Page 39 of Defiant
"Girls who mouth off get punished."
"Assholes who get their friends to attack girls apparently do too." I nod in the direction of his side, where five long slashes trace his ribs. “You totally deserve that. I was rooting for him to bite your head off.”
Black grunts a laugh. "True enough. But I'll heal up just fine. Don't worry about me. Just get up here and ride my face so we can finish what we started earlier, little mate."
I glare at him for calling me that—and because those words make my pussy clench. The thought of straddling Black’s face and using it, grinding down on his nose and lips, the feel of his rough beard scratching my thighs, smothering him, and not even giving a fuck as I take my pleasure … all while his hands knead my ass.Shit. Shit. Shit. I need to get myself under control.I look away from him and focus on the basket of supplies, which holds everything from band-aids to thread to sew shifters back together. I grab the bottle of alcohol like it's a weapon and take great pleasure in smiling viciously at Black as I tear open a sterilized cotton pad.
I round the bed, holding his eyes the entire time, letting my gaze drink in his bare torso for the first time. I've seen him naked before, chasing me. But that didn't allow a lot of time for perusal—I was a little more focused on fleeing for my life.
And seeing his monstrous form, a form I didn't even know wolves could have… Well, I don't want to think about how that made me feel—how butterflies had filled my chest and dove down at the sight of him, fluttering lower and lower, particularly after he’d beat the shit out of his friend and then made me grab his dick … I mean keys. I should have been horrified, shouldbehorrified.
But I’m not analyzing that shit right now; I’m not going to ask myself any questions about my messed-up reaction. I’m going to blame it all on stress. Yup. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
My eyes drag over Black’s solid pecs, his dark brown nipples, and his abs that are bigger than my fists. He’s got that V-cut above his hips that’s always made my mouth water, not to mention broad shoulders. When my gaze darts to the hollow of his neck beneath his beard and I have the urge to lick it, I force myself to look away. I don’t want to think about how hot he is or how good it would feel to take him up on his offer, because those are just distractions from a reality that’s barreling down on me, tires screeching, at sixty miles per hour. I’m about to be crushed by it.
"I didn't know shifters could become—that," I say articulately as I sit down on the bed.
"This world has a lot of secrets," Black replies. "Most of them are dark and brutal. But some secrets, like you, and what you are, are beautiful."
His words surprise me, catch me off-guard, and open up the acid that’s corroding my hope and turning my dreams into a graveyard. Being an omega isn’t a fucking beautiful thing. It’s a goddamned curse.
His hand reaches for me, but I pull away and focus on flipping open the cap of the alcohol bottle like it’s complicated. "My mom hates this part," I say with a bitter twist to my lips as I douse the pad. "Maybe that's why it's my favorite."
A question slides across Black's features but he's too smart to voice it. Good. Or bad, maybe, because I want to take my own pent-up aggression out on someone. Part of me thinks—after that display with Pluto or whoever—that Black's telling me the truth. That my life is fucking over. That everything I've chosen, my career as a nurse, the little house without tile floors, the beautiful Siamese bitch of a cat I’ve always want to get, even my random daydreams about Jonah, the ones I always quash as ridiculous … all those dreams are gone.
That leaves a bitter taste in a girl's mouth, a kind of charcoal smudge across her heart. It makes me want to lash out and hurt someone the way that I'm hurting. Black's the perfect candidate.
He's the messenger. Who better to shoot?
He's also my captor. The arrogant prick who thinks he can just stake his claim because his dick says so. Who thinks he doesn't even have to win me over.
Yeah. He deserves it.
I take the bottle in hand.Fuck dabbing gently.I turn it upside down and spray it all over his wound.
Black gasps, hissing and curling away from me when I pour a generous amount of alcohol on his side.
"Dammit, Elena! I said I'm fine." Black tries to use his hand to bat me away, but it's a technique Mom uses that I'm quite familiar with. I just sidestep and then am right back in place a second later with an even more generous gush of disinfecting alcohol from the clear bottle Matthew brought me. I don’t spare the comforter either, letting it get soaked.
Unlike with my mother, with Black, I don't hold back. For some reason, my mouth is determined to defy him, even if other parts of me aren't so inclined to do so. "Shut up, you man-baby. You might heal fast but infection hits shifters just as much as humans and if his little claws were dirty—"
"They weren't. Okay? I'm good."
"You're good when I say you're good." I shove him back down on the bed and straddle him so that he can't get up without lifting me, so he’ll stop fighting. Because I still want to be in control. I need control, I’ve wanted it ever since he stole it from me. I’m not done punishing him for my life turning to shit in a matter of milliseconds. When my thighs clamp down on the outside of his hips, Black stills and becomes compliant. I'm sure he could buck me if he wanted to right now, but I'm also pretty smugly certain that it would hurt his wound to do so.
Black's nostrils flare in annoyance. "I need to gorge on you, baby. Climb up here and let me distract myself while you torture me."
"Gorging makes people puke. You'll end up sick of me."
"Never, princess. I've been dreaming of you my entire life."
I narrow my eyes at him and jab the cotton pad in his direction. “That shit’s just gross. Okay? No cotton candy lines. I’m not buying that.”
“You’d rather I tell you that your pussy feels like a dream? That the stretch of those lips, the way they gaped open around my fingers made me think of how much more they’ll gape when I finally get my cock in you.”
Fuck. It’s like Black’s got a magnifying glass and a bright hot sun—he knows exactly how to aim his words to create a beam full of syllables that burn right through to my core. I’m on fire. I shove the pad down on his wound as I grind into him, turned on and pissed about it, determined to wreak revenge. “This little thing? Sorry, I thought you had a screwdriver in your pocket. A short skinny one.”
Black throws back his head and laughs, and it’s the most luxurious sound in the world. It feels like mink rubbing against the skin, like water on a parched throat. It’s a beautifully soothing sound. My fury abates for a second and smug satisfaction replaces it as I watch the lines around his eyes crinkle and the slightly crooked tilt of his mouth as true amusement washes over him.
