Page 30 of Cursebound
She looks up, and her eyes break me. Big, green, full of emotion I don’t quite understand.
“You ran all the way to get me… barefoot? That’s over twenty miles.”
I shake my head in dismissal. It really isn’t important. I’d run the world barefoot for her if I needed to.
She pulls herself up, grabs one of those little bottles of hotel soap, and crawls down so she’s level with my feet.
“What are you doing, Rosa?”
“Looking after you,” she replies simply, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. She unscrews the cap, pours apple-scented liquid into her hand, and gently cleans my wounds.
I become aware of her body in a way I wasn’t seconds before. Aware of her hesitant fingers on my battered feet, how that dress clings to her. My cock twitches to life, and I silently curse it. This is not the time.
“Leave it, for fuck’s sake,” I bark.
Her eyes fly to my face. Shit. I sounded like a monster, and I hate the look of hurt that flickers across her face before she hides it.
“Suit yourself,” she says, her tone neutral. “Get an infection and die for all I care.”
“That’s not going to happen. You already know that. Come on, let’s go to bed.”
Without waiting for a response, I stand up and peel off my T-shirt. Her eyes wander my torso as she undoubtedly catalogs the various marks I accumulated during the night. None of them will be there by tomorrow—she knows that too.
Turning away, I present her with my ass as I take off my jeans. I don’t want her to see that even now, even when she’s suffering, after everything she has been through, I’m still hard for her. It shames me.
I grab one of the robes from the back of the door and slip it on, and when I turn back to her, there’s a smirk on her face that wasn’t there before.
“Nice try.” She holds out her hands so I can help her to her feet. “But there’s a mirror right there, and I’m not blind, big boy.”
I pull her up, and she collides with my body, her hands going to my shoulders. She tilts her face up to mine and winks at me. Yeah, she actually winks, then rubs herself against my dick.
“You need some help with that?” she asks, her voice low, her pulse faster than it’s been all night. Her hands twine into my hair. She tugs my mouth down to hers and kisses me hard, pushing us both backward so I crash into the sink. Her tits are crushed to my chest, her tongue is in my mouth, and her breath is coming in sharp, staccato gusts. There’s a hint of blood from where one of those shitheads hit her face, and it ignites my hunger and fury in equal measure.
She drops one hand down to the belt of my robe and pulls it open before sliding to her knees and coming to rest with her face directly in front of my cock. With a sigh, she strokes it and cups my balls with her other hand. Jesus. I’m trying to stay in control here. Trying not to be a monster—but she’s not making it easy for me.
“This isn’t right,” I murmur as she draws her tongue along the length of me. “This isn’t what you need right now.”
She stops what she’s doing, and despite it being what I wanted, I almost roar with disappointment.
“It feels right to me,” she says, those big eyes serious. “And you don’t get to decide what I need. What I need is to forget what happened tonight. I need to wash that memory away. Ineedyou to stop pretending to be the gentleman we both know you’re not and fuck me. It’s not like you don’t want to.” As she speaks, she pulls her soaking wet dress over her head and kneels before me wearing a skimpy bra that would give a saint an erection. Fuck’s sake. I let out a growl and drag her upright so fast her head jerks back.
“You think this is a game, bella?” I snarl, tearing the bra from her while she recovers her balance. “You think you can play with me?”
“Yeah.” She meets my gaze, her pupils dilated. “I do. Now are you going to fuck me or what? Quick. Nasty. Hard.”
I can see the carotid artery pumping in her neck, hear the blood thundering through her veins, and smell the arousal seeping between her legs. She’s not lying. She wants this as much as I do.
Without warning, I spin her around so she’s facing the mirror, bend her over the sink, and drive into her tight pussy. It’s not an elegant fuck, but it is what we both need.
She gasps, and I quickly dismiss any concern that I’m hurting her. This is what she asked for, and this is what she’ll get.
I palm her tits, and she plants her hands on the vanity to steady herself. I squeeze one of her nipples so hard she squeals. Her wet hair rains water down on us both as I wrap it around my fist and pull, hard. Our eyes lock in the mirror, and I bury my shaft as deep inside her as it will go.
Her bouncing tits make my mouth water, the loud slap of flesh against flesh reverberating off the marble and porcelain. God, she’s so wet, so tight. So fucking good. The look on her face says she’s scared, turned on, and hurting in equal measure, and it makes me pound into her even harder. I should slow down. Be careful. But I can’t stop.
I pull her head back farther, twisting it up by her hair, and place my other hand at her throat. And then I hold her there, trapped between my cock and the edge of the sink, contracting my fingers until she gasps for breath. Fuck. That sound is off-the-charts sexy.
Leaning down, I rest my lips at her neck, and my fangs respond in exactly the same way as my dick. Even as I graze her skin, I seek to control the animal instinct screaming at me to consume her blood. I could kill her if I don’t stay in command.