Page 33 of Poisonous Savage

Iwatched myself fuck her, watched how my cock stretched her, slid in and out, coated in her wetness.Andgoddamn, if it wasn't the most beautiful thingI'dever seen.

"Marco…"Shebreathed my name like it was a fucking lifeline, the only thing keeping her tethered to this world.

Ireached around, pinching a hardened nipple between my calloused fingers, twisting until her back bowed, and she screamed, a raw sound that clawed at my chest.Ikept rolling it around asIslapped into her, forcing more of those delicious noises from her.

"Harder," she gasped, andIobliged, driving into her with a force that had everything shaking – the bed, our bodies, the goddamn earth itself.Thebed creaked with the force as her head just about slammed into the headboard.

"Fuck,Rosalind…"Icould feel every inch of her wrapped around me, hot and impossibly tight.Everystroke was a battle, every push a conquest.Pleasurespiraled, tightening in my gut, climbing up my spine.

"Fuckingperfect.Mysunshine.Mine,"Ihissed, and it was more than sex, more than dominance.

Shewhimpered, and it was all the permissionIneeded to lose myself, to let the beast take over completely.Mythrusts grew erratic, desperate.Iwas close, so fucking close, chasing the edge with a single-minded determination.

"Comefor me,"Igrowled, pounding into her with a ferocity that bordered on violence.Pinchingher clit, she lost control.Herbody shuddered beneath me, her pussyclenching around my cock like a vise, milking me for allIwas worth.

Witha roar,Icame, my vision whiting out asIspilled into her, every muscle in my body seizing.Itried not to fall on top of her, both of us slick with sweat, breathing hard, the air thick with the scent of sex and sin.

Ididn't pull out, didn't move.Juststayed buried inside her, the echo of our climax humming through the silence like the aftermath of a storm.Thiswas darkness, this was desire – raw and unapologetic.

Panting,Ihovered over her, my heart hammering against my chest like a goddamn sledgehammer.Theheat was still scorching through my veins, but the sight of her cut wrist cooled the fire within me.Carefully,Islipped out of her, my movements deliberate and controlled.

"Fuck,"Imurmured under my breath, not for the intensity of what had happened but for what needed to be done now.Myhands, once instruments of raw pleasure, shifted into tools of care.Igrabbed a clean cloth from the bedside table, dampened it with water, and pressed it gently to the thin crimson lines marring her skin.

Rosalind'sbreath hitched a small sound that might've been pain or maybe relief.Hereyes fluttered closed asIcleaned the wound, my touch as tender asIcould make it.Thisshit, this tenderness, was foreign territory for me.Butwatching her there, vulnerable and trusting, cracked something open in me.Shebrought it out in me.

"Staystill,"Imurmured, not sure ifIwas talking to her or giving myself an order.Oncethe blood was wiped away,Itook the first aid kit, found the antiseptic and bandages, and dressed the cut with steady, if not slightly shaking hands.Gottaavoid infection;Ican't have her more fucked up than she already is.

Withher wound taken care of,Iscooped her up in my arms—she felt so damn light, like she was made of the same stuff as those dreamsIdidn't dare to have—and tucked her into bed.Shecurled into herself, a slight frown creasing her brow even in sleep, like she could sense the trouble brewing just beyond these walls.

"Sleeptight, sunshine,"Iwhispered, brushing a lock of her curly black hair away from her face.Fora moment,Iallowed myself the luxury of watching her breathe, the rise and fall of her chest almost hypnotic.Therewas peace here, a brief respite from the chaos of our world outside.

Iknew what awaited me—Hunter, his questions, his fucking temper.Apart of me wanted to say fuck it, to crawl into that bed and shield her with my body from everything that was coming.ButIcouldn't.Notyet, anyway.SoIstood up, my joints protesting,and made my way to the door.Hedeserved to knowImarked up his girl.AndwhyIdid it.

Onelast glance back atRosalind, andIstepped out of the room, closing the door behind me with a soft click.Whatevershitstorm was about to hit,I'dweather it.Forher.BecausewhetherIliked it or not, she'd become my fucking responsibility.Andhell, ifIwasn't going to protect that with everythingIhad.

Evenif it meant facing downSatanhimself.

ROSALIND

Twoweeks—a lifetime measured in sleepless nights, each nightmare whispering my sins.Daddy'sface haunted every corner of my mind, his last gasp, a sound that never quieted.

Iwoke entangled in sweat-soaked sheets, the ghost ofMarco'stouch lingering on my flesh.Hisrough hands had traced paths of oblivion across my body; his dick brought sweet release.

Theache for normalcy had been a raw wound, but this morning, it scabbed over.Ifelt it—the shift inside.Powertrickled back into my veins like the first drops of rain after drought.Whatpassed betweenMarcoand me wasn't love; it was war by other means.Ifucked him with the fury of the damned, purging my soul of its weeping, the memory of my father's life extinguishing under my steady hands.Ifucked it out with all the furyIheld inside, and now… there was a hollowIcouldn’t wait to fill withHunter’sanger.Hispossession.

Thefloorboards creaked underfoot asIgrabbed a shirt and pulled it on.Fuckunderwear.Imoved through the halls, the scent of last night's whiskey and lust heavy in the air.Ashiver of anticipation curled in my belly.Ihad tasted blood, both metaphorically and literally, and it had awakened something feral within.Ineeded more.Cravedmore.Morepower, more dominance, more agonizing relief.

Hedidn't see me at first, his attention fixed on the dark liquid swirling in his mug.ButIwanted those coal-dark eyes on me, burning into me with their intensity.Imoved with purpose, driven by a need that clawed at my insides, demanding freedom.

"Morning,"Imurmured, voice low and husky.

Hunterfilled the kitchen, a beast cloaked in the guise of a man.Hispresence filled the space, darkness dripping from his pores.Iapproached, no words exchanged, his gaze tracking my every move before resting on my bandaged arm before he tore his eyes to mine.Therewas a thrill in the danger, a perverse comfort in throwing myself into thelion's den.Wouldhe spank me?Wouldhe punish me for marring his property?Icouldn’t wait to find out.

Hisshirt came off with a snarl of fabric, revealing the mess of ink and scars that adorned his skin.Thebranded emblem of theCinderCrewseared across his chest—a mark of power and pain.Itouched him, the coarse stubble on his chin prickling against my palm, the stubble of a man who knew no gentleness, only command.

Pullingoff my own shirt, my breasts brushed against his tattooed chest, a silent challenge issued with each deliberate caress.Hisbreath hitched, a sound so primal it resonated in the spaces of my own longing.

Ikissed him with everything that churned within me—the darkness, the lust, the power.Ourmouths clashed with ferocity.Histaste, bitter coffee mixed with something deadly, filled me, a heady concoction that left me dizzy with want.

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