Page 9 of Slash Me Savagely

I shifted my hips, my cock nudging against her entrance. She tensed, her nails digging into my shoulders. I pushed in, her warmth enveloping me, her body yielding to mine. She gasped, her eyes fluttering closed, her tears flowing faster.

"Look at me," I commanded, my voice gentle yet firm.

Her eyes snapped open, her gaze locking onto mine. I slid deeper, her tightness gripping me, her heat consuming me. A groan escaped my lips, the sensation overwhelming.

"Feel that?" I whispered, my voice hoarse with desire. "Feel us?"

She nodded, her lips parted, her breath coming in soft pants. I began to move, my hips rocking against hers, my cock sliding in and out of her. Her body responded, her hips meeting mine, her breath syncing with my thrusts.

Each stroke sent waves of pleasure coursing through me, her body fitting mine like a glove. I could feel her heartbeat, her pulse racing in time with mine. Her tears slowed, her gasps turning into moans, her body arching to meet mine.

"You feel so good," I murmured, my lips brushing against hers. "So fucking good."

Her eyes fluttered closed, her body trembling as I picked up the pace, my thrusts becoming harder, deeper. Her moans grew louder, her nails digging into my back, her body coiling with tension, even though she tried so hard to resist.

"Let go," I whispered, my voice a harsh rasp. "Let go for me,printsessa."

And she did. Her body shuddered, her orgasm ripping through her, her cry of pleasure filling the room. I could feel her pulsing around me, her body milking mine, drawing out my own release. I thrust deep, my cock throbbing as I came, my groan echoing her cry.

I collapsed onto her, our bodies slick with sweat, our breaths mingling. Her tears had stopped, her eyes closed, her body limp beneath mine. I rolled off her, pulling her into my arms, her head resting on my chest.

"You're mine," I whispered, my fingers tracing patterns on her skin. "Mine."

Chapter 7

Gemma

Iwoke up to an empty bed; the sunlight slicing through the blinds, mocking the darkness that clung to me. The events of the night before crashed into my consciousness like a wrecking ball, and I curled in on myself, trying to escape the memories that flooded my mind. My body ached, a traitorous reminder of his touch, of the way I had responded to him.

Tears stung my eyes, hot and accusing. How could I have let this happen? How could my body betray me like this? I felt a sob rise in my throat, and I choked it down, refusing to let it escape. I wouldn't give him that power, not again.

But how had he been there?

The question gnawed at me, a relentless, grinding doubt.

Had he been watching me?

The thought sent a shiver down my spine, a cold, creeping dread that spread through my veins like poison.

Was he the one who'd been watching me all this time? The one whose gaze I could feel like a phantom touch, even when I was alone?

I hugged my knees to my chest, trying to make sense of it all. None of this made sense. None of it. The pieces refused to fit together, no matter how hard I tried to force them. It was like trying to solve a puzzle in the dark, each piece slippery and elusive, always just out of reach.

I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm the storm that raged inside me. I needed answers. I needed to understand. But more than anything, I needed to regain control of my body, of my life. I wouldn't let him take that from me. Not again. Not ever.

But even as I made the vow, I could feel the ghost of his touch on my skin, a lingering echo that refused to fade. And I knew, with a sinking certainty, that nothing would ever be the same again.

The door creaked open, and Matthew walked in, two steaming mugs of coffee in his hands. I glared at him, clutching the sheet tighter around me, as if cotton could shield me from the nightmare unfolding.

I couldn't tear my eyes away from him. He stood in the doorway, completely naked, his body a work of art. His skin was pale, almost translucent, and it seemed to glow in the dim light of the room. His muscles were lean and defined, a testament to the hours he spent honing his body into a weapon. A thin line of light hair trailed down from his chest, leading my gaze to the hard length of him, jutting out from between his legs. He was beautiful, in a terrifying, predatory way. And I hated myself for wanting him.

He set the mugs down on the nightstand, his movements slow and deliberate. "I thought you could use some coffee," he said, his voice low and rough.

I didn't trust myself to speak, so I just nodded, my eyes still locked on his body. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, andI couldn’t stop it. I didn't want to want him. I didn't want to feel this way. But my body had other ideas.

He crossed the room, closing the distance between us in a few long strides. I could feel the weight of his gaze on me, heavy and possessive. He reached out, his fingers brushing against my cheek, and I flinched at the contact.

"Don't," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

---