Page 106 of Jagged Line Paradise

“Does it hurt?” he asks with a sense of pride to his voice.

That pride.

That’s the beast he warned me about.

That’s why he thinks he’s dangerous.

Because it makes him feel good to know he’s hurt me. But he hasn’t hurt me, not really. My body is aching and stretched and sore, but it doesn’t break me. It doesn’t make me sad or angry or uneasy. It actually frees me because it takes me to that place where sensation rules over my troubled mind.

He must not know my strength if he thinks this is too much for me.

I know real pain, and this isn’t it.

“Yes,” I reply to his question and do my best to turn my face to look at him over my shoulder. He brings his face close to mine so we can see each other’s eyes. “Keep going.”

He stares me down with his dark eyes as he pulls his cock out, just a little, before slamming back inside me again. My body shakes at the sheer force of the impact. My eyes squeeze shut against the ache of it, but I force them to open, force myself to look at him so he knows this is okay with me.

Whatever he wants todo to me, it’s okay.

It’s more thanokay.

I know it’s crazy, but it makes me feel wanted to be at his mercy…and I need him to want me.

I feel dampness spread down my cheek and realize a tear has fallen. I rush to tell him what I need before he stops himself. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop, even if I cry. Please. Please. I need this from you.”

He stares at me, his eyes penetrating my soul, and for some reason that makes me want to sob. It makes me want to cry because he sees me—all of me—and I see him, too. I see the darkness, the beast he talks about. It’s right there in the way he looks at me, but I’m not afraid of it. I’m not afraid of him. I just want to be his everything. I want to be the only one for him, the only girl who can give him everything he’s ever desired.

“Andrés—” I start to beg, but he shuts me up with his tongue on my cheek. He licks away the fallen teardrop, tasting it, his tongue running from my jaw to the apple of my cheek. It makes me shudder.

He slips one arm along the middle of my back, locking through both of my elbows to keep me held up while his other hand reaches around me, dipping low to rub my pussy from the front. I moan as he quickly finds my clit and strokes me in gentle circles, using tenderness to contrast the aching way he fills me.

He whispers, “Fight me, okay?” I gasp at the pleading sound of his voice as he frames it as a question, asking permission, not just taking from me. “Fight me until I come inside you. Let me hurt you. And then I swear, sunshine, I’ll make you come. I’ll make you feel so fucking good, and I’ll make it all right again.”

“This isn’t wrong,” I tell him quickly because it doesn’t feel wrong to me at all.

Why doesn’t it feel wrong?

Why don’t I feel guiltor shame for wanting this from him?

He sighs, relief riding the gust of air that puffs against my hair. He lifts his hand from my clit, bringing it to my face. He slips his fingers between my lips, forcing them apart before shoving them deep, pressing down on my tongue with the pads of his fingers.

“Suck. Taste yourself.”

Holy wow.

He is filled with all the filth I always wanted but never felt I could ask for. I never trusted anyone to use me like this and still make me feel worthy. Andrés makes me feel like I’m special for getting this primal part of him.

I close my lips around his fingers and suck hard.

He sloppily pulls his fingers from my mouth, dragging saliva and the remaining slickness from between my legs down my chin, trailing his fingers down the side of my neck, over my shoulder, down my arm.

That same hand curves around the back of my skull and shoves me down to bend over the seat again. “Now shut up and take it.”

He fucks me hard and fast with my elbows still pulled back behind me. My pulse ticks up, nerves prickling with the sudden switch to being taken by force—I can’t get up now unless he lets me up and the restraint triggers my deepest-rooted fears. It twists my insides and makes my entire body burn with tension.

My instincts naturally make me fight, leaving me no choice but to play the exact role he wants me to. My legs kick as I squirm beneath him and anxiety builds with the fight as he holds me down harder.

I want this, though it terrifies me.

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