Page 19 of Heart of a Devil

I grip her hip with one hand and put the other on the back of her neck, holding her down like the predator I am, nailing her as hard as I can. I’m usually more considerate with my women, but right now I’m all animal. She lets out low moans and cries, her hair spilled over the seats, her flesh jiggling as I hammer her into oblivion. Her pussy walls clench around me, and her breathing hits a desperate rhythm.

“Come for me, sweetheart.” I squeeze her ass cheeks so hard I’ll leave fingerprints. That’s what I want. I want to leave my mark. I want to claim her. Her pussy is tightening around my cock, and we’re both so close now. I shove her dress higher, running my hands along her sweat-slicked skin, pushing herflatter down on the seats. I’m firmly on top of her, her wrists tied, her legs parted, her whole body at my fucking mercy.

I sweep back her long hair and, without warning, sink my teeth into her shoulder. I bite down hard enough to taste the coppery tang of her blood on my tongue, and she screams at both the bite and the orgasm that now rips through her. My dick is milked, her whole body juddering beneath me, and it seems to go on forever—one big, long ripple of pleasure rolling through her. I finally shoot my load into her, letting out a yell of my own as I come.

Holy fucking shit. I think that was the most powerful orgasm in the known world of orgasms.

I stay where I am for a few moments, trying to drag myself back to reality. Eventually, I pull out of her and sit up behind her shaking form. Her quivering body is a disaster zone: Her ass bears my rough paw print in the middle of skin that is spanked cherry red, and her spread legs reveal a pink pussy that is drenched in our cum. Her hip is already bruising from where I grabbed her, and the dress is ripped, showing the blood-tinged bite mark on her shoulder. I’ve never seen anything so fucking gorgeous in my life. “Seb… Please. Please untie me.”

Her voice is low and pleading, and I cut the ties loose and help her upright. I rub her wrists gently, helping her get the circulation back in her veins, and smooth her wild hair away from clammy, tear-stained cheeks. “Ouch,” she says as her backside hits the seat. “What the fuck was that?”

“That, sweetheart, was a whole lot of fun. Are you okay? Want me to kiss anything better? Gloria must be sore.” She glares at me and then bursts out laughing. I love this aspect of Lauren. The way she so nimbly moves between dark and light, like she’s made of both.

“Aw, you remembered her name—how sweet. And she’s just fine, thank you. That was… intense. Who the fuck carries zip ties around in their trunk, by the way?”

I shrug, slip my arm around her shoulders, and pull her in for a cuddle. “You do know I run a security firm, right, babe? And sometimes I need to make sure things are… secure.”

Her eyes narrow as she turns the information over in her mind. “What else do you have back there?”

I laugh and squeeze her closer. “Maybe, if you’re a very good girl, I’ll share my whole bag of tricks with you. But for now, that was enough. Would you like to come back to my place? I make a mean full English breakfast.”

As soon as I ask, I realize it was a mistake. This woman might unravel beneath my fingertips where sex is concerned, and we definitely connected in a different way over dinner tonight, but her rules are not there to be broken. She’s more likely to scream “chainsaw” at the thought of a cozy night in than she is while getting tied up and violently fucked.

“I told you, I don’t do sleepovers, Seb.”

And just like that, the shutters come down again. Maybe, I tell myself, it’s for the best. She’s Sam’s colleague, she’s young enough to be my daughter, and she’s a fucking Montoya.

It might be for the best, but it fucking hurts in a way I can’t quite explain. Again, I have offered her more than sex, and again, she’s rejected it. That should make her the perfect fucking woman, but it stings.

“Then I’ll take you home.”

She shakes her head, her curls bouncing around her face. “I’d rather call a cab.”

“Lauren. You can’t let me…” I scrub a hand down my face and blow out a breath.

“Can’t let you what?”

I stare at her, the woman who drives me crazy. The paradox that is Lauren Montoya Hayes. Vulnerable and confident. Wild and sensitive. Damaged, yet as strong as anyone I’ve ever met. “You can’t let me fuck you like that and not take care of you afterward.”

She grabs her purse and shrugs it onto her shoulder. “I can take care of myself.”

“I only want to drive you home, sweetheart. I won’t ask to come in, and you don’t even have to speak to me. Please, can you let me do that?”

“Fine,” she huffs, pulling her dress down to cover her thighs.

I climb into the driver’s seat, and she stays in the back while I drive her home, like I’m her cabbie. She doesn’t speak, and I don’t push her. What we did was intense. Maybe this is how she deals with it. I’d much rather be running her a warm bath and tucking her up in a nice soft bed, curled up next to me, of course, but who am I to know what’s best for her?

When I pull up outside her building, she opens the door. I want to ask if she’s okay but don’t want to get into another argument, so I simply tell her goodnight. She offers me a breezy goodbye in return, and I watch her window until her light goes on and I know she’s safe. This woman is in an enigma. And she is going to be the ruin of me.

Chapter

Ten

LAUREN

Ispend a restless night in my cute little apartment by the river, unable to process exactly what’s going on with me. I’m a confident woman who’s not afraid to experiment when it comes to sex, but this feels like more than an experiment. This feels life-changing. I, of all people, should be repulsed by what happened tonight. I should be sickened at being hunted, being bound, and then being fake-raped in the back of an SUV. So why did I agree to any of it? Why did I love it so much? Why is my clit throbbing at the memory of being thrown onto the backseat and screwed by a man who enjoyed hurting me?

I’ve showered, slipped into my favorite PJs, and I’m sitting on my little balcony, watching the water flow by in the moonlight. I have a glass of wine to help the thought process, and a pile of work files to go through if I start to bore myself. I wonder if I should treat this mystery like a case and make notes on one of my big yellow legal pads. The thought of trying to describe Seb and the way he so effortlessly controls my body is hilarious. I concentrate on the wine instead. I’ll probably never figure it out, and I probably shouldn’t bother trying. Maybe I should just go along for the ride and enjoy it.

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