Page 54 of Westin

“How?” I whisper.

His chest heaves. “I can show you, but you have to promise me that if I hurt you, you’ll use a safeword.”

“What’s that?” My mind whirls. Does he have a term for what we’re doing?

He’s on his hands and knees over me. All I can see are his hungry eyes.

“Just use red for now,” he says. “Say red if you want it to stop.”

It hits me that Westin might be into things I’m not aware of, things that I only know about from the few romances I skimmed in the library, hidden behind the shelf out of shame.

He did put a belt around my neck, after all.

“You like rough…things,” I whisper. “Different things…than usual.”

He hesitates. Sweat etches down between his pecs. “BDSM—I do, but safewords are just common sense, darling.”

He’s so desperate, it cracks his voice. Distantly, I know what he’s saying, but not in a literal sense. My head is telling me to be careful. My body is telling me it might die if I don’t let him have me.

I want to give in and meet this new side of Westin.

“Yes,” I pant, my hips rising. “I’ll say red if I want it to stop.”

“Say it,” he demands.

“Red.” It comes out in a desperate rush.

When I first met him, he was one thing. Now, he’s another, darker thing altogether. I can taste it on him, on his breath. I felt it when he tied me to the wheel of his truck.

Those hands are capable of pleasure, but I think they’re also capable of so much more, things I want but don’t understand yet.

His hand comes up, going for my throat. I strike it back, the sound ringing out. We both know it’s a test. He doesn’t react for a second. My pulse thrums. Then, quick like a snake, he’s on top of me, one hand pulling my thighs apart.

My head spins.

He’s so much bigger and heavier than me. He was holding himself back in the kitchen. He was trying to be gentle so he wouldn’t scare me—but not anymore.

He takes me by the throat, and his fingers dig into my cheeks, forcing my lips to part.

“Is this what you want? You want me to force you in the dirt like a whore?” His voice is thick with desperation.

I gag on his fingers as he hooks my mouth open. Then, he spits onto my tongue. I choke, shocked. Between my thighs, my sex burns with need.

I wanted to know what it felt like to be alive.

And now, I’m so alive, I might come from it.

I gasp, cough, and swallow. In the time it takes me to get my bearings, he flips me onto my stomach in the dirt. Our filthy bodies come together, and his knee shoves my legs open.

His zipper hisses, and my spine arcs as he pushes the head of his cock into my soaked pussy, forcing it in, inch by inch, until I’m whimpering. My inner muscles tighten and loosen, pulling him in despite how big and heavy his cock is.

I wonder if I’ll bleed again.

My brain thrums. My nipples rub against the dirt.

This tastes like life, like a sweet apple bitten by his mouth and put into mine with bloody hands. I flip my head to the side, unwilling to fight him anymore.

He feels too good—all the pain and pleasure rolling through me is too powerful.

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