Page 176 of Auctioned

“I will, always.”

“All of you. Mine.” His tattooed hand skims across my navel, up to my throat. His touch is as possessive as the look he’s pinning me with. As his ruthless as his thrusts are. “This mouth…”

He leans in. Hand on my jaw, mouth crashing to mine. He’s aggressive, groaning, grunting. Biting, sucking. His tongue swipes across mine and, ohfuck, he changes the angle of his body to fuck me more thoroughly. As his toned stomach rubs against my clit, I can’t take it.

I’m only aware that I’m breathing because of how hard I’m screaming into his mouth. This orgasm hurts. It’s explosive, ruining both of us. Putting us back together as one.

“God, you’re squeezing my cock, begging me to breed you.” He’s like a beast, pummeling relentlessly. “But I’m not done. We’re not done.”

James dips two fingers into the new gash in his collarbone.

“My blood.” It trickles down his fingers, painting the rose in red. The gory sight doesn’t repulse me. I’m used to having his blood on me. His spit. His cum. “Your blood.”

I understand what he’s demanding of me without him having to spell it out. My lips part for him. Tongue darting out. I had his blood on me.

This, his two blood-coated fingers shoved into my mouth, is different. Personal.

It’s devotion.

“Suck.”

I do, wrapping my lips around his fingers while he fucks my mouth. Fucks my pussy thoroughly.

When he removes his hand from my mouth, I groan, mad that he’s taking it from me. I hate that he’s sitting on his knees.

“You’ll take what I give you.” James has a hand gripping beneath my thigh, hiking it up. Just when I think he can’t surprise me anymore, he does. His fingers probe into his wound again. His blood isn’t meant for my mouth this time. It’s for my clit. It’s obscene, how he paints my pussy red. How good it feels. “My slut. My assassin. Come for me again.”

“Hurts.” The metallic taste is exquisite in my mouth. I lick my lips. Clench my thighs. Stare at this man that I’m madly in love with. “Hurts. Please. I can’t come another time.”

“Don’t care.” His thumb works faster. Circling my sensitive clit. He smears blood on my pussy. On his cock. We’re painted in it. “I said come, and you will come for me.”

“Please.”

“Shut up.” The pounding rain. Every flash of lightning and rumble of thunder outside the windows. Nothing compares to him, this God. “This pussy is mine. If I tell you to come”—he pinches, twists, tugs my clit—“you will. As many times as I tell you to. Your cunt will milk my cock dry. Take every drop. Be full with my babies. Because I. Said. So.”

Resisting him is as impossible as living without air. As I come, pulsing around his cock, my back arches.

My soul elevates.

He releases my thigh, catching my moans with his mouth. Coming inside me, his feral growl ruins me. His violent, merciless thrusts own me.

“Sonnet,” he exhales against my lips. Rocks his hips and his cum into me. “I’d have given them my right arm to have you. To own you. Everything I have. I’d have given everything. Never forget that.”

I won’t.

That’s why my heart does that weird, painful twist in my chest like before.

I’ll do everything in my power for him too. To protect him, so he’ll have everything.

Even if I’m not an active part in his life anymore.

Love is about being selfless.

As devastating as that might be.

35

OPHELIA

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