Page 67 of Bloody Vows
“Mine,” he growls, his teeth nipping sharply at my lower lip. “Come on it,célie. I want you to get me wet. Soak the fucking seats. Come all over my cock.”
His voice is harsh, commanding, his accent thick as he thrusts again, his green eyes gone dark with lust. I open mymouth to refuse him, but he kisses me again, his body a driving weight against mine as he fucks me relentlessly, demanding my surrender.
I don’t want to give it to him. I won’t. But?—
God, it feels so fucking good.
Everything about him was made to be a temptation, made to break my resistance to him. His scent, his body, the rough flex of his muscles, and the thick perfection of his cock, the way his copper hair falls into his face, and the way he kisses me like his mouth was made for mine. It’s as if he’s turning me inside out with pleasure, every stroke of his body within mine lighting me on fire, and I can feel my orgasm coiling, rising, ready to burst through me and give me the relief I so desperately need.
No, no…
It’s so hard to resist. So hard to resisthim. And he knows it. His mouth devours mine, his tongue licking along my lower lip before plunging in again, the strokes of his tongue against mine matching the rhythm of his cock thrusting relentlessly into me. “Come on it,” he growls again, arching his hips so that he rubs against my most sensitive spots with every thrust, inside and out, and I can feel myself unraveling.
“You’re going to do it,célie.” He bites my lip again. “Stop fighting it. Give your body what it needs. Give me whatIneed.”
Somehow, those last words are what undo me. The idea that this man, this dangerous, powerful,assholeof a man that I hate so much, is equally undone byme, shatters the last of my resistance to the pleasure coursing through me. He thrusts again, his thick length filling me, his hips grinding into mine, his mouth nearly suffocating me with the desperation of how much heneedsme—and I feel the orgasm crash through me, unstoppable and tearing a scream from my lips as my body arches and writhes under his.
Tristan yanks his mouth back from mine, eyes locked onto mine as he looks down at me with an expression of victorious lust, still thrusting hard as he seems to drink in my scream of pleasure, the sound turning to a high-pitched moan as I clench and ripple around him. His hands drop to my hips, holding me in place as his pace turns frenetic, and he groans as I feel him stiffen inside of me.
“Oh fuckingChrist—Simone?—”
I feel the hot rush of his cum, filling me as his cock throbs, my body still rhythmically clenching around his as my orgasm winds down. His fingers dig into my hips, his jaw tight, his copper hair falling into his face as he bucks against me, his orgasm chasing mine as another moan of pleasure tears free from his lips.
In the aftermath, he stares down at me, his hands still on my hips and his cock still twitching inside of me, his green gaze holding mine. “You came for me,” he murmurs, that victorious tinge still in his voice, and I glare up at him.
“Don’t get used to it.”
“Oh, I will.” He leans down, kissing me again, hard and possessive. “One isn’t enough for me, Simone. Not a dozen, or a hundred. I’m going to make you come every fucking night until all you remember is how my cock feels inside of you, and I’ve forgotten the taste of every other woman, the feeling of any other woman coming on my cock. You aremine.” He snarls it against my lips, rocking against me, his cock still half-hard and buried in me.
The car slows, and Tristan slides out of me. He shifts to sit next to me, tucking himself away, and I grab for my jeans and panties, yanking them back up as I button them with shaking hands. I refuse to look at him, my heart beating hard, the awareness of how thoroughly I enjoyed that is as humiliating as the way he put me on my knees earlier.
I hate this man. I don’t want to behis.
Butsomethinginside of me does. And he knows how to exploit it, knows the battle I’m fighting—a battle that he wants me to lose.
The car rolls to a stop, and Tristan opens the door, holding out a hand as I see the mansion on the other side of him.
“Let’s go home, Simone.”
18
TRISTAN
The adrenaline from the firefight is still coursing through my veins, making my pulse race and my muscles tense. I keep replaying the moment when I realized she was gone, when I came back to her room to find it empty, the house devoid of her presence, her security detail scrambling to explain how they'd lost track of her. The panic that had clawed at my throat then was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. I've been in countless dangerous situations, faced down armed enemies, stared death in the face more times than I can count, but nothing had ever terrified me the way the thought of losing her had.
It was both a lie and not to say that it was because she’s mine. Sheismine… but it wasn’t because I own her. Because my property had run off.
It was because the thought of losing Simone forever had made me feel as if the world was a vast, empty place that would never feel whole again.
That should concern me. It does concern me. But right now, with her safe beside me, I can't bring myself to care about the implications.
When we pull through the gates of the mansion, I see the relief on the faces of the guards who've been waiting for our return. Word travels fast, and by now everyone knows there was trouble tonight. They know their boss's wife was in danger, and that reflects on all of them. I make a mental note to review security protocols tomorrow, to figure out how she managed to slip past them in the first place. It’s not too hard to figure out that she must have known some way out of the mansion that neither I nor my men did—she’s lived here all her life, after all. Which means I need them to cover every inch of it, find every entrance and exit, and make sure that they’re all guarded from now on.
But that's tomorrow's problem. Tonight, I just need to get her inside, get her safe, and try to process what the hell just happened between us in the car.
I open the door for her when the car stops, looking over at where she’s sitting ramrod straight in her seat. “Let’s go home,” I tell her quietly, and there’s no longer the rancor or mocking that there usually is in my tone.
I’m still furious with her. Still angry and betrayed and unsure of how we move forward from this. But right now, the overwhelming feeling that I have is one of relief.
