Page 4 of Deviant

This man never failed to rob me of breath—no matter his methods. Holding onto his shoulders, I spread my thighs wider, allowing him to drive his cock deeper. As his teeth scraped down my neck, I let out a whimpering moan.

By the time he was through, I’d have the coyotes howling right along with me.

It didn’t take much for me to get there. It never did with him. “Rafe, I’m…gonna…come.”

“You’re not coming,” he said with a grunt, fingers gripping my throat. He used his free hand to trap my wrists above my head. If there was ever a time to fear the unrelenting grip of his hand, it was now, when he was balls deep inside of me. When the darkness pulled at the sexual beast in him—a moment that always came like an inevitability.

Like the sunrise at dawn or the earth’s high tides every twelve hours.

I’d never known such intensity before Rafe, and if anything ever separated us, I’d go my whole life never experiencing that kind of all-consuming connection again.

When he choked me, it was always one of the most heightening moments of my existence, with his cock buried clear up to his balls, and our hearts thumping against each other, beating to the same tune, keeping the same time. Bodies desperate and drenched in sweat.

And Rafe, always on edge yet perfectly in control as he wrapped his hand around my throat and squeezed. Sometimes, if I tried hard enough, I’d catch the utter look of awe on his face before I lost consciousness.

Sometimes, I even heard him cry out my name before he sent me into blackness.

My first instinct was to fight, but I knew better than to try. When it came to me, Rafe Mason got what he wanted. As he curled his hand around my neck, bringing on that floaty, light-headed feeling I loved and hated, he dipped his head and claimed my mouth. His lips coaxed mine apart, and the impatient thrust of his tongue demanded I submit to his kiss. The vise of his fingers cut off my air, second by second, sparking stars in my vision. He had me right where he wanted me.

Powerless and defenseless.

And I was.

Living out in these woods with him had completely isolated me. Rafe could do whatever he wanted, and I had nowhere to run. No place to hide where he wouldn’t find me. No soul around for miles that could help me.

If that didn’t speak of my trust in him, then I didn’t know what would. If only I could get my subconscious to accept that truth.

He slowed to a languid tempo, hips undulating against mine in an aching ballad of agony. Each purposeful slide of his cock was designed to send me higher, even as his grip on my throat grounded me.

Rafe was an expert at playing my body to perfection.

“You’re mine,” he moaned against my damp lips. “Mine to fuck. Mine to choke.”

Pushing my tongue against his, I whimpered as our kiss reached fever pitch. Our mouths fused, tongues clashing in a war for leverage, demanding the other’s defeat.

He had my head lodged between the bedroll we slept on and his insistent kiss. The vibrations of our shared moans tumbled off my tongue like a symphony, heating my veins with desperation. I needed air.

I needed him to keep fucking me even more.

“Baby,” he rasped out. “Above all else, you’re mine to love. I’m not going anywhere. Do you understand me?”

I tried nodding as I wheezed out a plea in the form of his name.

“I mean it, Alex. I’ll choke you every goddamn day until you get that through your head.”

Under his increasing strength, I gulped then managed to croak two dangerous words.

“Marry me.”

“You’re already mine.” He flexed his hand around my throat as he gave me his favorite, stubborn answer. In our hearts, where it mattered, we were already married, and no piece of paper would make me belong to him more than I already did now. That’s what he always told me.

But God, I wanted it.

A wedding. Rafe standing at the end of the aisle.

Waiting for the girl he loved.

Nothing extravagant. That wasn’t his style. Rafe wasn’t the type of man that heeded society’s conventions. But for once, I wanted the fairytale.

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