Page 62 of A Game So Reckless

Darragh groans, and it’s a broken, feral sound. His back is so fucking tense beneath my legs, muscles contracting and coiled. His hands dig possessively into my thighs. So hard I think there will be bruises.

He circles my clit again and again, until my insides are all pulling shadows and light. A heavy darkness gathers while sparks zip through my veins.

He’s going to make me come again.

There doesn’t seem to be any way to stop it.

And I have to stop it. I know I do. Not because I even want to at this point.

But because I can’t let him keep winning.

“My period,” I gasp, hoping that that will restore some sort of reason.

“Don’t give a fuck,” he grits out against my sensitive flesh. One of his hands dips between us. He nudges the tampon string further out of the way with a ruthless sort of efficiency before he latches onto my clit and gives a long, hot suck.

Oh, God.Dio mio. Help me.

Nothing should feel like this.

Nothing everhasfelt like this. Not my fingers, not the handheld showerhead in the bathroom.

Darragh’s mouth could be my undoing.

My fingers bury themselves in his hair, but I don’t even have the fortitude to push him away at this point. I’m so close to coming that if he stops now there’s a very good chance I could break down and weep.

And maybe I should. Maybe I should cry for how weak I have become. In the face of this man, a man who’s been an enemy in so many ways, I am crumbling.

My fingers contract sharply against Darragh’s scalp. My hips shudder upwards, needing and hating the contact that’s going to send me over the brink.

Pleasure turns to glittering pain. Darragh’s got his teeth around my clit. Exerting pressure. My insides constrict, the pressure of his teeth sending strange echoes and pangs through my pelvis. I gasp, and finally try to push him away.

He lets himself be pushed, but only an inch or two.

“That,” he pants, “was for biting me the last time I kissed you.”

He’s stroking me with his fingertips now. My clit throbs, swollen and sore and so fucking needy. His hand dips lower.

He grips the tampon string and pulls.

“Darragh!” I cry as I feel movement inside. The tampon is saturated enough that it begins to slide out easily. I try to crawl backwards and away from him, but he holds me fiercely in place with his other hand.

“When you come tonight,” he tells me, a ragged rush, a dangerous vow, “it’s not going to be on a tampon. It’s going to be on me.”

“You can’t,” I cry. He can’t fuck me. I’m not on birth control. And I have to be a virgin when I marry.

If my papà found out I’d ruined myself, that I’d let hisenemyruin me…

“Can’t what?” Darragh demands as he tugs a little harder. Jesus, I’m so aroused, so close to coming, that even the fullness of the tampon moving through me and out of me makes me feel like I’m about to explode. I give a shaky mewl when he completely pulls it free. He throws it into a wastebin beside the couch, then brings his fingers back to my pussy. There’s no squeamishness in him. He coats his fingers in blood.

“You can’t… can’t fuck me.” I barely get the words out. His fingers are drawing the most exquisite circles against me. I shake with the effort it takes not to grind myself against his touch.

With his other hand, he palms my throat.

“I don’t like being told what I can’t do,” he breathes, his face close to mine. One of his fingers nudges ever so slightly inside me, and I see stars shatter. “But I’m not going to fuck you tonight, pet.”

Tonight.It’s the same way he says, “I won’t kill you tonight.”

Like even if it doesn’t happen now, it could some other time.

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