Page 45 of Executing Malice (Jefferson Rejects #4)

“Leila,” he gasps, desperation washing over my lips.

I work him faster, never breaking eye contact.

“If you ever put yourself in danger like that again. I’ll put your dick in a cage and throw the key away.”

His nostrils flare, darkening his eyes to a predatory black. The hand curled into the shelf just above my head cracks at the knuckles.

“Do it,” he dares me. “My job is to fight for you when you can’t. I’ll set every building in this town on fire and watch it burn to ashes to protect you.”

Fucking guy.

I kiss him.

“Take me home, Dante. ”

I have zero memory of paying for our groceries or getting on his bike. I only become aware when he comes to a violent stop outside my house and cuts the engine.

I barely get off the seat when he has me over his shoulder and practically sprints up the steps. I’m marched through the hall and dumped down on my bed.

“Take off your clothes,” he barks, his own hands already twisted into the hem of his top. The article is ripped off and chucked into the corner, leaving him bare chested and delicious standing before me. “Now, Leila, or you’re not getting your next surprise.”

Spurred by the dangling carrot, I tear off my top. Kick out of my shoes. All the while, I watch him leave the room. The thump of his hurried feet echoes through my veins.

By the time he returns with a monitor and a fistful of cables, I’m in my bra and panties and sitting on the bed waiting for him.

It takes him a bit to position the TV on my dresser and hook it up to a tiny box. It must have been good to go, because next, he has his phone mounted on a tripod and has dragged my mirror to face the bed.

“What are you doing?” I chuckle.

His answer is to close his fingers into my jaw and tilt my head back .

“Giving you your gift, baby.”

He pulls away and moves to the monitor. I watch him flip the box and TV on. Watch, curious, as a video comes into crisp, clear focus across the screen.

It takes a moment to identify my room.

My bed.

Me.

Naked and splayed beneath the warm glow of the lamp highlighting the full arches of my breasts, the valley between my thighs. The camera is directly overhead, but when I tip my head back to search the wall, there’s nothing there.

Hell, I know there was never anything there. I would have noticed a damn camera suspended over my bed.

But I remember the screen up in the attic monitoring every room in the house.

“How are you doing that?” I ask, never taking my eyes off the view of me stroking my nipples, running my fingertips over the peaks in teasing strokes that have my hips writhing.

“Hold all questions to the end of the performance,” Dante answers as he sprints to his phone.

I don’t take my eyes off the screen with me moving a hand off my chest to roam down between my legs.

Then, to my horror, I watch my digits wander off course and close around the makeshift dildo I’d created before climbing into bed. The hairbrush handle swaddled in a clean sock and bundled up in a condom.

“Turn it off,” I squeak, hands flying up to cover my eyes.

“Hell no. Seventy percent of your jar was made possible by this video. Now, quiet. My favorite part is coming up.”

I watch from between slitted fingers as I push the handle deep into the cavity of my body. I watch my toes curl, and my heels dig into the mattress. My back arches, sending my head back on the pillow with a low cry that echoes through the speakers.

“Fuck. I love that face,” Dante groans.

I don’t take my eyes off the screen, though. I’m moving the piece in and out, unhurried and deep. I know because I remember this. I remember being so horny and desperate that fingers weren’t going to be enough. I needed to get stretched and filled, and this was my solution.

“Did it feel good?” Dante drawls from somewhere behind me.

I hadn’t even heard him climb up onto the bed, or position himself at my back, but he’s scooping my hair off my neck to replace with his lips.

“You’ve always liked your cunt full. Liked when I went so deep it hurt, and your thighs would tremble, and you couldn’t catch your breath.”

He unsnaps my bra, and the garment slips over my shoulders only to catch on my bent elbows.

“I love watching you get yourself off,” he goes on, forcing my hands off my face to tug the bra off the rest of the way. “I love the color in your cheeks. The way you bite your lip to keep from making a sound.”

His palms cradle my breasts from behind. Thumbs skim the nipples, sending a jolt of pleasure coursing through me.

“Don’t stop watching,” he murmurs into my ear, words warm against the side of my face. “Watch how deep you take that handle. How thick that sock is stretching you.”

I almost jump when porn star-me makes an incoherent whimpering sound and bucks down to take more.

“Watching you like this gets me so fucking hard.”

His hand drifts down to tease the elastic of my panties. His fingers skim from hip to hip before slipping in.

My knees instinctively part, welcoming him between my folds.

“You’re going to use me the way you used that brush,” he says, bypassing my clit to fold two fingers home where I need him. “You’re going to ride me and get yourself off.”

On the screen, I’ve already cum. My whine has simmered to jagged pants as I lie in the aftermath of my actions.

I remember thinking how sad I was that I didn’t even own a dildo.

That I couldn’t find one guy to fuck like a normal person.

I had to use a damn hairbrush. The warm glow of release had soured quickly as I chucked the thing to the floor. Disgusted with myself.

But I don’t have to worry about that anymore. I have a cock. A real one with textures that make my head spin. I know I can use him whenever I want, and he’ll let me.

I turn my head to where he’s littering kisses along my shoulder. His dark strands tickle my skin when he lifts his head to meet my searching gaze.

“Get on your back,” I tell him.

He does without question. His hand slips out of my pussy as he positions himself lengthwise across the mattress, head towards the TV so I can watch as the scene fades to a different night.

I’m not playing with myself this time.

I’m asleep, oblivious to the figure in the doorway.

I don’t take my eyes off the man with the bare chest and sweats as I kick out of my underwear and straddle the same man currently in my bed.

On the TV, Dante brushes aside my blankets and leans down to roll up my T-shirt all the way up over my breasts.

I no longer try to tell myself I should be furious that he’s climbing between my legs.

I don’t pretend to be outraged when he presses his face into the apex of my thighs.

If I’ve learned anything about myself, it’s that I love this.

I love being used by him. I love the depravity of him taking advantage of me when I’m too helpless to stop him.

Sleep-me loves the flick of his tongue. I’m writhing and whimpering, and he’s got his fingers pumping inside me.

Core throbbing, I reach for the cock between my legs and give it a stroke. I let my palm glide up along each bar to the very tip where I tug. Give just enough pressure to make Dante squirm. But he doesn’t stop me. He says nothing as I position him to my opening.

And sink.

Every other time, he’s taken control. I’ve never tried to take him on my own and the difference is momentarily intimidating.

“Just sit, baby,” he encourages.

I wiggle to brace myself before trying again.

I get the first bar across the top. Then the second. The immediate sense of weight, the pressure has me catching my breath.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t try to help. He lies there, eyes fixed on my face, as I ride him. As I sink to the hilt, taking every piercing up to the bottom until I can’t move without pain.

He feels so good. So perfect. His dick was made for me and I’m counting every blessing while sparks fly behind my closed eyelids.

“Fuck, Dante,” I moan, thighs quivering as I stay there, grazing that spot that makes my pussy seize and flutter.

I already have him so deep but plant my palms to his chest and grind deeper. I force my body to the breaking point. The point where I’m shuddering.

My head falls back and my spine arches. I tear into my bottom lip until I can hold the sounds in no longer.

His name. Only his name in a flood of pleading as I take what’s mine. As I ride his cock like it’s the only thing keeping me alive.

I’m only vaguely aware of the canyons I’m clawing into his flesh as I race to the cliff.

My eyes snap open with the first choked sob on the screen, but my gaze is captured by the mirror. I’d forgotten about that, but I’m momentarily captivated by the sight of my thighs hugging his hips. It’s just next to the mounted phone blinking red.

“Are you filming this?” I pant, never slowing.

“Yes.”

I drop my attention to the man watching me like I’m responsible for creating the world and capture his hands off my hips. I drag them up to my breasts and hold them there while I fuck him.

Use him to get off .

Only when I scream his name and fall forward into his arms does he move. I’m pulled off. His cock dislodges, still rock hard but now smeared in my release as he rolls me onto my stomach with him across my back.

He slams home.

My tender channel convulses with pain and pleasure but is never given a chance to pick one when he’s railing me with vicious, angry force.

The position has fire blooming through my belly in a surge of raw agony that has me screaming and thrashing.

My toes dig into the mattress as I leverage my hips up to take more of him.

But he suddenly stops.

It’s so sudden and unexpected that I’m not prepared when he flips me onto my back.

“What?” I pant, peering up into his face. “What’s wrong?”

Face, still a mask of hunger, is clouded with fear. “What if we hurt the baby?”

I blink. “What?” Realizing, I chuckle. “If there is a baby, it’s way too small to feel anything.”

His gaze drops to my belly, expression unsure. “What if I’m too rough?”

Oddly touched by his concern, I cup his face and bring his mouth down to mine. “If you stop, you’ll have bigger problems on your hands. Now, fuck me, mister. ”

There’s still hesitation in the tightening of his jaw, but it relaxes a fraction with the painfully slow descent of his cock back inside me.