Page 20 of Devil’s Night (The Shadows of Darkness Universe #3)

Both hands grip the edge of my waistband now, knuckles pale from tension, her fingers curling into the fabric like she owns it.

“Katya-” My voice is hoarse, strained. Not angry, but desperate.

When I move to stop her, she strikes fast, sinking her teeth into the flesh of my hand, hard.

I flinch, stunned, staring down at the crescent indents she leaves behind. Her mouth. Her bite. It’s still tingling, burning, marked.

Fuck.

She tugs on my belt with slow, agonizing precision, the metal clinking in the silence between us. Each motion is a threat laced in seduction, every second dragging my sanity closer to the edge. The blood flow between my legs shifts from ache to pressure, thick, pulsing and impossible to hide.

The strain in my pants is visible now, undeniable, twitching beneath the weight of her gaze.

But I still say nothing.

Can’t.

Because her fingers are at my zipper now, dragging it down inch by torturous inch. The sound is deafening.

Her knuckles brush the bulge in my boxers, and my entire body jerks, heat flaring as her touch ghosts over the hardest part of me.

My hands grip the edge of the island like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded. The marble is cool under my palms, unlike the fire raging everywhere else.

Katya doesn’t speak. She doesn’t have to.

Her silence devours me.

And I let her.

Because right now, in this moment, with her on her knees and that look in her eyes, I’ve never felt more owned.

Then, warm.

So warm it borders on sinful, her lips press to the base of my cock, soft and slow, kissing up along my length like she’s worshiping it. The contrast between her cool fingers and the heat of her mouth makes my knees want to buckle. Every inch she traces with her lips tightens the coil in my gut.

My hand finds her hair, curling into those silken strands as I look down.

Her eyes flick up to meet mine, wide and wild, and the second she sees just how much I’ve been keeping from her, there's a flicker of something, shock, awe, maybe even challenge, lighting up behind those lashes.

Yeah, okay, Katya. Let’s see how long that silent treatment really lasts now.

I hook my thumbs into my boxers and drag them down, slow and deliberate, letting my cock spring free right in front of her face. Her breath hitches, the sound almost imperceptible, but I hear it. I feel it.

My fist curls tighter in her hair, tugging her head back just enough so I can stroke myself in front of her.

Long, slow pumps, teasing the tip with my thumb while I keep my eyes locked on hers.

Her lips part slightly, her tongue slipping out to wet her bottom lip like she’s imagining the weight of me there.

And fuck, so am I.

She stays on her knees, hands dragging up my thighs, slow as sin. She grips the backs of them, grounding herself like she already knows she’s about to be undone.

I groan, the sound raw, broken, as I take in the full picture, Katya, on her knees, mouth open, gaze locked on my cock like it’s the only goddamn thing in the world.

Her spit glistens as she leans forward, a trail of it slipping from her mouth onto my tip. She spreads it with her tongue, slow and torturous, dragging it down my shaft in one long, wet line.

My grip tightens, yanking her closer, and her head bumps softly against the island cabinets behind her. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull back.

She fucking smirks.

“Oh, you’re still upset?” I ask, breath low, rough, my hand cradling the side of her face as her lips part.

And then, she takes me.

Warm. Wet. Perfect.

Her lips wrap around my head, tongue circling the crown as her eyes flutter. I twitch against her tongue, every nerve ending burning as she sinks down farther, inch by inch, swallowing me like she’s starving.

She nods, barely, mouth full of me, eyes glassy with that defiant heat.

Silent treatment intact. But her mouth says everything I need to hear.

My hips start slow, just the tip pressing past her lips, easing down her throat inch by inch.

She gags.

Beautifully.

That perfect little throat can’t take all of me, not yet. Her hands, delicate and trembling, grip the backs of my thighs like she’s hanging on for dear life, fingers curling into my skin as her body fights to adjust to my size.

My hands cradle her face, fingers splayed over her flushed cheeks, thumbs brushing over wet lashes already clinging together.

Each thrust pushing deeper. Each gag is music.

Her throat spasms around me as I press just a little farther each time, a slick, wet vice that threatens to drag me to the edge far too fast. Her spit starts to pool at the corners of her mouth, dripping down her chin in thick, messy ropes, coating my cock with every brutal stroke.

Her eyes water, wide and glassy, a silent plea mixed with something darker, something I don’t think she even understands.

I do.

I fucking do.

My pace shifts from slow torment to something meaner, more possessive. Her head knocks into the cabinets behind her with every thrust, the thud dull beneath the wet, relentless sound of me using her mouth like it’s mine.

Because it is.

Her throat is mine. Her gagging, choking, drowning in me, it belongs to me.

Her nails dig into my skin now, sharp little crescents pressing deeper the harder I go, the rougher I grip her face, the more I force her to take what I know she can’t handle.

And God help me, I can’t stop.

I don’t stop.

I drive myself deeper, harder, fucking her mouth like it’s the only thing tethering me to sanity. The slap of skin, the sloppy suck of her lips trying to hold on, it’s all building, all boiling beneath the surface, release clawing its way through me with every passing second.

I shove a hand behind her head and hold her there, make her take it.

She gags violently, choking on every inch, spit bubbling down her chin, dripping onto her bare thighs.

She’s trembling.

Barely holding it together.

And I love her like this. Unraveled. Ruined. Still full of fucking fire.

Something inside me snaps.

The urge to finish like this, to mark her, to own her completely, it pulses through me like lightning.

But I don’t.

I won’t.

“I’m not cumming in your mouth, Butterfly,” I growl, voice thick with restraint and something darker, something possessive enough to swallow her whole.

I pull out with a wet pop, a thick trail of spit still connecting her swollen lips to the slick head of my cock.

She gasps for air, coughing, tears running, lips red and raw, and somehow...somehow, she still lifts her chin and smirks.

Grabbing onto me, eyes glowing with something feral, she breathes, “That’s all you’ve got?”

That fire…

That defiance.

Oh, Katya.

So this is the torture you want?

I grab her without hesitation, lifting her over my shoulder like she weighs nothing.

She kicks. Pounds into my back with those small fists, but it’s all for show. Her body gives her away, hips grinding against my shoulder, wet heat bleeding through her boxers and seeping into my skin.

My free hand slides beneath the fabric.

Fuck.

She’s soaked.

Dripping.

Needy.

So fucking ready for this and she doesn’t even realize it.

All mine.

I palm her slick cunt once, just to feel how ruinously wet she is, then slide her down, letting her feet barely brush the floor before I shove her forward, my hand wrapping tight around her throat.

With one commanding push, I bend her over the back of the couch, her face buried in the cushions, her ass perfectly presented in the air. She squirms, not in protest, no, but in anticipation. That little shiver crawling up her spine betrays her.

Dragging down her boxers, I expose her inch by inch. Her skin glows in the low light, flushed and trembling. My hand drags across her ass, slow and deliberate, fingers digging into the softness before I deliver a firm slap, more a warning than a punishment.

She whimpers, but not from pain.

It’s hunger. Desperation.

She’s right where I want her...where I need her.

Bent. Silent. Mine.

“A dirty fucking whore like you, Katya…” My voice is low, teeth clenched around the growl building in my throat. “I think you deserve my cock buried in your ass. Don’t you?”

She freezes.

That gorgeous body goes still, muscles tightening beneath my hand. Her head turns just enough for her flushed cheek to press into the couch cushions, eyes meeting mine over her shoulder.

“I’ve never-”

I cut her off without a breath of hesitation.

“It wasn’t really a question.”

My hand tightens around her neck, pressing her down just enough to remind her who owns this moment. Her chest rises and falls beneath me, ragged and uneven, and the way her thighs rub together tells me everything I need to know.

She’s scared. She’s overwhelmed.

But she’s drenched.

She wants it.

And she’s about to learn exactly what kind of man she’s given herself to.

I spit, slow and thick, watching it trail down the crease of her perfect ass.

It drips between her cheeks, shining as it mixes with the slick still coating my cock from her mouth. The way she took me down her throat… fuck, I can still feel the ghost of it wrapped around me.

Now it’s her turn to feel all of me.

Spreading her thighs wider with my own, I line myself up, tip barely nudging her tight, untouched hole, and just hover. Teasing. Letting the threat of what’s coming stretch out until her moans dissolve into low, choked sobs against the cushion.

Then I press in.

Slow. Deliberate. Cruel.

Her body tenses, trembles, clenches, but still, she takes me. Inch by inch, her ass devours my cock, the pressure unbelievable. The tightness… goddamn. My jaw clenches as I push deeper, her cries muffled by the couch, her fingers clawing into the fabric like she’s trying not to fall apart.

But I want her to fall apart.

Her moans shift, rising higher, warping into screams when my hips finally meet her ass, burying myself fully inside her. The stretch is brutal. She’s not used to this. Her body isn’t ready. And still, she’s taking it.

I start to move.

Slow at first, just enough to let her feel the shape of me, the way I drag against every nerve ending inside her.

Her screams echo through the house, raw and uncontrolled, blending with the wet slap of my hips crashing into her.

My cock throbs inside her, impossibly hard, the tight grip of her body making it feel like I’m going to lose control far too fast.

Her tears soak into the couch. Her nails dig deeper. Her body tries to crawl forward, but I’ve got her locked in place, one hand gripping the back of her neck, the other slamming her hips right back into mine.

Every thrust is harder. Deeper. Mine.

She gasps. She cries. She aches for me now.

“E-Echo,” she sobs, voice cracking in the air, the sound a perfect blend of pain and pleasure.

I groan, the weight of her ass wrapped around me enough to drive me fucking insane.

“I-I won’t leave,” she cries, her voice muffled in the cushions, broken and soaked in desperation.

The second those words hit my ears, I lose whatever restraint I had left.

I fuck her harder.

Like I’m trying to brand it into her.

“Won’t leave who?” I growl, leaning over her, teeth grazing the shell of her ear. I’m seconds from exploding inside her.

“You,” she gasps. “I-I won’t leave you.”

My hand slips from her neck to her jaw, tilting her head back, forcing her to feel every thrust, every word.

“I thought you knew,” I pant, hips jackhammering now, on the edge of losing every ounce of control.

“You’re mine, Little Butterfly.”

And I’m going to fuck her like she finally believes it.

With a final, punishing thrust, I bury myself deep and release.

My cock pulses, spilling into the tightest part of her, my hips slamming into her ass as she screams, a sharp, raw sound that echoes like a war cry through the walls of the house. It’s not pain. It’s not pleasure.

It’s everything.

Her body spasms beneath me, trembling as I grind in deeper, forcing every last drop into her. I want it to stay. I want her to feel it for days.

Only when the waves subside, when her moans turn to shallow, ragged breaths, do I slowly pull back.

My eyes stay locked on the sight below me, her ruined body trembling, leaking, marked.

My cum slips from her ass in thick trails, painting her thighs, mixing with sweat and streaks of blood, slick, raw proof that she’s been claimed. Her legs are shaking. Unsteady. And still, she grips the back of the chair like it’s the only thing keeping her tethered to reality.

She’s wrecked.

Perfectly.

Blood still coats my cock, a mix of her body surrendering and my brutality, and fuck, it only makes her look more like she was made for this.

For me.

I should leave her like this. Used. Filled. Trembling.

But I don’t.

I can’t.

Something dark and possessive coils in my gut as I slide an arm beneath her, lifting her broken body into mine. She doesn’t fight it. Doesn’t speak.

She just breathes, shallow and uneven against my chest, leaking me down her thighs, skin flushed and sticky.

She’s mine now. Every inch of her knows it.

Carrying her through the quiet hall, I don’t head back toward the room she’s been locked in.

I take her to my bed.

And I don't know which part of my blackened soul has latched onto this girl… but it’s done.

There’s no going back.