Page 102 of The Masks and the Dancer (Their Obsession 2)

And maybe because of that, too.

We remain glued to each other, his cock pressed against my pussy, nothing but a thin layer of material separating us. In this moment, it’s just us.

I’m fearless against his hostility. He’s raging against my courage.

Without even saying a word, I dare him to do his worst.

“You want the monster?” he grinds out.

“No,” I reply, shaking my head. “I want the man. Givehimto me. Now.”

Konrad’s breathing becomes harsh, his hand finds my throat, his cock pushes against the feeble barrier between us as a slow sneer pulls up his lip. “I could kill you now.”

“Do it then,monster. Fucking do it!” I scream into his face, my fingernails scoring down his chest, drawing blood.

“Do you know what happens to little girls who play with fire?” he asks, his fingers tightening around my throat, venom leaching into his voice as he lowers his head and locks his teeth onto my shoulder.

I let out a bitter laugh, then reach between us and yank my knickers to the side, a smile drawing up my lips. “Yeah, they get burnt,” I reply, sheathing him inside of me in one quick downward thrust.

Pain lances through me as his teeth pierce my skin, drawing blood. His cock fills every millimetre of my pussy and I draw in a sharp breath at the fullness. With his fingers at my throat, I bare myself to him, expecting him to crush my windpipe.

He doesn’t. Instead, he tips his head back and roars.

The sound is like the ground opening up beneath us. It’s so very different from the cry he let out on the other side of the lake.

It’s a war cry. He means to fight.

Well, guess what? So do I.

When he lowers his head back down, the briefest moment of shock registers across his face as I meet his threat and flip it on its head, squeezing him tightly within me, daring him to do his worst. I taunt his monster with one goal in mind, to own it,him.

He smiles slowly. “I warned you,” he says, then the monster comes out to play just like I knew it would.

Konrad fucks me hard.

He fucks me like he wants to rip me open and feast on my innards. He fucks me with a dangerous kind of passion, and all the while I fuck him back. I take and I give. I battle and I rage, just the same as he.

In this moment, there’s no room for tenderness, no space for gentleness, no capacity for kindness. This is us uncovering the layers and layers of abuse, years of violence, a lifetime of pain, hurt, and suffering. We both rip at it. We tear at the darkness. We fight against it with bared teeth and bloodied nails until it begins to pour out of him.

He bleeds his darkness just like I asked him to.

He bleeds it intome.

With every brutal thrust, with every harsh kiss from his lips, every savage grasp of his hand, he purges the monster.

We fuck. We kiss. We hurt. We fight.

The intensity between us grows, the passion ignites, the fire burns.

And bit by bit my hate recedes.

I grip at him, my fingernails scoring marks down his back as my hips slam against his and the tip of his cock hits my cervix. Crying out, I hold on for dear life, not because I’m in pain, but because an orgasm barrels out of nowhere. It rushes up my spine, exploding outwards in a display of noise and grunts and animalistic fucking as he pumps harder and I scream louder.

Our combined voices echo around the cave. My internal walls fist his cock, squeezing his dick in a vice-like grip, but still he pumps his hips.

Faster.

Deeper.

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