Page 7

LIA

R haim started bunching the fabric of my skirt up at once.

“Don’t think you can eat your way to forgiveness,” I said at him, giving him a pout.

His eyes flashed up in challenge. “But wouldn’t you like me to try?” he asked, then found the edge of my pretty green dress’s hem, before biting it, tearing the silk with his teeth.

“Rhaim!” I shouted, and he ignored me, taking fistfuls of it in either hand, ripping it apart. “This is designer!”

“Then I’ll turn it into a fancy rug, once it’s on my floor,” he said, as the tear ran up to my navel.

My heart was fluttering in my throat and my jaw was dropped—I was scared, excited, and profoundly horny—desperately needing him to touch me, dying for him to make me believe that?—

There was a way out of this.

That wasn’t through either of us.

He grabbed hold of my underwear, fisting the crotch of it before yanking it to one side and tearing them off of me, and I rolled back on my elbows, casting my head back, knowing what was to come.

“I’d better be able to see your tits when you come back up,” he muttered, close enough to my pussy that I felt it, and then he kissed me there, long and slow.

I already knew he was good at this, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want it.

I wanted all of him.

I wriggled out of my silk jacket and found the zipper on the side of my dress, plucking it like a tick before yanking it down, so my breasts could spill out.

I’d just worn those little silicon pasties on my nipples, trusting in being only twenty-three to do the rest for the evening, and I pulled those off too—and threw them at him.

I was still pissed.

“Hey!” he protested, looking up, before seeing what I’d thrown and laughing. I gasped, and he sobered. “What?”

“You look like a zombie!” Of course having his huge dick in me earlier in the night had knocked the end of my period loose—and now my blood was on his chin.

“Yeah?” he asked, putting fingers to his face, then pulling them back to see the blood, before giving me a malevolent grin.

“Not a zombie. A beast,” he snarled, then bit my inner thigh.

I yelped and he gave a dark chuckle. “What else do you want to throw at me, little girl? Should I shove you closer to the knives?” he asked, kissing the spot he’d just hurt, while glancing in the direction of his cutlery.

I threw my legs over his shoulders and dug my heels into his back to answer.

“Ahh. So it’s going to be like that, is it?” he wondered aloud. “So be it,” he said—then went back to his supper.