Page 29 of The Villain's Beast

I’d torn fingernails fighting Fletcher off of me, screamed until my throat ached, until he’d sealed his massive hand across my mouth and warned me in the most dangerous and low voice to shut the fuck up.

I’d listened.

With every thrust of his hips,Fletcher Sinclair is the only ally you needrang through my head like a bell, and I didn’t know in what world this was what my father had intended. But he had to have known, right? This society was part of his legacy, and now it was mine. He must have understood what fate he’d signed me up for with the scholarship and the invitation to the Thorns.

Nothing my father had told me, nothing I’d done earlier in the week with Daren—or any man before him—had prepared me for the brutal onslaught of the way Fletcher Sinclair fucked. He’d chased, he’d caught, and then he’d claimed. That was the expectation and those were the rules, but I didn’t understand the why of it. Why had my father signed me up for this? What would I get from this?

What wouldheget from this?

I knew it was meant to be scary, meant to be rough, but this was beyond terrifying. Sobbing, I screwed my eyes closed while Fletcher finished, finally rocking back onto his heels with a frown. He tucked himself back into his pants before I opened my eyes.

“You really didn’t want this,” he said quietly, using the back of his hand to wipe sweat off his brow.

“Who would want this?” I scrambled away from him, tucking my knees against my chest. My shirt was torn, my ankle throbbed from when he’d taken me down to the ground and climbed on top of me.

“It’s…” He frowned, scratching the bridge of his nose. “You really didn’t…”

“I’m not from here,” I said. “I…my father.”

Recognition flashed across his face, and then regret, and then it was gone and he was Fletcher Sinclair again, the man I’d seen at the pub earlier in the week who’d warned me away from him and instead sent me home with Daren instead. I’d known then; I’d understood that I would have to give myself to him, but I hadn’t been prepared. Not physically and not mentally.

“You knew I was meant to fuck you tonight, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but…” I trailed off, and Fletcher had helped me to my feet, dusting me off as best he could.

“You knew it was a chase, a game for us to play.”

I nodded, because I had known. But I hadn’tknown.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, reaching toward me and picking a stick out of my hair. “I…it’s…”

He gave me a wary look, turning away from me and tugging his hair at the roots hard enough to make him grunt.

“You’re bleeding,” I said, reaching out and pressing my fingertips against the small of his back. Thick rivulets of blood ran down his shoulder and spine, some blood fresh and somealready dried. At my touch, he startled and pulled away, spinning back to face me head on.

“I deserve it for…”

“For what?” I asked, taking another step toward him.

There was no doubt in my mind Fletcher Sinclair was one of the most dangerous men I’d ever meet, but he was also one of the most magnetic. Undeniably handsome, even as he came apart in front of me. With blood and dirt and sweat streaked across his skin, his hands trembling and unsure, I wanted to throw myself back onto the forest floor so he could finish what he started.

The fear was an aphrodisiac, and I was drunk on it. Scared and horny, all at the same time.

“You didn’t want that,” he said.

I gestured at the erection between my legs. “I didn’t mind it.”

“You fought me.”

“I was scared.”

“Because you didn’t want it,” he said again.

I palmed my cock, hips gently thrusting toward him this time, “I didn’t mind it.”

“But you didn’t want it.”

“I didn’t expect it, but I want it very much, I think,” I admitted, voice barely louder than a whisper. He shifted his weight, a twig snapping under the sole of his boot.