Page 55 of Don't Trust Him

Grayson’s guy looks at me as I get my bearings. He lunges for me.

“Leave,” I groan, taking a swift hit that clacks my teeth and makes me taste my own blood.

“I’m going to kill you for what you did,” he says to me.

“Good,” I say, sweeping the feet of the guy coming at me. It isn’t hard enough to knock him over, but it distracts him while I elbow him between the eyes, grab his gun, and point between his eyes.

I’m going to pull the trigger when a voice stops me.

“Get out,” Grayson yells to his man.

“Sir,” the guy groans back. Jesus. It’s like stop and go three stooges level shit here..

“Get. Out,” Grayson says.

The guy leaves with Rafe.

We’re free, as far as I can tell.

“Let one arm free,” Grayson's voice roughly commands before he spits blood to his side. He’s talking to me, and his guy scurries out.

“Just one?” I ask, sauntering back to Grayson, swaying my hips. My pussy throbs at the sight of him.

I want him.

Broken, bleeding, but not really begging. He’s still Grayson.

“I only need one. Or just my tongue if you won’t give me that,” he says in a low, sensual voice.

My mouth overtakes his lower lip, sucking just hard enough to taste his moan of pain.

“I want you so fucking much,” I tell him, feeding the words into his mouth.

“Eliza,” Grayson growls, kissing me harder.

One of my hands reaches up and unchains just one of his hands.

The instant his tattered hand is free, it pulls my hair into his fist and brings me tighter to him.

He kisses me so hard, so fiercely, it could be the death blow he’s dealing. I want him inside me, in my soul, to overtake me only the way he knows how.

“Grayson,” I gasp out his name when I finally come up for air. My body forces me to, and his name is like a plea to be suffocated by him instead.

I release his other arm and Grayson pounces me like a feral cat, on top of me as he's every bit the predator I know he is.

His blood, already splattering the silk of my blouse, coats me and sticks us together like we’re covered in syrup. He yanks down my skirt, tearing it from my thighs. Grayson doesn’t even tear off my panties, though, pushing my thong to the side.

I hear the rough movement of his bones. He needs someone to look at his ribs, maybe even his shoulders, but he groans and spreads my legs apart, pushing them up to my ears, and his fingers return to where he moved my thong. Those fingers roughly scrape against my skin, stroking then my wetness, claiming and petting me like a prized kill.

His thumb enters my pussy, stroking deep, and I cry out and I thrust my hips up, but he slams me down with his hips. The way my legs are up and pinned under him, I’m small and trapped, utterly prey beneath him. His strokes hit such a deep angle, Grayson is rewriting my body to completely belong to him.

“Fuck,” he moans when my pussy clenches around his fingers.

I cum with furious need, desperate for even this touch. This claiming.

Quickly withdrawing his fingers, I moan desperately, a long wailing sound of need at his absence.

I watch him suck my juices off his finger while he jams his cock inside of me. My eyes shut for a moment but I will them open to look at Grayson’s face while he fucks me so hard and bent so extremely it seems like he wants to break me in half with his cock.

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