Page 64 of House of Cards (The Devil’s Den #2)

Each driven by savage lust to an invisible finish line.

We both win.

Zoey moans into our kiss, body twitching in my arms as she comes. I only just feel her pussy shuddering around my cock, turning even slicker as she gushes around me, and then I’m emptying inside her with a strained groan that sounds more animal than human.

My teeth score over her shoulder, jaw clenching. Just hard enough to bruise without drawing blood. She gasps, trembling, grabbing the back of my head to force my teeth harder against her.

I oblige, but I still don’t break the skin.

I push deeper and deeper inside her, my cum and her arousal churning into a thick, creamy lube that coats my cock and her pussy with every fierce thrust.

“Christ,” I mutter, wrenching her ass cheeks apart so I can witness the mess we’ve made of each other. So I can watch my still-hard, cum-coated cock sink into her pussy. “Your cunt was made for me.”

There’s reverence in my voice, perhaps even awe.

“Don’t stop,” Zoey chokes out. “Please, God, don’t fucking stop.”

Her body is still trembling as she pushes up her thigh, and it’s my utter fucking pleasure to watch as she rubs her clit.

My cock is still inside her, but I’m spent.

She scoops up my cum with a finger, smears it over herself, and starts strumming wildly, eyes closed and hips rocking.

Nearly pulling free of my dick until I grab her hip and force her hard against my body, burrowing my cock deeper inside her before it can soften.

I gather up some cum too, and swipe it over her asshole, pressing my thumb hard against that tight hole.

“Oh, fuck, fuck!” Zoey whimpers, her movements speeding up, her hips desperately trying to rock against me. But I’m determined to stay inside her, to feel her pussy walls tighten and spasm again.

“Look at me when you come.”

Her eyes flutter open, and she groans as I push my thumb into her asshole. I pump it, slowly at first, then faster as she rubs furiously at her clit.

“Smith, fuck, I’m gonna—“ She breaks off with a pained moan, mouth falling open and body arching off the bed as she comes again.

There’s a hot, wet rush around my dick that soaks my leg, the sheets, even the fucking mattress. Holding her down so I can fuck her asshole feels like holding onto a hooked fish. But the moment I bear down on her, crushing my mouth against hers, she goes limp against me.

She can barely kiss me back—panting, heaving, mumbling nonsense words—but I keep at it, massaging her lips with mine, tongue slipping between her teeth to urge her to come back down to earth.

And she does.

Slowly.

Almost reluctantly.

Which is when I should’ve pulled away. Gotten up. Left.

But I don’t.

Because I can’t.

I stay there, pinning her with the top half of my body as our legs remained entwined. My cock miraculously still nestled inside her, feeling every twitch her pussy makes in the afterglow of her orgasm.

Kissing her, roughly demanding at first.

Then slow.

So deliciously fucking slow.

Tasting her. Consuming her.

Like I can stay this way for hours. No need to sleep, eat, breathe.

Just this.

Just her.

But, too soon, she whispers a fierce, “Fuck you,” against my mouth.

I pull away so I can see her face, make sure I heard right.

“Fuck me?”

She glares at me, shoving at my shoulders until I fall back. “Yes. Fuck you, you arrogant piece of shit!” Her fist slams into my chest, right where she stabbed me with that fucking fork. She pushes up onto her knees, laying another fist into my ribs.

I don’t flinch because it hurts, but because I’m so goddamn confused.

“What the hell?—”

She slaps me. Hard. Right over the claw marks she left in my cheeks. The ones Myles took one look at before smirking and asking if I’d caught the wild cat that attacked me.

Christ, it stings.

I grab her wrist before she can get in another shot, but she tries with her other hand, and I have to grab that one, too. When she tries to kick me or knee me or God knows what, I flip her onto her back and pin her down on the mattress between my thighs.

“Jesus fucking Christ, what’s wrong with you?” I grate out.

“You, Smith! You’re what’s wrong with me!” She struggles furiously, and I’m not sure if it’s just the play of light on her face, but it almost looks like there are tears trapped in her lashes.

“Just calm the fuck down.”

She goes limp, but there’s a hard frown between her brows. “What the fuck are you doing here?” she yells. “You’re supposed to be gone!”

I sit back on my heels, which is apparently a signal for her to struggle again. She rips one hand free and leaves a deep scratch along my forearm before I can trap her wrist again.

“Forgive me for assuming you’d want a last fuck, Patricia,” I growl, giving her writhing body a condescending scan.

“A last fuck? You thought I’d want a last fuck?” She lets out a strangled yell, struggling so furiously under me I nearly lose the grip of her hands again.

Swear to fucking God, it’s like she Freaky Friday’d with a rabid raccoon.

“Calm the fuck down!”

“Get out! Get out !”

She leaves me no choice but to drop on top of her, pinning her with my weight so she can’t gouge out my eyes. My head falls to the crook of her neck, my lips pressed to her ear.

“Shh,” I whisper, my arms caging her in, my thighs pressing her legs closed. Now all she can do is wriggle furiously.

Eventually, she stops. Her chest pushes against mine as she fights for breath, but I keep my weight on her, forcing her to breathe along with me if she wants more than a tiny sip of air.

“There’s my good girl,” I murmur.

“Fuck you,” comes her breathless whisper.

But her chest rises.

In, out.

Slower. Deeper.

She stares up at me through crystal-studded lashes, face red and blotchy, lips trembling. I push up onto my elbows, cupping her face in my hands.

“Better now?”

Her mouth tightens, eyes darting away. “You should’ve stayed gone.”

“Look at me.” A command, but gentle this time.

Her eyes flick back to mine. I smooth her hair away from her face with my thumb.

“I’m doing this for you. To keep you safe. By tonight you’ll be settling into a new house?—“

“Get out,” she says quietly.

“Zoey—”

“I said, get out.” Her voice is crisp, calm, utterly devoid of emotion. But the same can’t be said for her eyes—glittering with anger.

I should have stayed. Should have tried to convince her this is all for the best. But I know that stubborn set of her mouth. I’m not hanging around just to be on the receiving end of another tantrum.

“Should be fucking thanking me,” I mutter as I slide off of her. “If it wasn’t for me, Elonzo would have killed you by now.”

She scrambles into a sit, gripping the sheets to her chest like I’ve just broken into her house and threatened to violate her.

“If it wasn’t for you, my brother would still be alive,” she says, her eyes locked onto me as I pull on my charcoal gray slacks, run my hands through my hair, snatch my phone from the nightstand. “Maybe Michelle, too.”

I turn to stab a finger in her direction. “You know that’s not true, Zoey. I fucking told you what happened, what was going to happen.”

“Your version.” She tilts her head at me, eyes narrowing.

“You’re not psychic, Smith. You couldn’t predict what Elonzo was going to do.

You scope out a situation, and you make a decision that works out best for you, and you do it.

Fuck the consequences. Fuck anyone else who might have a say in it. It’s all about you. ”

I stare at her, so much fury seething inside me it takes precious seconds for me to form a response.

“What do you want from me?” I bellow. “An apology? Because you’re not getting one. I’m not fucking sorry. Not for a goddamn thing.”

“Nothing?” Her eyes narrow, the laugh she lets out as desiccated as a fall leaf. “You fucking kidding me?”

“Fucking give me the chance, I’d do it all again.” I glance around, scanning the floor. Where the fuck is my shirt?

“Of course you would, you fucking psycho.” She looks around too, searching for the rest of her clothes. Although where the fuck she thinks she’s going is anyone’s guess.

I spot her sweats in a pile at the foot of the bed, but instead of pointing them out, I say, “You’re not going anywhere.”

“You want to keep me in here? You’ll have to tie me down.”

I bark out a laugh. “Don’t you fucking tempt me.”

She swings her legs over the side of the bed. “Try it. I won’t just scratch this time, I’ll bite.”

My cock twitches at the thought of fending her off. How she’d struggle.

Christ, we’re right in the thick of it, and I’m getting horny?

Fuck my shirt. I need to get the hell out of here before I tie her down.

I turn on my heel and storm for the door.

“Scared of a little kitten like me, Smith?” she yells.

Don’t turn back.

Don’t turn back.

Don’t —

I reach for the door, but it opens before I’ve even touched the handle.

It swings inward so fast, I have to stumble back to avoid it hitting me. And since I’m already unbalanced, the man lunging into the room only needs to give me a hard shove before I’m on the floor.

Zoey screams as three more men swarm into the room, one of them making a beeline for the bed.

Dark hair and eyes, olive skin, assault rifles gripped in tattooed hands.

Cartel scum.

Black bandanas hang loose around their necks—probably used to hide their faces in the dark when they entered the villa, but unnecessary now.

Only one reason for that.

We won’t be alive much longer.