Page 115 of The Kiss Of Death
He chuckled. “That possessive side of you is such a turn-on. You’re the only one.” He pulled the fabric of my panties up, making me squeak. “The only one I want to own.” He slapped my sex, and I bounced on the shelf, gasping. “The only one who has me obsessed.” He captured my jaw again. “Your pussy is so tight. This is going to hurt, but I’ll let you use me.”
His lips slammed shut on mine, and he added a third finger to stroke me. I bit hard on his lip, under the shock, my walls clenching tight around him. Pain and pleasure mixed, my heart creating a symphony of its own. He pulled away, his lower lip bleeding. With his tongue, Levi licked the blood, still pumping his fingers inside me.
“I’m sorry,” I half moaned, half begged.
“Bleed me all you want, Dalia.”
It was as if he wanted to feel the intensity I was feeling. To feel my hurt. To take a bit of my pain.
He pulled his fingers out of me and searched for a condom in his pocket, and rolled it over his hard arousal. He was so thick. Would he fit?
“How should I take you, Dalia?” His eyes assessed me, his head tilting slowly to the side, his composed face not betraying an inch of his arousal. He was almost clinical, so cold, as he spoke. “Should I fuck you against this shelf and watch you fall apart, my hand gripping your throat to feel your pulse beating? But then, the way you shattered on my tongue when your ass was up in the air meant you’ll probably enjoy it if I bend you over like a dirty slut.”
“Both,” I said, fire burning my core. I would take anything to numb my thoughts. To exist and to do something for myself. Something forbidden.
“You can’t handle both, my little thief.” His sinister smile promised.
“Try me.”
“I warned you, you should never challenge someone like me.”
He lifted my leg so I’d wrap it around his waist. He slammed me back on the shelf and entered me in one hard thrust. It felt like my body broke around him. I gasped, but he covered my scream as tears filled up my eyes. He adjusted his hardnessaround me slowly this time, his eyes not leaving mine. I tried to hold on to the bookshelf behind me.
“Told you it’d hurt,” he said, almost sadistically. “And I only thrust half of my cock in your tight pussy. But when I shape you, you’ll fill me up perfectly.”
He was going deeper with each of his merciless thrusts until I felt him in my belly. My nails dug down his dress shirt, my legs shaking. It hurt, it goddamn hurt. But behind the hurt, sometimes I’d feel a blast of pleasure. Behind the pain shattering my insides was that feeling we completed each other. Both hideously scarred. Both lonely and dead inside. Bothfreaks.
“Your flushed face is such a pretty sight, just like the bouncing of your breasts as your wetness spreads around my cock,” he murmured, kissing and nibbling my earlobe. “Look at you, taking me whole, breaking around me.”
One of my tears trailed down my cheek. I’d never felt anything so intense before. He licked it, slowly, and pulled his hardness in and out of me. I rolled my hips to meet his pace.
“But don’t worry, my little thief.” His whisper on my nape sent goose bumps behind my back. “I’ll put all the pieces back in.”
I clenched around him, his thrusts deeper, harder, but his pacing lowered. His beautiful stormy eyes didn’t waver from mine, but they were pitch-black, unreadable, and could freeze me to the core. He looked haunted. My brows furrowed. My clit throbbed. The pain and pleasure mixed, blurring my senses.
“Levi…” I gasped.
“Don’t call my name,” he growled. “You won’t like the consequences if you do.”
“Levi,” I called again, wanting to spark that flicker in his deadly eyes.
I wanted everything of him too. I wanted to break something of his. His mask of control. I wanted the man I was fascinated with when we were kids. I wanted his humanity.
That flicker was back in his eyes. “Oh, Dalia, I hope you’ll be able to take it.”
He spun me around, and with his hand on my back, he made me lean on the shelf. He locked my hands with a hard grip on my wrists. I could peer through the narrow gap between the slumber books on the towering shelves. Each beam of moonlight from the arched windows cast long shadows that danced like specters in the room.
“Part your legs,” he ordered, kicking my feet apart.
The mechanical whirring of the CD player signaled a transition between tracks, its clicking noise echoing in the silence. As the first note of a cello filled the air, Levi slammed inside me harder than before. I bit my lower lip not to scream. I didn’t imagine my first time like that. I didn’t imagine crying out, feeling the pain, and getting off from it. I didn’t imagine pleasure building in my core, as I was taken in the dirtiest way in the middle of this cabaret of ghosts probably haunting this place at midnight.
“Fuck, Dalia,” Levi groaned. “You feel so good.”
The rain thrummed against the windows like skeletal fingers knocking on the glass. The storm raged on. With each peal of thunder, the room was plunged into darkness, illuminated only by gray flashes of lightning.
My legs shook. My vision blurred. My belly clenched.
His thrusts were merciless. Intense. Raw. When he released my hands, I held on to whatever I could in front of me—the lower shelf at the bottom. I was bending down when he grasped my waist and increased his pace, slamming my butt cheek. I felt a liquid dripping down my thighs. The pleasure building, my legs shaking, the blood rushing to my head.
