Page 135 of The Darkest Chase

There’s nothing gentle this time.

Not when I’m greedy as hell.

Nothing tender in the brute way I seize that mouthful of her flesh and bite down harder, harder, all while she writhes.

I drag my body against hers roughly, urging her to lift her hips, to rub herself against me, to spread herself open and find her pleasure.

The sounds she makes are pure sex.

They put a spell on my cock, and when I feel her skin stretching to its limit, her mouth opens.

Talia screams.

Pure, sinful pleasure.

I should silence her.

We’re out in the open, stalking the Jacobins, and if they show up early and wander off their path for some odd reason, they’ll figure out we’re here real goddamned quick.

Still, I want to hear her.

I want to know how she cries out for more, the way she whimpers my name, the way her voice hitches and breaks as she crashes against me with breathy heat between fear and pleasure.

Yes, I’m fucked up to love this so much. No question.

To be so turned on by painting her skin.

But what if my sickness is also hers?

She’s not fighting me, not pulling away, not telling me to stop with her voice dripping with horror.

Instead, she clings to me, her nipples so hard and her breath coming in ravenous gasps as I lick at the bite mark, trailing my teeth over her skin.

Rasping, I push the collar of her flannel aside and leave another imprint.

It’s feral and hot and needy, and suddenly I can’t get enough of her.

I rip at her clothing, tossing it aside into the leaves, exposing more skin to mark. She’s just as frantic with her fingers digging at my shirt and then at my naked flesh as I fling my top and jeans and boots aside until we’re nothing but wild animals in the raw.

I barely even register the delicate, pale violet-pink lace of her panties, her bra.

Even the sinful sheen of matching stockings, the wicked side this timid girl hides under her clothing like a secret gift just for me.

Not when I need her creamy skin so much.

Not when I’m this fucking hungry.

Today, she’s my canvas.

And it feels like I’m undoing every terrible thing my father did, the things I hated, the pain I never asked for.

Ugly pain and hatred, that’s not this.

The way I mark her?

The way she begs for it?

There’s no hate whatsoever here.

---