Page 75 of Dance with Death

I thrash and pull as his head dips for my breast, sucking my nipple into his mouth and rolling his tongue around it.

“Stop,” I plead, my palms landing flat on his chest to try to shove him away one last time.

But then he groans as he sucks, sending a shivering vibration like a lightning bolt from my nipple straight through to my clit.

“Stop,”I say again, but my voice is softer, weaker.

My hands slip from his chest, my body melting to the good feelings that ripple from my core. I look down at Nikolai and he releases my nipple to look up at me. He’s panting in need as he watches me and I realize I’m panting, too. It’s from the exertion of fighting him.

No, it’s the feeling of his swollen cock shoved inside my throbbing cunt.

I am a slut, a whore—just like Nikolai said.

“I can’t…” I say, but it’s more for me than for him.

I wish he would just take me and be done with it. I wish he would slam me to the ground, fuck me until he comes, then leave me to pick up my broken pieces on my own. But instead, he watches me, caresses me, heats my skin with his desperate breathing, and fills me with dirty, wanton need.

I need to move.

I need to fuck.

I need to come.

I need, but I don’t want. It will tear me apart to hold that burden of guilt, for being the woman who made the choice to fuck another for her own pleasure. I can’t do that to Ezra.

I can’t.

“I hate you,” I whisper.

“You can hate me while you fuck me,” he breathes against my throat, turning his head to kiss a line along my jaw all the way back to my ear.

His tongue flicks my earlobe and I jolt, surprised by the feel of it, and the movement rocks me forward. We both groan with the small movement of my hips over his. Only his groan is pure pleasure where mine is tinged with a thousand painful emotions.

I push out a heavy breath, dropping my head to look down between us, forcing myself to see the shame of our physical connection. Somehow I hope to convince my body to stop this madness, this nightmare where I want to rock and grind and fuck Nikolai until I come.

But looking is a mistake because the bastard is so tragically attractive. I feel torn apart. My mind screams for this to stop, my heart pounds with sadness and shame, my body swells and slickens and begs for a release at any cost.

This is when I realize how little strength I have left—at the moment I rock back then forward with intention.

Goddammit.

Nikolai groans, holding me tighter, burying his face in the side of my neck, and I shudder.

He’s not supposed to hold me like this, touch me like this, let me fuck him like this. I hate him more than ever before—yet I need this release so much. I need to fuck, to take all the good feelings he stole from me.

My hips move of their own free will, rocking forward and back, forward and back. I press down, slackening in his hold to ensure he’s sunk inside me as deep as he can be because the swell of him feeds my pleasure.

“I hate you,” I pant out as I move. “I hate everything about you.”

“Show me how much you hate me, Anya. Fuck me with every ounce of hatred you possess.”

Why is there a hint of weakness in his voice?

His hand finds its way to my breast and he pinches the hard peak between his fingers, rolling it sensually. The roll sends pleasure tumbling around my insides, falling down, down, down to my throbbing clit, making me clench with desperate need for release.

I grip his shoulders in my palms and I fuck. I fuck hard and dirty like the slutty slave he’s reduced me to.

“I want it back,” I huff. “Give it back.”

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