Page 25 of One Bad Knight

It vaguely occurred to me to be grateful my bedroom was on the opposite side of the house from everyone else, because the sounds that came out of me were unrecognizable.

Holy fuck, did I just gurgle?

Gatsby’s finger dragged against a spot that caused my pussy to tighten up hard even as moisture released in a torrent.

“Do you think a good boy would do this to you?” Gatsby rasped. I saw the already impressive bulge against his pants, and wished he were naked and pounding into me.

“Do you think that guy in the club would? Or that freckled fool at the party would toy with your sweet little asshole until you broke like a naughty slut who is dying for a cock to fill her?”

My hips jerked and a low moan escaped me. Why was it that when he said that I wanted him even more?

I should have been disgusted, outraged. But nothing he did hurt, not even his verbal barbs. They only let me sink into being a girl who succumbed to pleasure no matter how it came.

“You are going to regret not telling me to stop. You are going to regret ever showing me that perfect little pussy of yours.”

The hand holding my tied-up hands released its grip. Before I could try to turn over, he pressed me down, spreading my cheeks and did the unthinkable.

His tongue circled my back opening.

It was so wrong. It felt so good.

Then a couple fingers finally penetrated my dripping pussy and I practically screamed as he pumped them into me while worshipping me at my forbidden hole. His tongue dipped in and out, making me go crazy.

The sensation overwhelmed me. In seconds, I came harder than I ever had in my life. I was left panting and sweating.

When Gatsby finally stopped and pulled away, he landed a sound slap against my swollen pussy. I jerked, a mini orgasm immediately triggered by his rough treatment.

But I felt so alive, so uninhibited, so impossibly sexy, my skin hummed with the knowledge that he would eat me up if he could.

Realizing I’d been freed, I rolled over and chucked the chemise from my wrists. I sat up on the bed, looking up at the man standing before me. Still fully clothed, he looked like a dark angel, glaring down at me. His hand rubbed against the bulge in his pants. His mouth glistened with my desire, and he made a point of slowly licking his lips.

On my feet in a second, I grabbed the bottom of his shirt and pulled it over his head. It wasn’t enough. I wanted him in me. Balls deep, until I could feel him at the back of my throat from the inside.

Kat, who even are you right now?

I didn’t care, he shook something loose in me and it made me bold.

Gatsby stood before me in only his jeans that rode low. I desperately wanted to drag my tongue along the deep cuts of his hips, and up the hard, perfect ridges of his abdomen. As I suspected, his entire torso was covered in the tattoos that wound up his neck and down his arms. The black, swirling glyphs were oddly elegant.

I reached out and touched his lean torso, surprised at what I found. The tattoos helped cover the puckered slashes and jagged lines of scar tissue, but my fingers found the patches of hardened skin. They were everywhere.

Tears stung the back of my eyes. So much pain embedded in flesh.

He shoved me back, before taking several steps away. “What are you doing?” he asked in alarm.

“Wh-who did this to you?” I asked, closing my fingers into fists.

Before I knew what was happening, he grabbed his shirt and retreated to the other side of the room. Shucking it on, he didn’t say a word as his face closed off.

“Tell me,” I insisted, fighting against his instant shutdown.

“Believe me, princess, you don’t want to know.”

Then he threw open the French doors and disappeared.

I grabbed a robe and threw it on before rushing out onto the balcony. But he was gone.

Moments ago, I’d been desperate to have Gatsby inside me. Now, I was desperate to get inside him. Unravel the mystery of his past, where he’d been all these years, how he got those scars, and why he kept insisting he was the monster.