Page 39 of Call It What You Want
“In three years, no one has ever come close to you.” His eyes wander over my body lazily. Unhurried. Far too unhurried, if you ask me. But that’s the thing about Jackson McKnight, he doesn’t give a shit if a roomful of people are watching and waiting. He’s always done his own thing, and fuck anyone who has a problem with it.
He moves closer, grinding against the inside of my thigh, his erection pressing insistently through the fabric of his slacks. Something inside me snaps. Like that sudden panic when you realize you’re about to be swallowed whole by something that’s far bigger than you.
I don’t even think—instinct takes over. I twist my upper body and clumsily dive off the table, my legs tangling with his body for a split second before I hit the floor. It catches everyone off guard—even the two people who were holding me down. They scramble to catch me, but I’m already struggling to my feet and stumbling toward the only exit. My head is swimming and my legs tremble under the weight of my body, but I manage to make it halfway across the room before a strong hand wraps around my arm and yanks me back.
I don’t have to look back to see who it is. I already know.
Every cell in my body is attuned to him.
My back is pressed against his chest, and his lips brush the shell of my ear. “You think you can run from me, Doe-Eyes?” He twists me around, so I’m facing him. “You knew it would always come to this, sooner or later.”
“I prayed it wouldn’t.” I’m between him and the wall now, and I lean back as much as I can, trying to maintain as much separation as humanly possible.
“Pray all you want. But God can’t save you from me,” he says with a chuckle, the deep rumble tricking down my spine and into my bones. He grabs my chin and forces me to look at him. I must be crying, because my cheeks feel cool and wet.
I hold his gaze, determined not to flinch. “Jackson, please. What do you want from me?” It’s a miracle I can even form a coherent sentence, given how scrambled my brain feels right now.
His hand slips beneath my robe, curving over my hip to grab a handful of my ass. “Everything. Every flaw, every lie, every spark that burns in those eyes. I want every last piece of you, until you’re emptied out and filled only withme.” The edges of his lips lift into a smile. “Is that too much to ask?”
My God. He’s serious. I can see it in the way he’s looking at me. He wants to own every last ounce of my soul. But what happens if I give it to him? I already know the answer to that. He’ll devour me, ruin me in ways I can’t come back from, and then move on to the next girl on his hit list.
Chanting fills the room as the group of people move in unison, closing around us in a crescent, closing off escape from all sides. Not that I have a chance of escaping Jackson anyway. I’ve already tried and failed.
With his free hand, he jerks my head up, then drags his warm, wet tongue up the length of my throat. The pinch of his thumb, combined with the crude smell of his saliva, sends me spiraling.
“Now,” he says on a breath, bringing his face level with mine. His eyes are dark and filled with something I can’t even begin to understand. “Let’s continue with the ceremony?—”
He pulls back slightly to unzip his fly and fist his cock. My robe is already spread open, so when he steps forward, I can feel the head of his cock pushing insistently against my lower belly. “This act consummates your forever bond to the society, and tome.After this, there’s no going back, Ava. For either of us.”
I turn my head to the side, so I don’t have to look at him. “I don’t agree to any of this,” I whisper.
“Then I guess it’s a good thing I’m not asking,” he says with a chuckle, pressing his damp forehead against my temple. His hot breath puffs against my cheek, and his spicy, musky scent fills my nostrils.
“Don’t do this.” My back is pressed so tightly against the wall, my shoulder blades feel bruised. I wish I could sink into the wall, retreat further, but Jackson is crowding me, making it impossible to move, let alone escape.
That devilish chuckle fades as he yanks my left leg up and hooks it over his hip while guiding his cock to my entrance with his other hand. His head tips forward, his breathing coming in quick, hot bursts. “I’ve waited a long time to be inside you again…” he mumbles as he drags the head of his cock up the length of my slit, then down again. “Goddamn, you’re fuckingdrenchedfor me.”
The sheer mortification that slams into me is like a slap to the face, stealing my breath and making my cheeks burn with humiliation.
“I fucking hate you,” I say, closing my eyes, trying with everything I have to shut him out. But Jackson McKnight fills every one of my senses, and there’s no shutting him out. I should know that by now.
“Hate must make you horny as fuck,” he laughs, shifting his hips, forcing the head of his cock past my pussylips. “Because this pussy is begging for my cock.”
Every muscle in my body tightens, knowing what’s to come. With his head still pressed against my temple, he eases his hips forward and slowly,painfully,forces his way into my body.
He’s right, I’m drenched, but his cock is so thick, he can’t push it in all at once. “You’re so goddamn tight,” he says on a groan, sweat dampening his forehead. “Been a while since you’ve had a cock this big, huh, baby?”
Normally, I’d scoff and roll my eyes, but I’m fighting for my life right now. He’s so big, it feels like an iron spike is being hammered into my body. My instinct is to cry out, but he’d probably like that.
His large hands clamp down on my hips, and he uses the pressure as a counterpoint to thrust up, so he can push his cock deeper into my body. And, miraculously, after several punishing seconds, my body adapts, starts opening up. But it’s another several thrusts before he’s fully seated inside me.
Holy shit.
“Oh,fuck,” he hisses, his hushed voice loud against my ear. “Your pussy feels so damn good.”
With every brutal thrust, his pelvis slams into my clit, and the air is pushed from my lungs. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. This is all too much—the creepy ceremony, the masked people still chanting, the way Jackson fills me up and leaves zero room for anything else.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to separate myself from this raw, animalistic act. From the feel of Jackson inside me, and the slow build of pleasure that my body is reluctantly answering to. My brain is still shouting at me to fight back, but it’s weakening. Every inch of me is already yielding, every nerve humming with a slow, relentless heat.
