Page 90 of Doomed

Three knocks. Hard and impatient.

The door swings open and there she is—dark hair tumbling over her shoulders, wearing nothing but a thin silk robe that barely covers her thighs. My cock hardens instantly.

“Knox, I was just?—”

I don’t let her finish. I grab her wrist, yanking her into the hallway.

“What are you?—”

“Shut up,” I growl, pinning her against the wall. “Twenty-four fucking hours. Too long.”

Her eyes widen, darting to the elevator at the end of the hall. “We can’t. Someone might?—”

I silence her with my mouth, biting her lower lip as my hands find their way under her robe. “No panties? Fuck, you were waiting for me.”

“I wasn’t—” she protests weakly.

“Liar.” I press her harder against the wall, hiking up one of her legs around my waist. “Tell me you didn’t think about me fucking you all day.”

Her breath catches as I unzip my jeans. “Knox, please, not here?—”

“Yes, here.” I position myself at her entrance, teasing her. “I’ve been hard for twenty-four hours thinking about claiming what’s mine again.”

I thrust into her in one brutal stroke, making her cry out. The sound echoes through the empty hallway.

“Quiet,” I hiss against her ear, though part of me wants her to scream louder. “Unless you want your neighbors to see what a filthy little slut you are for me.”

Her walls clench around me at the words, and I laugh darkly. “You like that idea, don’t you? Someone walking by, seeing you getting fucked against the wall?”

“No,” she whimpers.

“Your pussy says otherwise.” I pound into her relentlessly, one hand gripping her ass, the other wrapped around her throat. “Tell me who this belongs to.”

“You,” she gasps. “It’s yours.”

“Damn right,” I growl, increasing my pace. “Every. Fucking. Inch. Mine.”

The elevator dings at the end of the hall, making her tense. But instead of stopping, I cover her mouth with my hand and fuck her harder.

Her nails claw desperately at my shoulders as footsteps approach. I don’t stop—I won’t stop—keeping her pinned against the wall, my hips slamming into hers.

“That’s fucking wrong,” a male voice tuts from behind us. Some middle-aged guy in a cheap suit, clutching a briefcase like it’s a shield.

I turn my head slowly, never breaking my rhythm inside Bianca. “Shut the fuck up unless you want your head smashed in,” I growl, baring my teeth. “And then we’ll fuck over your unconscious body.”

The guy’s face drains of color. He takes a step back, briefcase now held protectively against his chest.

Bianca moans—loud and deep—right in my ear, her pussy clenching around me. The threat turned her on. My little painter likes the monster in me. Fuck if that doesn’t make me harder.

“I—I’m sorry,” the guy stammers, holding his hands up. “I didn’t... I’ll just...” He fumbles with his keys, nearly dropping them as he hurries to an apartment door further down the hall.

I laugh against Bianca’s throat, driving deeper into her as the door slams shut. “You liked that, didn’t you? Me threatening him?”

Her only answer is another moan, her head falling back against the wall as I continue staking my claim. Suddenly, Bianca grabs my face, pulling me into a desperate kiss. She’s wild, frantic, biting at my lips, my jaw, my neck.

Fuck. This side of her—this feral need—it drives me fucking crazy.

“That’s it,” I growl against her mouth. “Show me how much you want this. How much you need it.”