Page 85 of Hunting Pretty

He had me entirely under his control as he fucked me without mercy, books falling all around us. He dragged his teeth over my breasts, biting and nipping at my nipples, pleasure and pain mixing into an intoxicating poison.

I could do nothing to stop it, any of it.

Even worse, I hated that a part of me didn’t want him to stop.

This was so wrong. Being fucked by a dangerous man whose name I couldn’t remember.

A dark stain spread across my skin, like I was tainted, poisoned.

But God, it also felt so good. My skin buzzed with electricity. I was soaring.

I wasalive.

I was sick. Broken. I loved all the dirty, dark things my stalker was doing to me.

My desperate pants soon turned to high-pitched moans and he pushed me so hard against the shelves that they began to rock.

I could do nothing to stop him from using me, from claiming me, just like I could do nothing to stop the orgasm that roared through me.

I came. Hard. Harder than I’d ever come in my life.

A scream tore through my throat toward the high ceiling. My sweat-slicked back writhed against the shelves digging into me.

I wasn’t soaring. I was falling. Crashing to earth like a cursed angel.

He roared as he came, his hips slamming against mine. Once. Twice more.

I struggled to catch my breath as my vision went in and out.

Suddenly, he let go of me and pulled out.

Cold air hit my sweaty skin. My body ached for his warmth.

I slid to the floor on weak knees until I slumped like a rag doll against the stack. Sated. Spent.

My torn shirt hung open over my breasts which rose and fell with my ragged breaths. A wet smear down my inner thigh stretched to my knee-high socks. Angry redmarks encircled my twitching wrists which hung limp at my sides.

“Last warning, Ava.”

Then he was gone.

Slipped away into the darkness.

I let out a sound halfway between a sob and a sigh.

Shame made me draw my ruined shirt over my exposed chest as I pushed myself up to my feet.

But the sting of my bitten nipple against the fabric excited me; it was fucked up, but I liked that he’d marked me.

I couldn’t leave the library like this. I had to find my jacket. I weaved back through the aisles, trying to remember where I’d slipped out of it.

There it was, lying like a dark pool in the middle of an aisle.

I snatched it up and pulled it on, my arms aching from being held up over my head for so long. I buttoned up the jacket, covering my torn, disheveled clothes, and only then did I feel partly okay.

I made my way slowly back to my desk, glaring at the occasional security cameras above my head.

I bet he was controlling the library’s security cameras. I guessed he might steal the footage to watch himself defile me later.

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