Page 88 of Wicked Tides
Shame and longing and a whole hurricane of emotions were buried within the armor of her being. The words to admit it were imprisoned deep in her throat.
But I didn’t need to hear them. I knew. Somehow, I knew what she wanted—what she needed—like she’d told me already outright. Like a part of her had confided in me without a voice. And what she was asking for was something I needed to give.
“This is not the place I expected you to come,” I said. “Not if it is comfort you seek.”
“I am in search of a certain torment and there is no other place I could think of.”
Those words teased a part of me I had not even wanted to admit existed.
I took a deep breath, catching the subtle trace of ocean and rain as her scent filled the room. Then I lifted my rum bottle to my lips, locking eyes with her as I took one last swig. My head wasn’t swimming, but perhaps my nerves were loosened up just enough. Then I strode further into the room until I was barely a step away from Dahlia. She didn’t move. She was not prey. She would not cower from me and I knew it. She watched as I slowly lifted the bottle to her lips. Our eyes were still locked as her lips sensually parted. Then she reached up and took the bottle, tipping it until she got a good mouthful. She swallowed it without a wince and handed the bottle back to me, her tongue swiping over her bottom lip and sending a flurry of awareness straight to my cock.
I took the bottle from her and slowly set it down on the table, taking another deep breath.
I was everything she hated and more and she was everything I feared. Together, we were a flood. A tempest. A destructive force capable of tearing things down to the very core, especially each other.
But we were trapped in the same prison no matter how much we hated it. We were debris in the same flood. Dust in the same zephyr. We were out of control, but always blowing in the same chaotic direction.
Silence swelled within the space between us. Heat coiled within me thinking of all the years she’d been on my mind. Dahlia had haunted me, whether in sleep or not. She desired something and I could absolutely give it.
“How are your injuries?” I asked. “Truly.”
“I heal very quickly. But it would not matter either way. We both know it.”
I turned to her, meeting her eyes for less than a breath before I had her throat in my hand. I pulled her close at first, jaw clenched, and then drove her back until she hit the wall. I pinned her there, squeezing her neck and watching her eyes widen at my assault.
But then realization set in and I felt her body melt beneath my punishing touch. Her breath came and went with a shudder as she lifted her hands to grasp my wrist. She didn’t fight me, though. She just watched me, waiting. I squeezed a little harder until I could feel her pulse beating against my fingers. My lips hovered over hers, feeling her last breath leave her before I cut off her air.
“You are not leaving this cottage until you’ve made your throat raw with screams,” I rasped, my lips barely brushing hers. “So do not stifle them. I want to hear them, loud and clear.”
Her body melted again, her hands loosening on my wrist. I watched her eyes start to roll back and then I released her, allowing a rush of air into her lungs. She was breathing like she’d almost drowned, but I did not plan on letting her get comfortable. I gripped her neck again, pinning her but no longer choking her. Already, tears were forming in her eyes. She fought for an adequate breath and as she did, my free hand slid down between her legs to find her folds hot and slick with arousal. I parted her with my fingers, stroking up her seam and over the sensitive bud. Her body quivered and as she sucked in astartled gasp, I pressed my thumb into her throat, denying her another breath.
I stroked her again, pushing my knee between her legs. Her hips rolled toward me, seeking, and I circled her entrance. Immediately, my cock hardened behind my leggings, hungering for the body I was about to defile.
I drove two of my fingers into her wet sheath, enjoying how her body went taut at the invasion. I allowed her more air, soaking up the sweet whimpers she made as I pumped myself inside her. I moved hard and fast, taking her breath away not with my grip but with the fingers in her cunt. Her knees began to shake and I pulled out of her, sliding my other hand to the back of her neck and gripping a good handful of her hair. Tugging her head back, I forced her to look at me and lifted my fingers to her lips, sliding them deep into her mouth.
Any other woman would have gagged, but not Dahlia. I imagined the day she bit off my fingers and shoved deeper until I could feel the back of her throat.
“Bite any more fingers off and I’ll gut you,” I snarled, pinning her tongue to the bottom of her mouth. “Taste that? That’s you hungering for me. Did you ever think you’d want me like this?”
I withdrew and watched her eyes flutter closed. Tears welled with every assault, but she did not fight me. She so easily could have. I knew how strong she was, but every attempt to struggle was weak and restrained. Her protests were a lie.
Releasing her, I unbuckled my belt and slid it out of my pants loops in one, swift tug. The leather slapped against my hips as I grabbed the back of Dahlia’s neck once more and drove her toward the bed. Once her knees hit the mattress, I turned her, pulling her damp shirt off her body until she was nude. Her skin was cold, chilled by the sea and wind, and her appearance had not gained that false, human color she’d been parading lately. She was a siren, through and through. Her complexion was like ash and her scars were all the more prominent when she was that shade.
I pushed her onto the bed, sliding my belt between my teeth so I could pull my shirt off. If she was going to be exposed to me in all ways, so was I. I didn’t have as many scars, but my skin was no blank canvas either. Bullet holes, knife wounds, and two missing fingers made it easy to see that I hadn’t grown up inside some luxurious mansion. But where her skin was pale, mine was tanned from the sun. We were opposite in every way except our pain. That much we shared.
I took my belt from my teeth and put a knee on the bed between her legs, driving her further up the mattress. Then, grabbing both of her hands, I lifted them above her head. Her fingers curled around the wooden headboard.
“Hold onto it and scream if you’ve had enough. Though it may not do you any good.”
She watched as I lifted the folded belt over her and brought it down against her thigh. A loud slap reverberated through the room and on her skin was left a red welt.
But she didn’t make a sound.
Her jaw clenched and I watched her body bow off the bed a bit, but she remained with her hands gripping the headboard. I brought the belt down across her hip. Then her ribs. Her breast. Her other breast. I avoided her face, but even so, no blow drew even a peep from her. She tightened her jaw and squirmed every time I made contact with her skin, but she never screamed.
I feared she’d be able to hold out all night. I thought I might enjoy that, too. Welts were forming all over her front, but she barely even gasped with every lash. I saw her teeth bite down on her lip hard enough to draw a tiny drop of blood and finally, I decided I was the weaker between the two of us.
I eyed a particularly dark welt across her ribs and hit her hard, seeking to make her scream and end the torment. It worked. Hitting the already stinging flesh made her yelp and once the barrier had broken, she was a mess. She drew her legs up as if to shield herself and I forced them back down, her knees on either side of my hips.She’d released the headboard with her hands, but I only captured them, using my belt to bind them above her head once more.
