Page 41 of Hellbent (Snakes & Daggers #1)

His hands hook beneath the waistband of my panties, dragging them down my legs. His eyes lock with mine as he pulls them off completely, tossing them to the floor. He kisses the sensitive skin on my inner thigh, his breath hot against my skin, making me shiver.

He spreads me with his hands and lowers his mouth to me. His tongue is slow at first—teasing, circling, tasting. But when I start to tremble, he grips my hips tighter, pressing deeper, his tongue flicking rapidly against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

And I come so hard it splits me apart.

White-hot.

But he doesn’t stop.

He keeps going, coaxing a second orgasm out of me before I can even breathe.

“I could do that for hours,” he rasps, climbing back over me. “But right now, I need to be inside you.”

“Yes,” I gasp, hands trembling as I reach for him. “Please—”

He shoves his jeans down, freeing himself, the hard, heavy weight of him hot against my inner thigh. He fists his cock, lining himself up at my entrance. But he doesn’t push inside—not yet.

Instead, he brushes my hair back, the tenderness at odds with the tension rippling through every muscle in his body.

“Maxwell Finch,” he whispers, voice ragged, “if I ruin everything to keep you, so fucking be it.”

Then he sinks into me slowly, inch by exquisite inch, until he's buried deep.

A sob catches in my throat. My fingers dig into his shoulders, holding him close.

He moves slowly at first, hips rolling in a gentle rhythm, eyes locked onto mine, intense and beautiful and intimate in a way that makes it hard to breathe. His strong jaw flexes with effort, eyes blazing raw and fierce. He looks devastating like this, so powerful and yet completely vulnerable.

I wrap my legs around him, pulling him deeper. “More,” I beg.

He groans and quickens the pace, sliding harder and deeper, eyebrows knitted, lips parted as heavy breaths fall against my skin.

One hand fists in my hair, pulling me toward him as the other hooks under my knee, opening me wider, taking me deeper.

He presses his lips to my ear, his voice rough, heated with need. “Say you’re mine.”

“Yes,” I moan breathlessly. “Ryder—yes—I’m yours.”

He growls, slamming into me so forcefully the headboard bangs against the wall.

Pleasure spirals tight as he thrusts inside of me, his movement brushing my clit, his girth rubbing every inch of me.

My nails dig into his skin, feeling his muscles ripple beneath my fingers.

His breath becomes as ragged as mine, until we’re panting in unison, and seconds before my orgasm hits I feel it like the most incredible squeeze, every part of my body contracting before I scream out, release washing over me, stars exploding behind my eyelids.

“Yes,” he gasps against my skin. “Oh God, that’s it.”

I melt into the mattress, my pussy pulsing as he fucks me, ripples of sensation rolling out from my center as I catch my breath.

He squeezes his eyes shut, pushing deep into me, as hard as he can, breath stuttering and then catching. And then he pulls out, sweeps an arm underneath me, and flips me onto my stomach.

A laugh punches out of me at how quickly he moves me, how easily, but he responds by yanking my hips upward and growling like an animal. Then he’s pushing into me again, and my laughter evaporates, replaced by moaning as his cock hits me at a new angle.

His hand knots tightly in my hair, pulling my head back, and I arch back, every atom of my attention focused on the growing ache that his thrusts both relieve and cause.

“Oh fuck,” I moan. “That’s so good.” My fingers grip the sheets, pulling handfuls like I’m climbing up the bed. “Oh fuck, just like that.”

He thrusts harder, driving me forward until he pins me flat against the mattress. His body covers mine, chest to back, skin slick with sweat, burying himself deep inside.

He moves with raw, primal urgency, grunting with each pumping motion, and then his pace shifts. Harder, faster, desperate.

His grip on my hips is enough to bruise me as he slams into me, once, twice—three times, and his entire body locks up.

A wild cry tears from his throat as his cock jerks inside of me, his forehead pressed hard against my shoulder.

“Fuck!” he gasps. “Fuck—Max—”

He doesn’t pull out. We don’t move for a long time. And when his breathing finally slows he just whispers into my skin.

“Max…”

Nothing else.

“I know,” I whisper back.

Because I do.

He moves slowly, and pulls out with a groan, a wave of cum sliding out with him. Then he gathers me close, rolls us onto our sides and tucks me into his chest.

I let my body go slack and his mouth brushes my temple.

Outside, the storm moves off in the distance. The thunder is softer now.

I wake with a jolt, heart racing, breath caught in my chest.

For a second, I don’t know where I am. Everything is black. Too quiet, too dark, like being buried.

I feel the bed beneath me. The weight beside me.

Ryder. Still here.

His arm is draped across my waist, his breath slow and even against the back of my neck. Bare chest pressed to my spine. A furnace behind me. Solid and unmoving.

Safe.

But there’s sweat at the back of my knees. My throat is dry as ash. I squeeze my eyes shut, but the image is still there.

Billy’s voice. Billy’s mouth.

The heat of his hand wrapped around my throat.

I sit up fast, trying to shake off the dream, but the feeling clings to me. That oily, heavy knowing that something isn’t right.

I need air.

I slip out from under Ryder’s arm and he doesn’t stir.

My shirt and panties are crumpled on the floor.

I pick them up and put them on and make my way down the stairs, into the kitchen.

The view from the window is pitch dark, the moonlight tracing lines around the tall grasses and trees beyond the driveway.

Ryder told me not to go on any walks, not even to step outside. “No more wandering. Not alone. Not after dark.” But I’m not going anywhere. Just getting some air.

I step out onto the landing, into the mist. The rain has stopped, but everything is damp, like the air itself is weeping. I take a deep breath of the cool night air, exhaling the memory of Billy out. It was just a dream. This is real.

Around the perimeter of the entire property, sensors and cameras have been erected, creating an invisible fence, alerting Ryder and Jake to any breaches. There’s no threat they wouldn’t know about.

I walk down the steps, arms folded tight across my chest, just to feel the ground beneath my feet. The grass is damp and cool, mud squishes between my toes, but I don’t mind. The connection to the earth grounds and calms me.

I take a deep breath, pause…and then the hairs on my arms rise.

It’s quiet, but some electric knowing skates over my skin. Something’s wrong. It’s that predator stillness. That primal knowing. I’m not alone.

My whole body goes rigid.

I turn—too late.

A hand claps over my mouth. Another around my waist in an iron grip. I try to scream, but the sound is completely muffled against the palm shoved over my face.

I thrash and kick. My heel lands on a shin. My elbow slams into something hard.

“Hold the fuck still,” a voice snarls in my ear—low, coarse, and familiar.

Silas.

And then another shape moves out of the dark. Shock hits me afresh when I see him. Clean-cut, dress shirt. It’s the man from Dewy’s, the one who knew my name. He looks out of place, as if Silas brought his accountant with him to kidnap me.

“Got her?”

“Yeah. She’s fucking fighting.”

“She’s gonna fight harder in a minute.”

Silas drags me forward to the front of the house, where a van sits parked in the driveway, back doors wide open. I try again to scream into the hand, feet kicking, body twisting, but Silas has me held so tightly my efforts barely produce any movement.

The other man leaps up into the van, reaching down to haul me up when I hear Ryder’s voice—a shout.

“MAX!”

Silas turns, swinging me with him, and Ryder’s there, flying down the steps toward us like a shot fired from a gun.

Silas moves his hand from my mouth and I start to struggle again with only his arm around my waist. I’m so close to being free.

“RYDER!” I scream, my voice splitting wide with panic and hope.

His eyes lock on mine.

His mouth moves like he’s about to say my name again. And then it all happens in a single, frozen second.

Silas lifts his arm.

Time splinters. Cold realization washes over me.

He has a gun.

No. No. No.

The shot detonates, splicing through the air like the bullet is cleaving it in two.

Ryder jerks hard, shoulder thrown back—and drops.

A scream rips from my throat, otherworldly and inhuman. I barely realize I’m being grabbed from behind and hauled away until my back hits the floor of the van. I scramble upwards, but the doors slam shut before I can reach them.

“RYDER!”

I’m screaming without even realizing I’m doing it, pounding on the door, searching everywhere for purchase. A handle, anything. Through the small window I can see that Ryder’s down on the gravel, a shadow spreading out around him.

But there is no shadow. Not in the pitch dark night. It’s blood, blossoming black beneath him.

There’s a scramble of boots outside, doors banging.

The van lurches forward and I slam into the wall, my palms skidding, knees bruising.

I claw for the window, screaming his name, sobbing so hard I can’t breathe.

Through the glass, all I see is the place where he fell. Gravel. Blood. No movement. Nothing.

The van fishtails onto the road. Through the window the house vanishes, swallowed by trees and distance, and then there’s nothing out the window but the long asphalt road unspooling behind us, tossing out a line I’m rapidly dropping to the end of.

I clutch a grip in the door, forehead pressed to the small plastic window, and wail.

I cry until it’s just noise, not even words. Just grief in the shape of a sound.

Ryder.

The ripping away is agony. Ryder is in the dirt and I’m being torn from him like flesh from bone.

Without him, there’s nothing. Without them , there’s nothing.

My screaming gets quieter, smaller, until it’s gone. Until all that’s left is the monotony of the van bouncing over the road.

The dread of where I’m going.

The ruin of what I’ve lost.

And the creeping, airless hopelessness of what comes next.