Page 8 of All's Fair In Love & War

“Open your mouth,” I commanded, and Felicity obeyed without hesitation. “I’m a man, baby, not a little boy. Open that shit wider.”

After she did as she’d been told, I stepped closer, the tip of my dick brushing against her lips. “Good girl.”

Slowly, I pushed into her mouth, groaning as her tongue swirled around me. She took me deep, her throat relaxing as I fucked her face with slow, deliberate strokes. I tightened my grip on the leash, pulling it just enough to make her gasp around me.

“That’s it,” I muttered, my free hand tangling in her hair. “Take it like the slut bitch you are.”

Felicity’s mouth was lethal, and I was close, embarrassingly so. The velvet heat of her throat and the tightness of her lips had me so dizzy that for a split second I forgot she was a fucking predator, too. Eyes closed, I tilted my head back, savoring the way she let me set the rhythm, the wayher mouth slicked over me and made obscene noises I’d never admit turned me on. I lost myself, even if just for a moment.

That was when she struck.

A sudden, blinding jolt of pain shot through my dick like a live wire. She bit down, not hard enough to draw blood, but sharp, deliberate, and sufficient enough to make my knees buckle. My vision flashed white, and I jerked back, nearly tripping over the goddamn leash, and tried to yank her off with a guttural curse.

"You crazy fucking bitch!" I staggered as I pushed her head back, trying to force her to let go.

Felicity growled, shaking her head like a pit bull as she clamped down harder. She wasn’t bluffing, either. Her jaw locked, canines digging in just shy of breaking skin, and the more I fought her, the deeper she gnawed down.

My vision tunneled, a starburst of agony radiating through my hips and straight up into my skull. I should’ve been furious. Should’ve swung on her, tossed her off, something, anything, but a wild, sick part of me couldn’t help respecting the balls it took to go for the jugular, literally.

I snarled, white-hot, and reached for her throat. Her eyes widened, just for a split second, as my hand clamped around her neck and squeezed. However, she didn’t release me. She bore down with a final, savage twist, and I felt the spit and blood mix on her lips. My vision spotted, and the roar in my ears drowned out every self-preservation instinct I’d ever had.

My other hand shot out, bracing myself against the wall, and she didn’t falter. Whatever animal lived inside Felicity Veneto, it was rabid, feral, and absolutely beautiful in its refusal to give up.

I dug my thumb under her jaw, right beneath the hinge, and felt the cartilage strain. She gagged, lips stretching in a grimace, but even then the bitch wouldn't let up. My dickthrobbed with each pulse of her bite, pain and pleasure so tangled I couldn't tell which one was winning. I squeezed her neck, then pressed harder. Her face flushed red, then purple. Still nothing.

Fine. She wanted to go all the way? So be it.

I shifted my grip, both hands now clamped around her throat, thumbs digging in until I felt the slippery slide of her pulse start to slow. Her eyes rolled back, just a touch, and finally her jaw slackened. There was nothing gentle about how I pulled her off, spit and drool stringing down her chin.

She slumped onto the carpet, gasping and coughing, her body folded in half. Her teeth had left undeniable dents, like punctures in my pride, but she was alive, and her eyes burned up at me with something that looked an awful lot like triumph.

I staggered back a step, cradling myself, fighting the urge to pass out or put my fist through the drywall. Adrenaline and rage made my vision vibrate. The air between us was volcanic.

“You out of your fucking mind?” I croaked, my voice hoarse.

Felicity stayed down on all fours, hair wild and face flushed, her breathing ragged but somehow steadying.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing red across her knuckles. “You said don’t move, so I did what you asked. Next time, keep your dick to yourself unless I “beg” for it.”

Oh, God! I can’t stand this bitch.

"Guards!” I shouted, unable to do much more than that.

Two men burst in, half-expecting blood or a gun or maybe both. Instead, they found me hunched over, a hand clutching my throbbing dick, the other steadying myself on the wall, breathing erratically. Felicity knelt at my feet, an ironic Madonna, eyes wide and unrepentant in the afterglow of violence.

She spat at the carpet, not a trace of fear in her posture. “Don’t worry, boys. Your boss is still alive… but he may need some help.”

The taller of the guards, Marcus, tried to help me upright. I shrugged him off, heat and humiliation burning holes in my skin. I’d been shot before, stabbed even, but this particular humiliation was brand new. It was a raw, radioactive ache that radiated from my groin up through my spine, past all the scars and straight into my ego.

Felicity smirked at me before running her tongue along her bottom lip, and I lost it.

“Take that bitch back to the basement, and lock the doors,” I muttered moments before I blacked out.

When I came to, I was on the sofa inside the living room, flat on my back with my pants half-zipped. My first thought was Felicity, and how I wanted to strangle her with my bare hands. My second thought was to get up before anyone else saw me like this.

Too late.

I was barely vertical before the door swung open, and Naeem swaggered in, like he’d been waiting for the exact moment to catch me at my lowest. His eyes flicked from my face to my unzipped pants, lifting a brow in question.

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