Page 119 of Creed

My pussy clamps around him.

He snarls as he starts to fuck me wildly. Like he’s going to fuck me within an inch of my life. A scream of pleasure rips from me, and my back arches as I’m slammed against the wall again and again.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he growls and bites my neck. When I don’t answer fast enough, he bites again, harder, as he hammers into me relentlessly.

“I’m yours,” I cry, arching and pressing to get closer to him. “Creed, I’m yours.”

Hot tears coat my cheeks—not because he’s physically hurting me, but from the release he gives me.

“No one,” he grunts, then his fingers bite into my ass as he pummels into me. “No onewill ever take you from me. Do you understand?”

Fury, desire, and conviction battle for domination on his face as he stares at me like my dark god. “Do.” He slams into me and pulls almost out. “You.” He hammers back in. “Understand?” His finger presses into my back forbidden hole when he pulls out of my pussy and slams back in, and I shatter for him.

“Yes!” I scream as my body breaks with the intense climax. I jerk violently as the orgasm crests into a massive explosion, and the air sucks from my chest.

“Fuck, angel,” Creed snarls, fighting to move in and out of me as my pussy seizes around him. “Mine. Mine.You’re mine.” Hegrowls like an animal, and his head falls back as he pours his thick cum deep within me, and I rake my nails down his back.

My body goes limp, and Creed slides us down the wall, still with me impaled on his shaft. He kneels, keeping me pinned against the wall, and buries his face into my neck. His breathing is as ragged as mine, and he kisses over the bite mark that will bruise, then buries his face again.

“I’m not trying to be a tyrant, Soph.”

“I know.” I thread my fingers through his hair. “But I need to know I’m your equal partner, Creed.”

“You are,” he says without hesitation. “However, with this…” He lifts his head, and his unique, beautiful eyes burn into mine. “I’ll never concede, compromise, or give when it comes to your safety, angel.”

In some ways, his words make me feel so loved, cherished, and safe. But therein lies my constant contradiction of late because, on the flip side of the coin, I want to scream, rant, and rave at him and his stance.

He rests his forehead on mine, holding my eyes. “I need your trust with this.”

I swallow the lump in my throat and speak hoarsely, “I need to call Sylvie tomorrow.”

“I’ll speak with Crispin again to see where he’s at with this. If your family’s phones are being monitored, he’s working tomake it look like you’re in San Diego, which would reinforce the surveillance plants of you being there, too.”

I cup his face, keeping his forehead against mine. “Thank you.”

“I’m not making any promises, angel,” he warns. I stiffen, and he kisses me softly. “We’ll figure this out together.”

He wraps his arms under me as he stands—his strength always amazes me. I wrap my arms around his muscular back, resting my chin on his shoulder, and lock my legs around his waist. He carries us to the bed and sits on the edge, keeping me on him.

“Ride me, angel,” he whispers. “And tell me again how you’re mine.”

Chapter 35

Ollie

It’s been a hellishfew days, but there's been sightings of Sophie in San Diego today.

Antonio and I nearly collapsed in giddy relief, but Severyn and her team warned us not to get our hopes up while they checked if the sightings were real or planted. Their warnings were for a reason because they discovered they were indeed planted footage of Sophie—very good plants.

The reminder that we’re dealing with an extraordinary hacker—orhackers—was a slap in the face. After that, I’m physically here but not completely coherent as I try not to spiral.

But then Nexin barged in with a triumphant look, announcing that he had finally gotten into Sophie’s phone. This re-fanned the wind in my sails until they started talking about the contact Sophie was communicating with—a guy named Creed—and theyput together some pieces of the puzzle and deduced it was Creed Santoro.

Nausea nearly makes me projectile vomit.

Last year, I dated a guy who was an organized crime fanatic. He told me all about who ruled California: the Santoro family, the Italianmafia.He mentioned the three brothers’ names: Massimo, Vito, andCreed.

This is too much. Plus, I’m cold and clammy, my stomach is crampy and rolling. I want to scream because a stomach flu is the last thing I need.

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