Page 25 of Dmitri

This woman isn’t easily intimidated.

That’s a red flag.

I love red.

It’s the color of rage. Blood.

Her pretty little mouth.

Having an entire conversation while she was naked, and not peeking once below her chin, is a lost battle now. My hands graze, grab, and grope every inch of her body. She lets me. Begsme. Opens her thighs and invites me.

“So fucking wet,” I groan after slipping a finger into her pussy.

Daelyn sucks in a harsh breath and leans against the wall, hooking one leg around my middle. She’s not nearly as desperate for me as I think I am for her. The fact that I broke into her house like a creeper and am about to fuck her proves that I still haven’t regained my control like I originally hoped.

But it would be safer to fuck her than to fight someone else.

And Ineedsafety.

Please, God, if you exist, help me. Let me get this rage out of my system. Fix me.

Keeping her flush against the wall, I relentlessly hit one of the many pleasure points I know women have deep inside their cunts. Her thighs shake when she comes. She’s so pretty. So breakable.

“Give me a taste.” Dropping to my knees is my downfall. One lick of her sweetness and I’m addicted. This woman’s orgasms might as well be ambrosia for the gods to feast on.

“Fuck me,” she pleads. Her eyes are glassy and words breathless. “Please. I want to feel you inside me again, Dmitri.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

I ignore the way goosebumps ripple down my arms as I tug on my belt. Standing up, I shove my jeans down to my knees. Aaaand stop just a moment before I make a huge fucking mistake. “Condom.”

“In the top drawer.” She smacks the side of her dresser we’re standing next to. “Hurry.”

I reach in and snag a package, ripping it open with my teeth and sliding it over my throbbing length. When I lift her up, she hooks her ankles together and I impale her in one thrust.

Again, no foreplay. No games. No nothing.

If I was at the Monarch with a sub, I’d play with her forhalf the night before getting inside her like this. I’d make her so swollen and needy for my dick that she’d have fat tears sliding down her rosy cheeks. But desperation has many faces. Needy whimpering is just one of them.

Ugly rough is another one.

When I fight, I lose all sense of time and touch. I feel nothing. Adrenaline pumps hard enough to send me into autopilot, and my muscle memory does most of the work. But afterwards, the endorphins wear off and I have no clue which of my injuries will hurt first, worst, or last longest. My body awakens when nerve endings fire off left and right, shooting pain through me, and I come alive all over again while buried balls deep in a woman.

Tilting my head to the side, desperate for pain now, I offer her my throat. “Bite me.”

I like how quickly she obeys. Her teeth graze my skin and then she chomps down so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if she drew blood. The instant, sharp pain sends happy signals straight to my dick. I fuck her harder.

I like that she didn’t run when she found me in her bedroom.

I like how her house smells.

I like how brutal she kisses.

I like how her pussy grips my dick.

I like how she grunts each time I thrust.

I like that my chaos is growing quiet.

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