Page 155 of Scorned Beauty

He jackknifed to his feet and dragged me by my wrists a few feet farther.

“Let me go!” I screamed.

“You’ve been a bad, bad girl.”

In a blur, both wrists were locked to hooks on the ground.

My breasts rose and fell as my exhalations escalated in anticipation. I yanked at my wrists, but the cuffs bit into them. I was tied down and helpless.

“You fight and you’ll hurt yourself.” He stood over me. In the dim light, I could already see the shadowed bulge of his erection.

“Damn you, let me go!” My voice was turning hoarse as I clawed the forest floor covered with leaves and soft earth.

“Nah, I don’t think so. I have plans for you.”

A knife gleamed in his hand. And before I could scream again, I heard the ripping of my shirt. Soon, my bra joined the shredded fabric. He straddled my lower belly. Captured my neck with his fingers and squeezed before trapping my cry with a bruising kiss. He released my neck, and arousal saturated my core. So wet, I felt it trickle down at the juncture of my thighs. He palmed my breasts as I kicked my legs and wiggled my ass. Then he lowered his head and tongued my nipples. Goose bumps erupted over my skin. Tweaked up and unbelievably horny, I squeezed my thighs together to control the ache to come. Hismouth resumed teasing my nipples as I continued to fight him, refusing to say the word that would stop this.

Because I wanted his domination.

I wanted his possession.

“Get off me,” I croaked. I was quickly losing my voice.

He trailed kisses down my belly, alternating with stinging bites. I heard more ripping as he exposed my pussy to his eyes.

Without warning, he stabbed two fingers inside me and I cried out.

He pumped vigorously, without gentleness or care. He was taking. Taking. Taking. “Hot damn, you’re dripping all over my fingers. You crave my cock, my little slut?”

“Bastard!” I spat.

He chuckled and shoved a third finger in. His fingers were thick, and the roughness with how he plunged them in and out made me wetter and wetter. “Liar. I can’t wait to stuff your pussy with cock, but it’s a sin to let this all go to waste.”

The first swipe of his tongue was pure torture. He kept me on the edge. Alternating with nipping the insides of my thighs instead of giving me what I wanted—persistent rhythmic pressure. I moaned and yelled in frustration. He shoved my thighs apart and one leg was still encased in my sweatpants. I had no idea how he sliced it with his knife. His lips clamped down on my pussy as he feasted and teased me closer to the edge before he backed off again.

That asshole.

I arched my back and bucked my hips. My wrists strained against the cuffs. He didn’t want me grabbing his head to shove his face to where I ached.

“Please.”

He stopped eating me. His head came up. His hands were on either side of my thighs, keeping me shamelessly open. I imagined the predatory glittering of his eyes.

“Please what?”

“Please make me come.”

He used the heel of his hand and massaged the tip of my pussy. Pressure mounted. The addictive buildup before the crashing wave. And when he shifted his heel to my mound and used his mouth again and sucked, I exploded. I screamed. Pulses and exquisite ripples of pleasure swallowed me whole.

I struggled to breathe. My back stiffened and my toes curled.

Oh my God.

I couldn’t take anymore. I started sobbing.

“Stop. I can’t take anymore.”

“Ah, baby,” he rasped. “Yes, you can.”