Page 22 of Devil’s Night (The Shadows of Darkness Universe #3)

Chapter eighteen

Every Last Drop

Katya

H is breath ghosts over my skin, each exhale like smoke dragging across my collarbone.

He lingers at my throat, lips brushing the pulse there, slow and possessive, before he sinks his teeth into me again, this time harder.

I feel it in my spine, the way he sucks, like he’s pulling something out of me more vital than blood.

Like he’s feeding on the fact that I let him.

My wrists stay pinned above my head, trapped beneath the strength of one hand. He doesn’t ease up, doesn’t shift his weight, not even when I arch into him, silently begging for contact, for pressure, for him.

He wants to feel me struggle.

His mouth moves again, trailing down my chest, lips hot and open, tongue tracing the line between my ribs and my hips. He bites once, low, right above my pelvis and I flinch, but the sound that escapes me isn’t a protest.

It’s a moan.

“Look at this,” he murmurs, dragging two fingers through the slick heat between my thighs, pulling them apart with just enough force to make me whimper. “You’re soaked. And for what? A few bruises and the way I hold you down?”

He chuckles darkly, the vibration rippling against my skin.

“You’re mine,” he says, almost to himself. “You were made to break for me.”

And I am.

I fucking am.

He circles my clit with slow, merciless precision, not to bring me relief, but to taunt. His fingers press down just enough to make me ache, to make my thighs tremble, then slip lower, down to my entrance, already dripping with our mixed release.

“Still hurting?” he asks again, his voice like smoke and iron.

I nod, biting my lip so hard I taste blood.

And then, more.

He slides two fingers in, all the way, curling them as he leans in to whisper against my jaw.

“You know I don’t stop just because it hurts, Little Butterfly.”

A third finger joins the others, stretching me, fucking me deep with claim. My breath catches in my throat, body caught between pain and white-hot pleasure.

“But that’s the part you like, isn’t it?” he growls. “You want it to hurt. You want me to split you open again. Fill you till it spills out. Make you scream so the walls know who you belong to.”

I try to speak, try to beg, but all that comes out is a choked sob of need.

He pulls his fingers out and presses them to my lips.

“Suck.”

I don’t hesitate. I wrap my mouth around them, tasting myself, tasting him, moaning around the thickness of his fingers as I swirl my tongue over them like I would his cock. His eyes darken as he watches me.

And then, he lets go of my wrists.

My hands fall limp.

But before I can even think to touch him, he’s on me.

His mouth crashes into mine, his tongue sliding between my lips with a hunger that’s all teeth and need. One hand grabs my jaw, the other snakes beneath my thigh, lifting it high against his waist as he grinds his cock against my cunt.

Still hard. Still pulsing. Still denying me.

“You want me to fuck you?” he growls against my mouth, hips grinding, cock dragging through my soaked folds.

“Yes...please-”

“Beg better than that.”

“Echo,” I cry, nails digging into his back, dragging down his spine, “please, I need you inside me. I need you to fuck me until I forget my own name-”

He growls, low and violent, and then he slams into me.

One stroke. Deep. All of him.

I scream, loud, raw and feral. He doesn’t stop. His hips snap into me over and over, relentless, merciless, pounding me into the mattress like he’s trying to fuck his name into my bones.

Every inch of him stretches me open, claiming every part of me, dragging another orgasm up from the pit of my stomach like he owns it.

“Say it,” he demands, thrusting harder. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“Y-you, Echo, fuck, I’m yours-”

He leans down, biting my neck, thrusting so deep I nearly black out.

“That’s right,” he breathes. “You’re mine. And I’m never letting you go.”

“Once won’t be enough,” he growls, sweat dripping from his brow onto my chest. “A hundred times won’t be enough, I’ll ruin this pussy until it’s molded to my cock.”

His nose brushes mine, eyes wild, blood rushing under his skin like a predator too far gone to pull back.

And something snaps inside me.

“You own me, Echo,” I whisper, the words shaking in my throat, breathless, broken, true.

“Now fucking breed me.”

His eyes darken instantly, jaw twitching like I just set off a bomb in his chest. His grip slips on my wrists, stunned for a heartbeat and I take it.

I lunge up, crash my lips against his, all tongue and teeth and hunger.

My hands tear at his shirt, ripping the fabric like it offended me, dragging it off his body, tossing it to the floor with a desperate cry.

My nails scrape down his chest, his abs, his hips, leaving red trails he’ll still feel tomorrow.

He grunts, grabbing me, flipping me onto my back so hard the bed shakes. His mouth never leaves mine, devouring my moans as he yanks his boxers down. I reach between us, gripping his cock, thick and angry in my palm, stroking it like I own it even though we both know I’m the one who’s owned.

No hesitation. No teasing. Just the slick heat of me guiding him in, raw, unprotected, soaked from him and already ruined.

He slams into me.

One brutal, bottomed-out thrust that makes me scream into his mouth. My legs fly open, knees pressed high to my chest as he shoves himself in deeper, like he’s trying to fuck straight through me.

His cock stretches me wide, fills me past the point of pain, and still I want more.

I need it.

He pistons his hips, ruthless, relentless, pounding into me like I’m just a hole to be used. His voice is a broken rasp against my neck, hot and breathless.

“Gonna fuck a baby into this cunt,” he growls, one hand sliding between my legs to press down hard on my stomach, feeling how deep he is. “Gonna fuck you so full of me, you leak for days. Gonna make you beg for it.”

I can barely breathe. Barely see.

All I know is him.

The stretch. The sting. The sound of my wet, ruined pussy clapping around him, slick with his spit and my arousal, soaking the sheets. My thighs shake with every thrust, my nails dragging down his back, drawing blood that only makes him fuck me harder.

“My pussy,” I cry, “My fucking pussy-”

“No,” he snarls, slamming into the hilt. “Mine. My pussy. My cum. My fucking hole.”

I clamp around him at the words, body betraying me, chasing my climax like a drug. My legs wrap tight around his waist, locking him in place, needing to feel every drop when he unloads.

“I want it in me,” I moan. “Want to feel you spill. Want to watch it leak out-”

That’s all it takes.

He rips himself free with a filthy, wet sound, grabs the back of my neck, forces me forward, and slams my face down toward where I’m stretched open and twitching.

“Fucking look at what you’ve done to me,” he growls, stroking himself furiously.

His cock throbs, and then, he explodes.

Hot ropes of cum shoot across my pussy, my thighs, my entrance, dripping into me, soaking me, filling me like he wants to claim my womb. He groans, loud and broken, watching every second of it pour from me.

Then, before I can even catch my breath, he grabs me by the hips and drags me to the edge of the bed.

He spits on my pussy. Spreads it with two fingers. Watches it drip.

Then, slowly, he bends down and licks.

Licks his own cum out of me like it’s dessert.

Licks like he wants it all back.

His tongue drags one last time between my thighs, collecting every drop of the mess he made—thick, hot ropes of cum still leaking from my overstretched cunt.

He moans into the taste, savoring it, swallowing it like it’s divine, like this is what he was born for: to wreck me, to consume me, to feed on what he forced out of me.

When he pulls away, his lips are slick, glistening with his own mess, and he doesn’t wipe them.

No, he wants me to see it. To see him, feral and dripping, reduced to a beast by the taste of his cum spilling from the hole he broke open.

Then, he leans in.

Cock hard again, spit shining on his tongue, and lets it fall from his mouth into mine, slow, heavy drops of white ruin, a secondhand offering I don’t dare reject.

I open without being told, jaw slack, throat already aching, and let his seed coat my tongue like holy oil.

It clings to the roof of my mouth. It sticks to the back of my throat.

It owns me. When he growls, “Swallow,” I obey instantly.

I choke it down without flinching, the bitter warmth sliding into my gut like a brand.

He watches me with something dangerous in his eyes. Something twisted. As though every act of filth only confirms what he already knows, that I’m his, not just in body but in soul. That he can fuck me, fill me, use me, and I’ll still crawl back to him hungry for more.

“You look better like this,” he mutters, tracing his fingers over my slick mouth, across my jaw, down my throat. “Dripping. Full of me. Mouth open and brain empty.”

I nod, dazed, ruined, eager. I want him to see it. I need him to.

Without warning, he drags me down off the bed, my knees hitting the cold floor as he flips me onto all fours.

I whimper from the sudden impact, but he doesn’t soften.

He grabs my hips, spreads me wide with brutal hands, and spits again, right onto my already swollen, dripping hole.

The sound of it, the heat of it, makes me flinch, but before I can even process it, he’s there.

Hard and thick, lined up again, shoving in with zero resistance.

He doesn’t ease in. Doesn’t ask. Doesn’t care.

He’s using me.

And it’s perfect.