Page 39 of Serpent King's Prisoner

I was much smaller than him; there was no way for me to get out of his grip.

He thrust me against the cool marble of the kitchen island, hard enough that the impact knocked the wind out of me.

When I managed to breathe again, I knew I had to fight.

“Let go of me!” I cried out, pushing against his iron hold, but my efforts were futile. He yanked hard on my hair, bending me over the surface and ripping at my shirt. He was fast, efficient, dexterous. The sound of tearing fabric echoed in the otherwise silent room, my heart hammering wildly in my chest.

“Thought you could be sneaky, huh?” he growled next to my ear, his hot breath sending shivers down my spine, the very reaction I didn’t want to have.

As his other hand roamed down my shorts, it brushed against the waistband where I’d hidden my last-ditch effort for self-defense. With a swift motion, he retrieved the makeshift shiv, examining it briefly before flinging it across the room. It clattered against the tile floor, its sound mocking me in my defenselessness.

“Bad move, Abby,” Nathan said, his tone laced with a dangerous calm that sent waves of alarm through me. “You just made things worse for yourself.”

“Damn you, Nathan,” I spat, anger and fear mixing in a volatile concoction. “Is this how you treat someone you...you...”

“Shh,” he said into my ear, his hand suddenly covering my face as he muffled my speech. “You’re pretty when you’re quiet. So shut up or I’m going to make you shut up.”

I nodded, aware he was unbuckling his belt, unzipping his zipper.

He twisted my face so I would look right into his eyes as he spoke. Nathan’s eyes met mine, dark and intense, holding a power that stripped away the layers of my defiance. “I can feel how much you want this, Abby,” he murmured. “I can smell how fucking wet you are. I could smell it from when I walked into this apartment. Have you been touching yourself thinking about me? I bet you have. I bet you can’t wait to have my cock inside you again.”

I didn’t have time to retort. He had already torn my shorts and with his free hand, he reached down to tear my flimsy excuse for a thong, which still had traces of our first encounter outside the club on it.

“Don’t worry. I’ll give you what you want,” his voice was low and rough as his cock slid into me with a possessive thrust that stole my breath away.

“Damn you,” I whispered, because I couldn’t stop myself. I hated how good he felt, how perfectly he filled me. There was no denying the arousal between my legs, the readiness that welcomed him despite my mind’s screams of resistance. My body moved of its own accord, pushing back against him, meeting each of his hard, deep strokes with a hunger I didn’t want to acknowledge.

He grunted, a sound of raw male satisfaction that vibrated through me as we moved together in a rough, primal rhythm. The edge of the island dug into my hips, the discomfort a stark contrast to the pleasure that spiraled inside me as Nathan reached around and found my clit with unerring precision.

“Fuck, Abby. Such a perfect little cunt,” his voice was strained, heavy with lust as his fingers worked their magic, coaxing gasps and moans from my lips. I was unraveling, caught in the storm of sensation that he commanded so effortlessly.

And then, just as the coil in my belly wound tight, ready to snap, I came apart. It was fierce, uncontrollable, shattering me with waves of ecstasy that echoed his ruthless pace. But even as I convulsed around him, something in me recoiled at the thought of him finding his own release.

He pulled out, leaving me…confused. Unhappy. Bruised.

I had no idea what to think. And I was angry, tears streamed down my cheeks, hot and unbidden, as Nathan turned me around to face him. His chest was heaving, splattered with red that told a story I didn’t want to read. My gaze flicked to his, the black depths of his eyes holding mine in a grip as tight as the hands that had just claimed me. He leaned in, and his lips met mine with an urgency that surprised even me.

I should have pushed him away. I should have railed against the heat, the violence, the blood—but instead, my hands found their way to his shirt, trembling as they pulled at the fabric. The coppery scent filled my senses as I yanked him down toward me, desperate for his bruising kiss.

He pulled away from me, gasping. “You look fucking gorgeous when you cry,” he said. “Like you should be in a museum somewhere.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but then his hand was on the back of my neck again, just for a second, as he licked up my chin, up my cheek, sampling my tears like fine wine. “You taste good, too,” he said. “Maybe I should make you cry more often.”

Then he moved away from me, picking me up like he was about to carry me across the threshold. He was gentle despite his strength, which surprised me, but then we were in the bedroom and he was tossing me on the bed.

I didn’t have time to think about it. The bed bounced once before his weight pinned me down, pressing me into the soft mattress. His movements were rough, primal, leaving no room for doubt or second thoughts. And then he was inside me again, each thrust stealing my breath, stoking the fire that I hated myself for feeling.

I should have told him to stop. I’m sure I thought it.

His lips found my neck, his teeth nipping at the sensitive flesh, causing me to gasp. It was all too much, too fast, but I couldn’t pull away. His fingers dug into my hips, anchoring me to him as he drove into me again and again with a force that sent ripples of pain and pleasure coursing through me.

With each thrust, he filled me to the hilt, branding me with his mark. I clenched around him involuntarily, betraying the resistance I was trying to put up. His low chuckle echoed in my ears as he picked up his pace, his movements getting rougher with each passing second.

“The moment I saw you, Abby,” Nathan growled in my ear, his thrusts never ceasing. “I knew I would claim you. Every part of you–your body, your mind, your damn soul.” His words were a taunt, a challenge to the very core of me. “And this little cunt of yours,” he continued, fingers tracing down my belly to where our bodies joined. “I knew it was mine from the start.”

“What about—“ a thrust interrupted me “what I—” another one, harder “want—”

“What do you mean what you want?”

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