Page 45 of The Fire Went Wild

“I see you want to come,” I say, praying to my gods that I’ll be able to make her do it again.

She doesn’t say anything, just tilts her hips a little toward me.

An invitation.

I press my swollen, sensitive cockhead against her pussy. She’s drenched, and I slide in too easy—so easy I have to brace my thigh muscles to stop myself from plunging my full length inside her. I want to tease her. Torture her. Even if it means torturing myself.

“Good girl,” I mutter, dropping my hand away from my cock so I can run it over her hip, the side of her waist, then over her tits, feeling her nipples through the fabric of her dress.

“I thought you were going to fuck me,” she gasps.

“Is that what you want?” I keep massaging her tits. Looking her straight in the eyes. I want to hear her say it.

Charlotte glares at me. I give her another inch, and I can’t believe I’m pulling off this self-control, because her fiery, soaking-wet cunt is like nothing I’ve ever felt. It’s almost as good as killing.

“I’ll end this right now,” I tell her, releasing her tits so I can reach up to wrap my hand around her throat again. Charlotte moans softly, fear flickering across her features.

And somehow, her pussy gets even wetter.

“Tell me,” I rasp into her ear, hooking her leg around my hip. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Say… what?” she gasps.

I tighten my grip on her throat. I’ve got no intention of choking her anywhere as tight as she choked me. But I like reminding her that I could.

And given the frantic, fluttering pulses in her pussy, she does too.

“You know what.” I speak softly into her ear. “Tell me you want me to fuck you.”

She whimpers. I nibble at her earlobe, then kiss along her jawline, licking away the blood I smeared there earlier. “Say it,” I whisper into her skin. “Say it, and I’ll make you come so hard you won’t give a shit that I’m a murderer.”

I think it was the Unnamed that compelled me to say that, because it’s like I stumbled across the magic words. Charlotte jerks her hips, lifts her chin in defiance, and says what I’ve been waiting to hear.

“I want—“ She spits the words out like she’s fighting them. “I want you to fuck me.”

And then I do.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHARLOTTE

Jaxon has the biggest cock I’ve ever seen in real life, and it’s currently buried so deep in my pussy it hurts.

It hurts, but in a way that feels good, too. Like being whipped by a flogger or spanked hard on my ass. The pain heightens the pleasure somehow.

The blood smearing between us heightens the pleasure, too. So does the knowledge of what Jaxon did to those two men.

And I don’t care.

I don’t fucking care.

Jaxon pulls his cock halfway out and then slams into me again, eyes rolling back in his head, his groan deep and throaty. I shriek at the starburst of pain and then, because there’s clearly something deeply wrong with me, I gasp out, “Again.”

He chuckles and looks at me, his gaze unfocused with pleasure. He still has his fingers curled around my throat, and I’m still holding my hands overhead. Doing as he asked. Part of me is afraid if I drop them, he won’t just stop me from coming—he’ll kill me.

Another part of me, hungry and gasping, wants to try it and see.

“You like that?” he mutters as he pulls his length almost entirely out of my cunt. I nod and brace myself.

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