Page 18 of The Destruction You Desire

"Fuck, you drive me insane, baby."

"Good, that makes two of us."

He pulls me to one side so he has access to my neck and shoulder and he sinks his teeth into my skin.

"Oh shit, Luc," I shout as pain shoots from where I'm sure he just broke the skin.

"You're mine, Peyton. And you're not going to forget it."

He pistons into me, his movements becoming erratic as his cock begins to swell even larger inside me.

"Come for me, baby, or you're going to lose your chance. Who knows when I'll be feeling generous enough to give you two again."

"Luc," I cry as his fingers tighten on my throat until stars begin to appear in my vision.

He releases my hip and his fingers find my clit, the movement against my skin vicious but perfect and precise as he plays me to the perfect crescendo.

"Luca," I scream as the most powerful orgasm I think I've ever experienced slams into me turning my muscles to mush and making me go limp in his hold as wave after wave races through my body.

He holds me up, thrusting into me three more times before his own roar of pleasure fills the room, sending aftershocks of ecstasy shooting around my exhausted body.

The second he's done, he releases me, giving me no choice but to flop on his bed in a heap, my muscles still quivering with my release.

"No better way to forget a hangover than to fuck it out. Thanks. You can leave now."

It takes everything I have to lift my head to look at him but the second I do, I regret it.

His face is an emotionless mask as he stares at me as if I'm nothing more than a piece of shit on his shoe.

I prefer it when he's angry and shouting at me, at least I know he's feeling something. But right now, he's downright terrifying and so much like I remember of his father that fear races down my spine.

Turning into his father was one of his biggest fears as a kid. He knew from an early age that Brett wasn't the kind of father most kids wanted. He never said well done, or told him he was proud. All the things kids need to hear. I can only imagine how he feels about him now that he really does know the truth.

But staring at him right now, I fear that he's getting closer and closer to becoming the man he feared he’d become.

"What are you waiting for? Get the fuck out before I throw you out."

My chin drops at the coldness in his tone before I scramble from his bed, tugging the hem of his jersey down in an attempt to cover up.

I look around for my clothes, my shoes, my purse.

"Get the hell out," he booms when I don't move fast enough.

Thankfully, I spot my purse on the nightstand beside where I slept and I grab it before he takes a menacing step toward me as if he's going to do exactly what he just threatened.

Part of me wants to stand my ground and see if he goes through with it. But the other part, the bigger part, is just too exhausted to deal with whatever he might deliver should I force that to happen.

Before he gets to me, I race toward the door.

I twist the handle but I don't open it. Instead, I look over my shoulder at his familiar yet totally unrecognizable face.

"You can keep pushing me away as much as you want, but we both know you want to hear what I have to say."

"Get the hell out, Peyton. I don't want you here."

I swallow down the emotion that threatens to clog my throat at how easily he can dismiss me after our time together.

I need to remember that this is who Luca is now. He's cold. Vicious and unattainable.