Page 12 of The King of Hearts (The Raven Group #1)

CHAPTER EIGHT

HER

A s soon as consciousness comes, my eyes snap open, and I dart to a sitting position. The bright light of the sun filtering in through the balcony doors nearly blinds me, but I force my eyelids to stay open as I look around the room. There’s no one here. Not that I really expected him to be.

My shoulders fall forward; in relief or disappointment, I’m not sure. I flip the sheet off of me and swing around to set my feet on the floor. I’m still naked, not that I expected for that to have changed since last night.

The reminder that the stranger saw me this way last night brings heat to my face.

I can’t believe I managed to fall asleep with him in the room in such a vulnerable position.

He could have done anything to me. Not that if I were awake, I could have stopped him anyway.

The man was massively tall and was stacked with muscles.

“Meow.”

I look down at Loki, who’s rubbing against my feet, his unseeing eyes lifted to me. Thinking back, I don’t remember seeing him in my room last night. He appears to be fine, but what did the devil do with him while he was assaulting me?

I get up from the bed and make him a bowl of food before going to the bathroom. I stop in front of the mirror over the sink and take stock of my reflection. I would think that if he did do something to me while I was unconscious, I would have woken up, but I don’t want to take any chances.

My eyes start at my face and slowly roll down my body, looking for anything that doesn’t look right. Marks or bruises of any sort. I turn and do the same to my backside.

Other than the flush of red on my cheeks at remembering what happened, there’s nothing. Not a mark or hint of discoloration. Not even on my neck where he held me against him, and not around the wrist he gripped to get me to drop the pencil.

I lean my ass against the edge of the sink, the edge digging into my skin, and look down. My eyes settle on the small patch of hair covering my pubic bone. My body may not bear any marks, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t actually touch me. He just didn’t do it firm enough to leave visual evidence.

Or, I swallow past the dryness in my throat, maybe he touched me in a place that my eyes couldn’t see in the mirror.

I guess there’s only one way to find out.

I widen my legs and with a shaky hand, I press my palm over my pussy. I lay it flat against my skin, just to see if there’s any sort of soreness or bruising. There’s not. If anything, my breath catches when my hand first makes contact. Like the area between my legs is hyper-sensitive.

It’s still not enough, so I pull my hand upward until my fingers graze my opening.

I’ve played around with myself before, but I’ve never pushed my fingers inside or used a dildo, so my hymen is still intact.

I’ve thought about breaking it, just so I could use toys.

I desperately want to know what it feels like to be full of something inside me.

But I’ve never gone through with it. One of my more vivid fantasies is of a man tearing through my innocence.

Taking that part of me and ruthlessly claiming it for his own.

My stomach quivers, and my breath stutters out when the tip of one of my fingers slides just inside the opening. I’m wet. Soaking wet. Like, enough that it’s starting to coat my thighs.

I bite the cushion of my bottom lip to hold back a moan. I push a little more inside, and my finger meets the thin skin of my hymen. I press my finger against it until I feel a little tinge of discomfort.

Still a virgin.

I sag against the sink, the tip of my finger still inside me. I pull it out, but instead of removing my hand all together, I slide it up until it meets the little button of my clit.

I’m horny and needy, and I want to feel good after the hell I went through last night.

Lifting my leg, I angle it back so I can put my foot on the toilet to open myself up some more. I press one hand on the counter, because I’m afraid I may lose my balance, and let my other hand go to work. I swirl my finger around my clit and a bolt of electricity jolts through me.

Tipping my head back, I close my eyes and circle my finger. Without meaning to, the image of the man from last night slides into my mind. It’s a crappy preview because I never saw his face, but seeing his tall shadowed form with his wide shoulders is enough to do it for me.

I let my mind wander, and it moves to when he was on top of me on the bed.

My face smashed to the bed with his hard weight on my back.

The thick cock that was pressed against my ass.

It feels so real that I almost open my eyes to see if he’s really there.

I don’t want to be jolted back to reality, so I keep them closed and let my fantasy play out.

A phantom hand slides up my back until fingers tangle in my hair.

They grip so tight, I feel the strands threaten to snap.

My head is pulled back, and in my mind, I open my eyes and see the black mask from last night in the mirror.

He’s tall, with the top of my head not quite meeting his chin.

I still can’t see his eyes, but I can feel them staring at me.

“Please,” the real me whimpers.

“Please, what, Vicious?” the devil in my mind replies. “Tell me what you want.”

“You,” I pant. “Touch me.”

My head is pulled back even more, and the devil drops his face so his lips are right by my ear. “You want my bloody hands on you? Hands that ripped out another man’s heart?”

At his words, my eyes move to the hand that’s gripping my waist. It’s red and dripping with blood, leaving a smear across my skin. The sight should repulse me, but it doesn’t. If anything, it makes my pussy ache even more.

I scissor my fingers around my clit, pinching the nub until there’s a pleasurable burn.

“Yes,” I answer the ghost at my back.

My head is yanked to the side, my neck fully exposed. The mask lowers, and despite the plastic covering his mouth, I feel his lips on me.

I moan, and my hand on the counter balls into a fist. My other picks up speed, twirling around my clit. My eyes are squeezed tightly shut as I desperately hold onto the vision in my head.

A sharp pain pierces my throat, and in my mind, a trickle of blood slides down my neck.

My devil groans and presses his hips against mine.

I can feel the rigid length of his cock through his pants against my bare ass cheeks, and I want nothing more than to feel it without his clothes on.

I want it sliding between my legs and plunging deep inside me, ripping me apart and forcefully taking me.

My breath hiccups, and my legs stiffen. The first sign of my impending orgasm hits me, and I breathe in deep.

The devil releases his teeth against my neck and lifts his head. Blood is smeared over the mouth of his mask, and there’re trails of red rolling down my neck.

“Fucking delicious,” he growls.

His fingers untangle from my hair, and he brings his palm around to the front of my neck. His thick fingers wrap around the delicate column, and they squeeze. My mouth drops open, and I try to suck in a breath, but he’s completely cut off my air supply.

And that only excites me even more.

“Mine, Savina,” he snarls. I meet the mask’s eyes in the mirror. “All of you. Everything about you. You don’t exist without me.” His other hand goes between my legs, fully cupping my pussy with his big palm. “Repeat it.”

He releases the tight grip he has around my throat just enough for me to reply. “I’m yours.”

His answering growl has my toes curling.

“Your cunt. Your breasts. Your ass. Every fucking curvy inch belongs to me. Understand?”

“Yes.”

I don’t know why I’m agreeing. I know absolutely nothing about this devil. Except for the fact that he killed a man in my name, and he’s a complete fucking psycho. What else will this man do? What else is he capable of?

My reckless body doesn’t seem to care. It only wants to feel good.

“Such a good fucking girl.”

My teeth grit, and I try to hold in my moan of pleasure, but it’s too forceful when my orgasm hits. It slams inside me like a derailed freight train, stealing my breath and my sanity.

My eyes snap open, and the room comes back into focus. I meet my gaze in the mirror. I’m almost surprised that I don’t see the red of blood on my neck or the masked man behind me. My chest pumps as I try to catch my breath.

Jesus. I’m pretty sure I’ve never come so hard before. All from a fantasy with a complete stranger that cut out the heart of a man who was rude to me.

Disturbing doesn’t even come close to the appropriate word that describes what just happened.

I move my hand away from my pussy and lift it so I can see the evidence of my depravity. My fingers are coated in a thick, clear liquid. Curiosity has me bringing them to my mouth. I slide one over my lips, spreading it around. Then my tongue darts out and licks it away.

I’ve never tasted myself before, and I don’t know why I’m doing it now.

A dark voice in the back of my head whispers, “Lick them clean.”

I don’t even attempt to ignore the figment of my imagination and slip my fingers into my mouth. There’s bitterness, a trace of saltiness, and a hint of something sweet. I twirl my tongue around my fingers and lick away my cum.

I sag against the counter and force away all thoughts of what I’ve just done.

Not the licking my fingers part, but the part before that.

The whole fantasy and making myself come.

Maybe if I manage to push it away far enough, I can pretend it didn’t actually happen. Maybe the masked man won’t ever return.

I know that’s not true, though. A man who claims what he did last night doesn’t just stop, not to mention the immoral act he committed when he sent me Patrick’s heart.

And the thing is, I’m not entirely sure I want him to.