Page 10 of Psycho Sinners

“You’re sick,” I shot back, and he scoffed.

“Oh, sweetheart, I think we both are. So why not enjoy it? I promise I won’t kill you, if that’s what’s made you shift.” Those dark eyes swallowed me whole, and I sucked in a breath.

“Should’ve warned me before you started choking me out that much,” I hissed.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Whatever retort I had died as he drove into me with a vengeance, his hand returning to my throat.

“Now be a good girl and cum for me.”

I’d be lying if I didn’t say that some twisted, filthy part of me got pleasure from that.

Maybe we were both as wretched as the other, because I stopped fighting, hoping he held true to his word of not killing me. There’d been too many witnesses. I had to have faith in that.

Besides, for some stupid, fucked up reason, the bliss was building inside me as he grunted over me like a wild animal. This sex was something depraved and wicked, and I was now writhing with pleasure, my body at his whim.

“That’s it,” he growled against my ear, my gasps now coming out in quick succession.

This fucking psycho was going to unravel me. Maybe this was why everyone had been looking at us. Maybe they knew how fucked up he was. But damn, if this wasn’t giving me the strangest, intense pleasure and adrenaline high.

The metallic taste lingered on my tongue, a strange thing for me as the bliss coiled up tight inside me, his thrusts unrelenting as he drove deep inside me, filling me fully and stretching my walls. The mix of pain and pleasure was too much, and when he ducked down to sink his teeth into my shoulder, I came undone.

I cried out with the ruinous bliss, my nails splitting the skin on his back as he moaned, his dick pulsing inside me with his own release.

"Good girl," he breathed, and I bristled at the words even as my body betrayed me, my heart skipping a beat at the praise.

Tell me you had daddy issues without telling me.

"Fuck you," I managed, but it was empty and hollow, because right now, I'd burn the world down for another hit of that chaos. I had serious problems.

“Oh, pet, I’m far from done with you. Tonight, you’re forgetting everything. Just enjoy the ride.”

How little did I know that that promise would be my undoing.

The sharp, unapologetic sunlight sliced through the blinds, carving up the darkness that had been my only solace, branding my eyelids with a harsh reminder that I was still alive. My head was pounding, like some god-forbidden monkey was beating a drum against the side of it, and I opened one eye in an attempt to figure out where the hell I am. The room spun—a carousel of bad decisions—and I clutched at the sheet covering me as the nausea hit hard.

"Shit." I groaned, tasting last night on my tongue; it was bitter, laced with mistakes and the tang of copper. There was pain, too, a dull throb that snaked around my neck when I swallowed. I touched my neck and flinched at the tender flesh, tracing the outlines of bruises that were definitely not there before. Badges of honor or marks of shame?

But the memory of his lips on mine sent an uninvited shiver down my spine. And not just his lips, but the raw need and ruthlessness to which he’d fucked me. There was something so feral and depraved about it that made my body shudder. I hated that I’d enjoyed it. He was an animal, and if I knew any better, I’d have run at the first chance I’d gotten.

Not allowed him to fuck me senseless well into the morning.

I gingerly touched my split lip as well, the battle wound now scabbed over. He’d be brandishing the same wound from last night’s endeavors.

I glanced at the window, the morning sun assaulting me, daring me to attempt to rise. I was surprised I’d made it to morning uncuffed. So much for the boys in blue coming to claim me.

I closed my eyes again, last night’s beautiful chaos spiraling down on me.

I was alone on the couch, so I could only assume Cristian had covered me with the sheet and slunk off to his bedroom.

Fuck, my head was pounding, and I wanted to drift off until the pain subsided.

Too bad the faint vibration of a phone had me frowning. I reached down to the floor, swiping my hand across the shaggy rug until my fingers found the leg of my jeans.

I yanked them closer, fishing my phone from the back pocket as my head threatened to split open.

It took me a moment to register the array of missed calls and texts, and I groaned again, but not from the pain.

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