward, her eyes roving up to the ceiling while her hands grip the sheets until her knuckles turn white.

I can feel her breath on my neck as I mount her.

She doesn’t make a sound when I find the opening to her cunt and thrust balls-deep.

Her head falls back. Her toes curl. She clenches, her thighs tightening around my hips.

Her breasts heave against my chest, and then I just let go, giving her every bit of violation she seems to crave.

For two, maybe three thrusts, I’m in control.

Then something shifts somewhere during the fourth plunge inside her.

She grinds her teeth together, her hands clenching more of the sheets.

More. More. More . Then she grabs my thigh, sinking her nails in deep and drawing out a groan I can’t silence.

Her own gasp mingles with it, breathy and vulnerable.

Stacatto’s whore likes it rough, apparently.

Before I can find a rhythm, she arches up, deepening every thrust and hastening the burning, savage need humming through my blood.

I grab her by the waist and pin her down, but she twists and writhes, forcing her own ragged pace. When I don’t comply fast enough, her nails rake downward, ripping bits of skin away.

“Shit!” My vision shoots red—but it’s a different shade from before.

No matter how many men I’ve beaten with my fists or faces I’ve smashed into a wall, I’ve never breathed this violent shade of ruby before.

It drenches everything, and then...there’s clarity.

It’s brief and lasts only for as long as I thrust inside her, grunting with the effort. Faster. Faster. Harder.

As if from far away, I hear her moan. I see black. My ears pop with the violent disruption in gravity. I feel electricity crackle all the way to my fucking toes. I’m alive with the sensation of her—her heat, her silky, fucking wet...

Then, too soon, it’s over. I’m tumbling back down with only seconds to pull out before I come so hard that my teeth chatter.

I don’t notice that she hasn’t climaxed until I hear her gasp and feel her shift underneath me.

Her nails return, catching the left side of my ass, and I rise up onto my knees and snatch her hand away, pinning it above her head.

“No.” My voice is too jagged to hold any true anger, and she’s too far gone to hear me anyway. With a hiss, I flip her over and then shove my fingers inside her, thrusting them in and out.

Her breath catches. She whines when I grind against her clit with my thumb, and words tumble out into the sheets, broken, hoarse, and definitely not English.

“ Filho da puta! Merda. Merda. Merda —” She breaks off. Her spine curls, and then she comes hard, riding my fingers so violently that my knuckles pop.

When I pull my hand away, I swipe it against the sheets to erase her, but something makes me pop my thumb into my mouth for a second, swallowing her taste down.

I shouldn’t feel hard again already, watching her.

I shouldn’t wonder what the hell she said.

I should kick her out of the fucking bed. Make her sleep in the tub.

I shouldn’t collapse down beside her, high on the aftermath of the sex. But what the fuck. She can’t seem to move, either, so I decide to chalk it up as a victory. I let my eyes drift shut, and I nearly convince myself that she isn’t here.

“Who hurt you? Was it a man or a woman?” There’s no hint of fear or restraint in her voice. Just plain, shameless curiosity. “Who made you carve those marks into your skin?” she adds when I don’t respond.

My eyes open, and I can’t stop my hand from sliding down my left thigh, sensing the tiny nicks and scars left there. Irritation gives way to suspicion. “How do you know I made them myself?”

She sighs and the mattress shifts beneath her.

Suddenly, her forearm juts across my vision, but she makes no attempt to attack me with it.

For a moment, my eyes trace the pale skin until I notice the near-invisible flaws that catch the glow from the alarm clock: ten thin, delicate scars that form a neat row right before the juncture of her elbow.

“The first days,” she says. Exhaustion thickens her accent, and I try to remember where she said she was from. Brazil. “The worst days. I needed to remind myself that I was still real...”

It’s a morbid topic for pillow talk. I close my eyes again and ignore her, unwilling to take part in her post-sex game of tit for tat. But the joke’s on me. I close my eyes and I see his face. I hear his voice trickle into my ear while my face is pressed into the pillow. “God forgive me...”

I bolt upright and rise to my feet. She’s watching me, her eyes tracing my own row of scars, openly curious about the story behind each jagged line. Fuck her.

“I needed to remind myself that I was still real , ” she said. I needed to remind myself that I was still human. That I could bleed. That I still had control over some part of my skin. An injured beast caught within a trap will chew its own limb off to escape, after all.

I grit my teeth and try to smother the emotions by shoving my legs into my jeans and dragging them up.

It doesn’t help. Thanks to Stacatto’s nosy bitch, I will need to find some asshole to punch to drive the fucking buzzing from my skull.

I let the anger push me to the door, and I slam it shut behind me.