Page 93 of Arranged Obsession
“What if I’m not?” I feel dirty and horrible. I can’t stand hearing him talk about me that way. “What if you’re wrong?”
“I’m fucking not.” He buries my mouth in a kiss. And in desperation, I kiss him back, not sure what I’m going to find.
Only sin. Only something wrong.
But also so good.
I grind into him, aware that this is stupid. We’re still in a church parking lot and I’m deep in mourning. I’m emotionally wrecked, but I need him right now. I feel so wounded and raw, but Cormac’s touch distracts me. The way he looks at me, the way he treats me, like I really am something divine, like I’m his goddess and his salvation.
It kills me. And it makes me want to keep going.
I kiss him like an animal. I pull his hair and bite his tongue and moan into his mouth as he reaches up and yanks down my panties. I’m breathing hard as I unbuckle his belt, stroking his cock, but he’s already so hard. He stiffens more as I slip him free of his suit pants, his head glistening with precum, and I straddle and arch down on him, guiding his cock against my wet entrance.
This is so fucked up.
But as he slides inside of me, I don’t care at all.
It feels too right.
What’s the point of being good if everything is constantly working against me? I can make a tiny difference, but it’s like trying to stop a tsunami with a bucket. There’s nothing I can do to stem the flow of horrors all around me.
Why not embrace them?
Or at least feel some pleasure for once in my life?
Cormac snarls as he fucks me. I ride him, the car shaking. The windows fog, and thank God for dark tint. Not like I really care. Not like I can think about anything but Cormac’s cock filling me over and over again.
“God, you’re so fucking good, baby,” he says, driving himself into my soaking pussy. “You’re my everything. You’re air in my lungs. You’re blood on my hands and in my veins. I’d break without you, Bianca, my feather. God, you feel so fucking good.”
“And you feel so wrong but I love it.” I bury my tongue in his mouth. “I want you to come inside me. I want you to fuck me until I can’t think.”
He thrusts harder, roughly wrenching one of my arms behind my back as he controls and uses me, dominating me and filling me again and again. I whimper, gasping, starting to lose my mind with how good it feels. I’m all sorts of fucked up, but I don’t even care.
I grind into him, dancing on that perfect edge.
“There’s only one good in my life,” he says, pulling my hair and licking my throat. “There’s you coming. That’s all I care about. That’s all I want. Just you, dripping wet, stripped bare, moaning my name, orgasms over and over until you’re ruined. That’s what I need, feather. I need you to come for me, baby.”
“Fuck, Cormac,” I say as all my triggers pull and all the pain goes away.
I shatter like a lightning crack. I clench down on his massive dick and come so hard I scream out. He buries my mouth in a kiss and I keep coming as he mercilessly fills me, over and over again. But he only lasts moments longer before I feel his warmth dribbling down my thigh, his cock twitching, his moans of bliss and release.
I collapse against him. I’m a mess and barely holding it together. But for the first time since Elena died, my head’s not filled with the sound of her body exploding into a shower of bloody gore.
“I want to tell you something,” I murmur, wiping tears from my eyes. “I don’t want you to judge me. I don’t want it to ruin anything either. I want you to keep looking at me like you always do.”
“And how do I look at you?”
“Like I’m perfection.” I laugh lightly at how absurd that sounds. “You really think it too, don’t you?”
He nods, eyes shining with sincerity. “Absolutely.”
“Then just listen.” I take a deep, shuddering breath. He’s still between my legs. Slightly less hard, but still surprisingly warm and pleasant. “I want to hurt them.”
He tilts his head. “Hurt who?”
“The Russians.” I brush my knuckles down his cheek. “I want you to make them pay for what they did to her.”
I hate saying it. I’ve been a part of a crime family all my life, but I’ve never once wanted to give in to all the violence around me. Grace House was about balancing that out.
