Page 100 of My Dark Ever After

By the metallic taste of my essence in her mouth.

“I was never innocent,” she argued with a smoky purr. “I was always yearning for this. Just waiting for you to teach me how to fuck and live and love in the dark.”

I gritted my teeth as her words poured gasoline on the flames in my gut. Pushing her down by the throat, I pinned her torso to the table, then watched her small breasts heave as I collected her legs over my arms and hoisted them to my shoulders.

Like this she was supine beneath me, splayed for my pleasure.

She hissed, arching off the table as my initial thrust hit the end of her and sparked the first quake of her orgasm.

“There it is,” I encouraged, driving into her harder. “You look so pretty coming apart around my cock, Vera. Not going to stop fucking you until you beg me to stop. You wanted the monster—here I am.”

She gasped as my hand tightened on her throat, cutting off just enough of her air to send the pleasure spiraling to another level. With my free hand, I pushed the nightgown even higher and started to play with her clit, rolling it like a slippery bead between my fingers.

“I-I can’t,” she struggled, thrashing against my hips as I drilled her into the table and forced her to take more and more pleasure.

“You can and you will,” I ordered in that blade-sharp voice that always made her shiver. “You have to earn my seed, Guinevere. Do you want it? Hmmm? Do you want my cum filling up this tight, hot littlefica?”

Her mouth parted in a silent scream, every muscle in her lithe form tightening into stone.

I plucked once more at her swollen clit and watched as she transformed from solid into liquid, her limbs trembling into softness, her pussy pulsing wet and smooth around my still-thrusting cock.

She was a vision of ecstasy, a gorgeous woman turned into a masterpiece of pleasure.

All for me.

“Again,” I growled, almost mindless with the need to brand her inside and out with my essence.

“Raffa!” she gasped in protest as I hauled her up and into my arms so her full weight forced her down on my cock.

I sank my teeth into the side of her neck, licking up the salt-sweet taste of her skin as I started to shuttle her up and down my length. I had never been so hard, so desperate to sink deeper and fuck harder.

“Vieni per me,” she begged, loose as a rag doll in my hold but for the iron grip she had on my shoulders, nails digging into the muscle in a way I knew would mark me for days. “Come for me, Raffa. Fill me up.”

I fixed my teeth into the junction of her neck and shoulder, pinning her like an animal in place for me to fuck to completion. Her nails broke the skin beneath my shirt as she ground into me, peaking for the third time on an orgasm that ripped a war cry from her lips.

I followed her into the dark abysses of pleasure. The only thought in my head was of pumping her full of cum, marking her as mine in the most primal way I could.

When I finally drifted back into my right mind, I realized I had turned us to rest my hips against the table, Guinevere a heavy weight in my arms, her breath warm against my neck.

“Vera?” I called softly, because I had held her in sleep before and knew the familiar laxity of her body against mine.

“Mmm,” she mumbled, rubbing her nose into my throat as she settled even closer.

A smile pulled at my mouth.

After four days of dread and worry, my American girl was in my arms, trusting me enough to fuck her into a comatose state even with my bloodstained hands.

Even if she knew she would be leaving me again soon.

Careful not to disturb her, I tucked myself back into my pants and zipped them before draping the discarded hoodie over her shoulders and adjusting her weight in my hold. The barn was cool, but she was warm in my embrace as I carried her outside and up the hill to the house.

Someone had wisely kept the kitchen door off the terrace open for us even though the house inside was still and dark, most everyone in their beds.

I was carrying Guinevere through the open-plan kitchen and dining room when a cleared throat halted my progress.

My eyes adjusted easily to the dark, used to operating in the gloom, so it was not hard to detect John Stone sitting at the dining table with a glass of something alcoholic.

He stared back at me, eyes black pits like those of a skull in the night.