Page 76 of Jagged Line Paradise

“Make me come,” I softly mutter as his large hands land on my hips with a firm grip.

He steps in close, his cock wedging into my cheeks as he bends over me, kissing my neck and down the line of my spine. His gentleness makes me shudder, which makes me second-guess any fear or doubt that I had.

How can I be afraid of him losing controlwhen he’s so careful with me, so intentional?

Maybe we’re both just so broken that we don’t really know who we are and what we’re capable of.

His hand splays on my spine, pushing upward, grazing the back of my neck, slipping over my shoulder and around to hold my throat. His breaths become heavier as he squeezes my neck in his hand. I yelp as he lifts me backward from the wall, pulling me upright, his mouth brushing against my cheek with warm breath. My fingers reach up to grip his wrist and forearm, instinctually pulling to soften his old.

My heart starts to pound, beating out an odd rhythm of fear and lust…fear and lust.

“You don’t know what you do to me. You have no idea what you do to me.”

My lips part to suck in air as a breathless feeling washes over me. His hand slips higher, gripping my chin, turning my head forcefully and painfully to the side. Our eyes meet over my shoulder and I can see it. I can see the dark cloud trying to fog the clarity that was there when we were making love.

He takes the last of my breath with a kiss so forceful, so rough, so deep, that it makes my entire body tense and coil around my center, shrinking me in his hold. He groans into my mouth as he kisses me with more tongue, with more passion, more need. Wetness flows between my legs at the way he wants me, even when my mind struggles to fight the sensations, begging me to be careful, to be fearful, to pull away, run away, to demand tenderness and care.

There’s nothing logical about the way my body responds to him. I’ve never been wanted this way. I’ve never beenneededthis way. My skin tingles from his touch and pleads for more sensation.

His free hand runs up my side, quickly finding my breast and grabbing it roughly. I whimper, breaking the kiss, but unable to move my head in his strong grip. His eyes lock onto mine and I can feel his warm breath against my skin as he rolls my nipple between his fingers.

“Fuck,” he practically growls, “I want you to fight me.”

“What?”

“I wish you’d fight me, run from me, let me chase and catch you.”

I slam my eyes shut. I hate his words. I hate what he’s saying to me. But still, my body responds to his touch, contracting in his hold. Still, I want him; I still want this broken, unhealthy need between us.

His foot comes between my feet, and he kicks at my right ankle, forcing me to spread wider for him. Then he releases my chin, sliding his hand around to the back of my neck. He grips me there, then pushes me to the wall. I turn my head, my cheek pressing against the smooth tile. His other hand wraps around my lower stomach and drags my bent hips back toward him.

There’s hardly a breath, hardly a beat before I feel the tip of his cock run along my slit, and then with a powerful thrust, he pushes inside me. His hand on my neck pushes forward as his hips thrust, grinding my cheek against the wall. I press my palms to the tile on either side of me, trying to push away, but he holds firm, keeping me in place as he thrusts again.

I swallow, nerves prickling in warning, but also in excitement. The nerves ignite desire. I push against my palms again, but he grips my neck tighter, fucking me with groans that reveal his enjoyment. It makes me want to fight him more.

Why?

Because maybe Iwant him to need me this way—this feral, masculine,raw way.

We grunt and moan as he fucks me here against the wall, knocking the air from my lungs with each slam of his hips against mine.

“Don’t stop,” I whisper on a breath. I don’t know if he can hear me, so I say it again. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Please.”

My muscles ache from the way he holds me, from the painful way he keeps slamming me forward in this rigid position. The ache ripples through every cell, removing me from my mind in a way I’ve never felt before. The pain, the sensation of him hurting and pleasing me all at once is the most exquisite thing I’ve ever felt.

It’s freeing.

I’m free from anguish and worry because all that’s left between us is aching pleasure. I don’t even care if I come, I just want him to keep thrusting, keep hurting me, keep forcing me to lose myself to this feeling—to lose myself in the sensation he gives me.

“Harder,” I tell him from somewhere outside my own mind. It’s my body that speaks, my mind lost to ache and pain and dirty desire. “Harder.”

He groans, slowing his pace to pull nearly all the way out and then stabs back inside me with force. I yelp when I accidentally bite the inside of my cheek from how hard he pushes my face against the wall. He fucks me so deeply and so roughly that it rubs my insides raw, so brutally that any chance of my coming like this has vanished.

But I don’t hate it.

I can’t hate the way he makes me lose myself.

He keeps at it until I’m sore, until he’s moaning and grunting and coming inside me. There’s an aching stillness for what feels like minutes, maybe longer. All I hear is the sound of our heavy breaths mingling with the running shower water.

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