Page 3 of Intrigue (Dark Syndicate #4)

I grab her neck, wrap my fingers around it firmly and hold, squeezing until her pulse thumps against my palm. “Are you going to make me forget?”

She nods, eyes charged with pleasure, pupils blown wide with a sick kind of want. “I can make you forget all about the other woman.”

I hook a free hand around her hair and tug, pulling her head back until her throat’s bared.

She lets out a shocked gasp, one that rocks across the room and through her body.

I feel it in the soft shiver that comes then, her flesh trembling under my grip.

I apply pressure to my fingers until her gasp becomes a choked cry, her voice breaking.

“Sandro, slow down—”

Only then do I release a little, but not because she asked.

I push the dancer to the wall and pin her there with my body, my chest hitting against her back, cock grinding against her through my pants.

I grab a hold of both her hands and raise them up above her head, letting them graze the rough concrete until her skin splits.

She yelps as she fights off the pain but since she doesn’t complain, I don’t let her go. I want her marked.

I reach down with one hand and tear her dress open, the sound of fabric ripping loud in my ears. I hear the snap as the lacy dress crumbles to the floor by her feet, a shredded heap.

“Easy there,” she says, voice catching, but her lips quirk up. “This dress wasn’t cheap.”

“Step away from it,” I growl, panting, angry at the past and at myself.

She steps away from her dress in silent obedience before resuming her position by the wall, ass out, begging for it. She’s completely naked and hungry and I’m both feral and angry so it works for me, this twisted, sweaty collision.

My nose flares as desire courses through me, thick and rancid. This is exactly what I want, what I need to drown Selene’s ghost.

My hold on her hip is fiercely tight, enough to bruise her olive skin and leave red lines in the morning, but I don’t soften the blow, I dig in harder, wanting her to feel me tomorrow. “I’m gonna fuck you in your tight little ass like I despise you, like you’re nothing.”

She’s panting and breathless even though there’s still a wall of obstruction between us, her body quaking. “Do whatever’s going to make it easier to forget her.”

“Don’t speak again.” I press her face roughly against the wall and hold her there like that, hips in place and ass high up, ripe for me. I smack her naked ass, hard, and she yelps, the sound sharp and needy. “You speak only when I tell you to. Do you understand?”

She’s nodding even before I finish, frantically, so there’s no need waiting for her to agree before unzipping my pants and releasing my very hard cock from my briefs, the ache pulsing in my grip.

I slap her butt again and groan at the softness and the promised ecstasy, her flesh jiggling under my hand.

The thrill has always been the best part of sex for me and today isn’t going to be any different.

I wet my open palm in my mouth, slobbering over it, before running it up the length of my throbbing cock, slicking it with spit.

I flip her around then to see the green of her eyes widen in fear and want, a twisted plea I’m too far gone to care about.

I hook one of her legs in my arm and spread her wide enough for me, her cunt glistening, split open like a wound.

She’s flexible so this makes for a very beautiful show, her body a canvas for my rot.

That’s what this is in the end. A show, a depraved fucking ritual.

I put my cock in her entrance and feel the heat of her capture me completely, wet and tight and wrong.

When I thrust in, I go in roughly, unable to control my feelings anymore, slamming her against the wall until plaster dust rains down.

“Oh, fuck, oh oh…” she moans, dragging her nails against the plaster in the walls, scrabbling like she’s trying to climb out of this.

“Good. Take me in just like that.” I move fast inside of her, pounding her raw. The sound of her wetness fills the room, sloppy and loud, that and her loud moans, half-scream, half-prayer. “You like when you’re fucked like this, huh? You like being fucked rough, split open?”

“Uh-uh.” She tries to meet my strokes but fails and instead grabs hold of my shoulders to steady herself, nails biting into my skin. “You fuck me so good. Please don’t stop…keep pounding my pussy like this…oh, God!”

I go deeper and faster, claiming her with every pent-up emotion lodged in my chest, every thrust a stab at Selene’s memory.

I feel it when I go too deep, her body seizing up.

She immediately cries out and digs her nails into my shoulders, but when I try to shift, she holds me in place, gasping, “No, please…” like she’s begging for the hurt.

The more I pound into her pussy, the more her back scrapes the plaster, skin peeling against the rough edge.

My mind goes back to Selene’s storm-gray eyes and stays.

No matter how hard I try, I can’t shake off the thought that I want her and I’m never going to stop wanting her no matter how many women I take to my bed, no matter how much I wreck myself.

Because this isn’t passion, fucking this woman roughly in the backroom of the party, but a punishment for me, for her absence and for thinking I could ever forget her, that I could ever scrub her from my soul.

A sick penance I’ll never finish paying.

I hook both her legs in my arms, press her even more into the wall, her body folding under me, and thrust in and out, faster, deeper until she begins jerking in my arms, her voice shallow when she thinks to speak, cracking like glass. “I’m gonna come. I’m…gonna…come…”

She screams as her orgasm hits, a ragged wail, body convulsing, but I don’t stop pounding, driving through her spasms. I need to purge her by any means necessary, need to fuck Selene out of my marrow.

When the sweetness envelops me, hot and unbearable, I put her down, pull my cock out, and stroke, slick with her. “Get down on your knees and open your mouth. Fuck, open that sweet little mouth and take my load, swallow it all.”

The dancer gets down to her knees and parts her mouth open, tongue lolling out, greedy.

She swipes it on the tip of my cock, lapping at the mess, and my head rolls back in answer, a guttural sound ripping free.

I stroke, fast and sloppy, ready for the release, then break apart in her mouth, spilling everything.

I watch as she sucks me dry, swallowing my essence, lips stretched around me. “Good girl!” I growl, panting, chest heaving like I’ve been gutted.

I step away from her once it’s over and adjust my briefs to accommodate me, the damp fabric sticking. She gets up on her feet and wipes her mouth with the back of a hand, smearing what’s left.

“That was incredible…I have never been…fucked like that.”

It’s never going to be more, and we both know that, so there’s no formality to the sex. No tenderness, no afterglow.

She picks up her dress and tries to fit herself back into the torn lace in a futile scramble.

I shake my head at her and back out of the room, my boots scuffing the floor.

I should feel better with everything, but I don’t.

Instead, I feel hollow, the same way I’d felt all those years ago when Selene walked out of my life.

It’s my fault, but she’d be crazy to think she’s free now. I’ll drag her back to me if I have to, kicking and screaming, until she’s mine again.

***

I lean against the gritty wall a few hours later, dusting cigarette ash onto the pavement as my eyes fixate on her hotel room window. She’s in there right now, with him, probably whispering about some future I’ll never be part of. It was supposed to be me.

For five years, I imagined her storming back into my life, eyes blazing, forgiving me for sins she’d never fully understand.

Instead, there’s a ring on her finger from a man who barely knows the darkness beneath her skin, the secrets she hides—who could never crave her the way I do.

I take a slow drag from my cigarette, exhaling the bitterness that’s been coiling in my chest since the moment I saw her. It gnaws at me more now because every life drained at my feet was all to prove I could exist without her. But it was pointless.

She’s happy. The thought makes my jaw clench.

No, not happy. Delusional.

She’s playing house with a man who doesn’t know what it means to bleed for her. Who would never burn down the world to keep her safe.

He doesn’t deserve her.

But he does deserve to suffer.

Her wedding, her tranquility, this lie she’s crafted, I’ll tear it apart. I’ve already started. I discovered the precious gallery Cassian just acquired is nothing but leased space. The landlord is a greedy bastard who’ll sell his soul and smile as he counts the cash I hand him.

Cassian’s world is about to collapse and he doesn’t know it yet.

But he’s about to lose everything.

I can already envision it: Cassian, panicking, fumbling desperately as the cracks spread through his carefully constructed life, Selene watching helplessly as the fantasy crumbles around them.

And then, with help from a few friends, a whisper, a lie passed through the right channels, enemies will descend on him like vultures, convinced he’s using his art business to move product.

They’ll rip apart his illusions of safety, and she’ll finally see he’s powerless and she’ll come back to me. Even if she hates herself for it.

Till then, I’ll wait, watch her unravel until she realizes the truth she can’t outrun: No one else will ever fit into her soul the way I do.