Page 59 of Crescendo (Beautiful Monsters #1)

Mack laughs. Even Arno has to snort. Such a silly idea, the princess wanting to claim a bunch of whores. Lucifer doesn’t snicker, however. Maybe he knows my plan already. Maybe he doesn’t really care.

“ I get the girls,” I repeat, staring Mack dead in the eye.

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” I say. “Because I’m going to use them to hit Vinny right where it hurts.”

“Oh, really?” The corner of his mouth quirks, revealing a sharpened canine. “And just how do you plan to do that?”

I shrug. Then...I smile, going against the neat expressions Vinny preferred me to display. He hated when I smiled for anyone but him. He hated when I laughed out of his earshot. It seems only fitting that, with him being the topic at hand, I do both.

“I’m going to let them go—”

“Bullshit.” This time, Mack really does come for me, swinging his massive form around the pool table to grab me by the throat.

He presses hard, just enough to make it a struggle to breathe, and I feel the curve of every finger, down to the ridge of each nail gouging my skin.

“I’ve had just about enough of this little bitch,” he snarls, his breath hot on my face, his mouth still curved into a mocking smile.

“Say one more stupid fucking word and I’ll find a good use for that smart little mouth of yours. ”

“Let her go.” The command comes from Arno, but his eyes are focused somewhere behind me, where another man lurks, his shadow swallowing mine. “M-Mack, let her fucking go!”

“Should I, Dante?” Mack wonders, directing the question beyond my shoulder. He drags me forward until I have to strain on tiptoe to keep him from crushing my throat. “Should I let the little whore go? Or maybe I should give her a little taste of my cock first?”

He shifts one of his hands and tries to jab the pad of his thumb between my lips.

I choke when he goes too far, and my teeth clamp down.

Hissing in pain, he draws his hand back, and then pain .

I see silver. I taste blood. Agony plays a deafening melody through my skull, and when I finally regain my senses, I’m on the ground, both hands braced against the floor in front of me.

It trembles. There has to be an earthquake taking place. ..

Or a body being thrown against the wall.

“Dante, stop!”

There’s a beast attacking Mack. Arno does his best to rein the monster in, but nothing can stop a devil unleashed.

If I’d been stupid enough to believe that Lucifer’s skill in battle extended only to the show within the cage, I would have been sorely mistaken.

That fight was child’s play. This is the true devil off his leash.

He snarls, his muscles rippling with every punch he lands before Mack can even form a proper defense.

Blood flies with each blow, after blow, after blow .

.. Arno has to throw himself forward to get enough leverage to wrap both arms around Lucifer’s waist. He tugs, but the man doesn’t move.

He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t comprehend anything but the violence.

“Eh... Enough,” Mack snarls, his voice garbled by the hammering thud of repeated punches. “Enough! Enough!”

When Arno finally manages to haul Lucifer backward, Mack staggers away from them, spitting out blood. His bottom lip is split, but he’s laughing, clinging to the wall with one hand.

“And there he is, ladies and gentlemen—the real fucking Kitten.” He swipes at his mouth while chuckling maniacally.

When his gaze meets Lucifer’s, there isn’t any rage in his eyes.

Just glee. Insanity. Hatred. “ This is the bastard I wanted to face in the cage. We’ll have our rematch soon, eh, Dante?

And next time...we’ll play for keeps.” He winks, but Lucifer stares right past him. Through him.

For a terrible second, he’s not human anymore, and a monster stands in his place, searching for the nearest prey to bite, gnaw at, and kill. When I start to move, he spots me and takes a step forward, his hand flying out.

I should flinch back like I’ve been trained to do. I should run—but, when I finally react, it’s only to catch his hand before it can even touch me, pressing my palm to his. Only with this does Dante return, glaring out through hooded eyes.

He grips me in turn and hauls me to my feet, but I can’t keep up when he starts for the door, pulling me along after him while Mack still cackles.

Outside, a steady rain continues to fall, and with every step he takes, I’m forced to stagger forward three.

He doesn’t care when I trip as he hauls me inside the detached garage and heads for the stairs, dragging me up every single one.

After wrenching the door to the apartment open, he shoves me through it, barring the only escape.

I shiver even before he wrestles the door shut—slamming it fiercely—and shoves me back against the counter.

I gasp out when the edge juts against my spine, but Dante continues to stalk forward.

His face is expressionless, his gaze dark.

I wish to every angel in heaven that I could feel fear.

God, I need to be afraid. I try to force the terror, digging my nails into my palms so hard that I wince. Even that pain isn’t enough.

I hold my breath, feeling my pulse race as his body towers over mine, his eyes hovering over my throat.

When he opens his mouth, I think he really means to tear into it, but he inhales, and I don’t resist when he tugs on my hips, positioning his bloodied, mangled hands on either side to pivot me around so that my back faces him.

He’s too close. His chest presses against my shoulders, forcing me down onto the counter.

I think I could be truly afraid now if it weren’t for the way my own wide-eyed reflection watches me from the polished surface of the sink.

What a greedy little bitch. She’s hungry.

Her tongue trails her parting lips while she starts to pant, her back arched toward the man standing behind her.

He catches my chin on the palm of his hand, his thumb prodding my split lip.

He smears each drop of blood and doesn’t seem satisfied until I lick all traces of it away.

The heat in his eyes grazes my skin, erasing whatever evidence Mack may have left behind.

Vincent Stacatto doesn’t exist at this moment, either.

To prove it, the devil strips me naked himself, wrenching the white shirt over my head, growling when he realizes I’m wearing nothing underneath.

The jeans, too. I’m already bare for him.

And, God, I should be terrified by the possession rolling off him in waves—but I’m spineless for another reason. My skin sears beneath the hand he rakes down my back. He scratches me, and the sharp lines of pain make me clench my teeth and squeeze my eyes shut.

Scream, I tell myself. Fight. Run. Resist. Only Vinny had eyes like that. Ravenous. Vicious. Hungry. Starving eyes. His lust should be poison. I shouldn’t crave... I shouldn’t...

I nearly trip over my own two feet when he yanks me from the counter by my shoulder and manually steers me down the hallway, I see as my eyes open again.

He forces me into that narrow, darkened room.

He makes me crawl onto the center of the bed, and he positions me on my hands and knees.

The mattress protests when he mounts it after me, his body a heavy, solid weight against mine.

Searching fingers trace the back of my skull and find the hair tie I got from the duffel bag the blonde had sent.

He tugs it down, freeing my hair to spill over my shoulders.

The sound he makes—it’s part growl, part groan.

His lips graze the nape of my neck, and I half expect him to bite there, holding me in place like a true wolf while he thrusts deep.

His fingers tangle in my hair instead, wrenching my head back.

My gaze is on the ceiling when he slides a hand down my backside and nudges my legs farther apart.

This is it , some part of me murmurs. Vinny may have claimed my soul, but Lucifer.

..he breaks it, grinding himself into me so hard that I see double.

From far, far away, I hear a woman scream, sharp and piercing—he doesn’t enter me in the usual place, and without the preparation from before, it hurts.

It burns. I’m on fire, and I don’t know what creature is reborn in the ashes when the flames finally die down and he starts to move.

He’s slower than before, grinding into my inner walls and testing the give of my body.

It tenses, every inch of me unsure whether to shut him out or let him in deeper.

My body wants him out. My head—it lets him in, overriding the instinctive clenching of my muscles until his thrusts become easier while my vision clears again.

When I blink, I see his shadow thrown over the wall in front of me, tense and endlessly black.

He stiffens up, and I make out the shape of his hand as it falls against my lower back for leverage—did he even realize where he chose to thrust?

Before he can change his mind, I flex my hips, urging him deeper, conveying what I can’t with words. I want this. I need this...

Grunting, he starts to move again, and I don’t force his pace this time. I dig my nails into the comforter, arch my back, and I...I just let him fuck me.

I don’t think. I don’t feel. I breathe him in. I taste his scent on my tongue. I let his thudding heartbeat set the pace of mine. I let him own me and take whatever the hell he wants. I don’t resist.

And, this time, he doesn’t hold back.

The mattress sways with every harsh, violent motion of our bodies. Somewhere in the chaos, he starts to increase his pace, finding a pleasure that makes him grit out curses that set my cheeks on fire.

“Fuck. So fucking tight. Fuck. Fuck.”