Page 63 of Defiant
“Breathe through your nose, baby girl. I’m about to go deep.”
I slide down her throat, which clenches around me, this time not backing off when she struggles because my balls are blazing and there are flames behind my eyes.
My cock starts to ache and this sensation akin to insatiable hunger fills my stomach. A primal rush fills me, and I rut harder and faster.
A few more deep thrusts and I start to spurt, quickly yanking my dick out and fisting it so I can spray Elena’s face and neck, sliding down her body as my dick pulses so that I can get the last couple drops on those perky breasts. I wipe the tip of my dick on her right breast, then drag it across one of her stiff nipples as I stare down into her tear-streaked face.
She’s still breathing hard, and I’m tempted to reach down and touch that pussy that I’ll bet is soaked. But I’m out of time.
“Don’t touch yourself,” I order with a warning wag of my index finger. “Save it for after I win. Stone’s challenged me to a fight to the death for you.”
Her eyes widen in fear for me.
I’m torn between amusement and the desire to spank her for even getting nervous. But my watch buzzes so I do neither as I check the time. “And I’ve got to go. It starts … pretty much now. At least warm-up does. They’ll bring you out at the end of the match, so Matthew will bring you a dress to change into.” I run a hand over her cheek but stop because I really did do a number on her face. It’s covered in cum. But I can’t say I’m sorry because she looks fucking hot. Owned. Desperate.
Damn. I need to leave before I get hard again. I climb off of her petite body and fix my pants. Then I lean forward and grab her left hand. I kiss my girl’s ring before I turn away.
I found her.
But the shifter world doesn’t operate on finder’s keepers.
To keep her, I’m going to have to rip Stone’s head from his shoulders.
22
Elena
I cleanmyself up with shaking hands, trying not to fall apart but failing miserably. Once I’m clean I yank that awful ring from my finger and hurl it across the bedroom so hard that it chips the paint on the wall before dropping harmlessly onto the carpet.
I can’t believe that just happened. Black just face-fucked me like he owns me already. My stomach cramps at the memory and I refuse to acknowledge how wet I got at being dominated because he just took. Didn’t ask. Just took. But I can’t even focus on that violation because what he did, awful as it was, doesn’t even compare to what’s coming. I can’t believe what’s about to happen.
I pace in the basement, frenzy whipping up a dust storm inside my ribs after Black leaves. Black and Cooper Stone are going to fight to the death. Over me. Tears streak my vision and I have to bend forward, gripping my knees for a second as the world spins out of place.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
My future is about to be decided and I’m going to be handed over to a killer. Whichever shifter is the most deadly gets me as his prize.
I dry heave and fall to my knees on the carpet. The luxurious pile is soft against my skin, an irony because this house is nothing more than a beautiful prison.
As if I’m dying, my life flashes before my eyes, and memories take over.
I see my parents taking me hiking when I was six, standing arm in arm and smiling at each other, their hiking vests open as the sun shines down on them and they breathe in the calm, pine-scented air. My dad’s salt and pepper hair is ruffled by the breeze and Mom has her pitch-black locks pulled back in a ponytail. Mom turns to Dad and says, “I should bring you here more often. You glow, Michael.”
He leans down for a kiss but pauses just before he reaches her lips, letting her come the rest of the way, letting her control the moment.
I remember screeching, “Ewww!” and holding a hand over my eyes but peeking surreptitiously as they laugh and peck one another with soft kisses.
Another recollection flicks on, replacing the hiking trip. I’m in my bedroom, staring up at the ceiling. My dad sits on the edge of my hot pink comforter. The lights are off but I see the bruise on my dad’s eye as he tucks me in and sings me a lullaby. My little hand goes up to stroke his injured cheek and he hisses. “Daddy, what happened? Did you fall off the monkey bars?”
“Shh, sugarplum. Yes. Dad had a little accident, but I’m fine. Just fine. Go to sleep.” He’d hummed the rest of the lullaby.
I sink down further, closer to the floor as sobs rock through me so hard that my entire chest aches.
My future is going to be just like his … no wonder he wanted to escape it. No wonder he left me.
