Page 64 of Love Bleeds Red
That broke his restraint completely. He set a rhythm that had me crying out with each thrust, his hips snapping forward, pumping in and out. His cock hitting spots inside me I never knew I had. The friction of our bodies against my clit had me coming closer and closer to another orgasm.
“Such a good girl, taking me so well,” he growled against my ear. “You like feeling me stretch your tight little cunt open?”
“Yes,” I moaned, lifting my hips to meet each thrust. “Don’t stop, Leon. Please don’t stop.”
“Never.” He upped his pace, pumping into me. “You’re mine, Firefly. All fucking mine.”
I caught a glimpse of us moving together in the mirror. Leon’s corded back muscles flexing as he drove into me, my back arching to meet him thrust for thrust. I loved being able to see us… it sent me closer and closer.
“Are you watching us?” he panted, glancing over his shoulder at our reflection. “Look how perfect we fit together.”
I could barely focus on anything but the building pressure inside me. “Leon, I’m so close…”
“I know, love. I can feel you tightening around me. You feel so fucking good.” He shifted my legs higher around his waist, hitting a spot that made me scream. “Right there?”
“Oh God, yes!”
He kissed me desperately, our tongues tangling as his thrusts became erratic. “Come with me,” he breathed against my mouth.
I shattered beneath him, crying his name into our kiss. He followed seconds later, his whole body going rigid as he buried himself balls deep, groaning my name like a prayer.
We stayed like that, wrapped in each other, breathing hard, foreheads pressed together as we came down from the high. I never wanted this night to end.
“I love you,” I whispered without thinking, instantly wondering if I made a mistake.
But then his eyes softened and he exhaled in relief. “I love you too. So damn much.”
I’ve never felt so cherished in my life.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
BAILEY - BEFORE
I’ve beenin this beautiful cage for three months now.
Three months.
It’s hard to believe.
Through the barred lattice windows of my cottage, I’ve watched nature work its wonders. Lush green leaves slowly turning amber and gold. The gorgeous wildflowers of summer giving way to russet hued mums of fall. Trees shedding their colorful leaves, and the wind scattering them in all directions.
So much change out my window. But inside these walls, it’s been three months of careful conditioning. Three months of him slowly reshaping me into something he finds acceptable. Three months of learning to bite my tongue and speak only when spoken to. In that time, I’ve learned that Sir keeps his estate running like a well-oiled machine. He thrives on precision, control, and above all else, obedience.
Every day I wake up wondering if my family has stopped looking for me—if they think I’m dead. I try to remember the sound of my mom’s voice, the way my dad pushes his glasses up his nose when he’s reading. Leon’s features are fading too, likea photograph behind smudged glass. But the way he made me feel is still there. A kernel buried deep inside me that I’ll keep hidden, something they can never take away.
My days follow the same pattern. Wake up at seven to bathe and dress. Breakfast at eight sharp. Usually a boiled egg and some tea, or a bit of fruit and yogurt. There’s always cakes and pastries, but I’m never permitted to eat those, just salivate and watchhimenjoy them when he’s there. Then, after breakfast, I go to the study for lessons with Ms. Harrington until noon. Etiquette, mainly. Then lunch, a salad or some broiled fish or chicken. Supervised time in the library or gardens, a light dinner alone, then back to my cottage by nine.
It’s a routine he designed to lull me into compliance, and I hate how well it’s working. Still, I have the solitary moments in the cottage to think, and wish, and dream. That’s kept me going. Kept me strong. And as much as I hate the man, he hasn’t so much as laid a finger on me… Not yet.
Something feels different this morning though. Slight changes that in a normal world I wouldn’t notice, but here, they might as well be a neon sign. There’s music playing in the dining room, a lively classical tune. On the table sits covered trays, but I catch a hint of bacon and sausages in the air. When Sir joins me for breakfast, he’s wearing a gray suit instead of his usual navy, with a different patterned tie. He has a spring in his step that makes me want to crawl under the table.
“Good morning, my dear.” He pats me on the shoulder and sits in his normal place at the head of the table. “Such a beautiful morning, isn’t it?” he says, gesturing toward the tall windows where sunlight streams through. “Autumn has always been my favorite season. The changing of leaves, the harvest... there’s something so satisfying about the transformation.”
I nod and plaster a smile on my face. “Yes, it’s lovely, Sir.”
Lovely, splendid, superb.Acceptable adjectives according to Ms. Harrington. Because apparently the control freak bastard in front of me despises American slang. Not that awesome, great, or cool are actually slang words, but according to her they’re equivalent to saying fuck, shit, and ass.
My eyes stray to the covered dishes, and of course he notices. “Ah, it’s quite the spread, isn’t it? I thought today called for something special.” He lifts one of the silver lids with a flourish, revealing what looks like eggs Benedict. Then two more—browned sausages and crispy bacon, buttered toast. My mouth waters even though I doubt any of this is for me. As if the pastries weren’t difficult enough to watch him devour all the time, I might lose it if I have to sit here eating fruit while he eats all of that.
