Page 36 of Death God

Marlowe pulled me toward him, away from the wooden wall. Gripping my hips, he heaved me up and down his length, faster and faster. He was so powerful and strong that my weight was nothing to him.

“Yes, Marlowe! Fuck me just like that!” I called his name over and over. My cries were silent, yet I felt he somehow knew I was screaming his name in the throes of passion and heat.

He drove into my depths, each thrust more brutal than the previous one, but I could take it. I needed it. I desperately wanted to feel his hard flesh against mine, fucking me, cherishing me, and ruining me for any other men.

My need mirrored his, and he fucked me mercilessly.

He breathed hard while thrusting into me with blunt force. His scent of pine and spring and powerful male drove me mad. I could never get enough of this vampire.

He pressed me against the wooden wall near the entrance, his cock pounding into me.

“Yes, like that, sugar. Don’t fucking hold back!” I called, and he growled, responding to my soundless pleas, and drove into my depths.

Pressure kept building up, sending me to the edge over and over. I was grateful that he didn’t command me not to come until he allowed me, like the game we’d played before. He freed a hand to rub my swollen clit to give me additional pleasure while pounding me like I was his toy doll, built only for him to fuck. The raw friction offered me great pleasure, and the silent fucking heated my blood.

He rammed into me harder and faster, fucking me as if it were the end of the world, fucking me as if he’d perish if he didn’t fuck me so brutally and possessively. My vision blurred at his delicious onslaught.

When and if I returned to him, I wanted him to fuck me like this five times plus a day. I would give him a schedule, and he could handle it. Well, we hadn’t had a chance to talk about how our sex life would go and what we’d expect from each other.

A firestorm rose within me, conjured by his white-hot passion.

He murmured something, or cursed. I couldn’t tell. The lust in his dark sapphire eyes burned me. His formidable power rolled off him, not to harm me, but to protect me and claim me.

He thrust deeper and harder. When his next thrust pounded into my molten core, a tidal wave of pleasure tore through me, and I erupted around his cock. My pussy milked his manhood mercilessly while he kept driving into my climax to chase his. He found it, roared, and emptied himself into me with a shudder.

The mating song drummed in my blood. The monster in me purred in vicious delight, relishing another brutal monster that was our mate.

Marlowe gazed at me, emotions thick in his eyes.

His lips moved as he tried to ask me something. He was probably demanding that I tell him where I was and if I was safe. I opened my mouth and still got no sound.

The monster in me didn’t care about conversation. She urged him to fuck me, needing more. A lot more. She was insatiable. The mating flame leapt high. Marlowe didn’t need to be urged twice. He started to move in me again, delivering a few powerful thrusts before he pulled out, bent me over an oak table, and buried himself deep in me again.

My flesh became fevered as he pounded into me again and again, his pace blinding and his strength nearly violent. Other women might be broken by such strength, but his brutality was sweet to me, and he knew it.

My heart swelled with pride, and my body sang for him.

The table rammed into the wooden wall, and I went with it. Marlowe followed, his rock-hard cock drilling into me, as if he never wanted to be separated from me again. Flame and pleasure slithered up my spine. Only Marlowe could make me burn and feel alive like this.

Suddenly, though not unexpectedly, the tree house collapsed beneath us.

Marlowe pulled me into him, twisting his torso in the air so he landed beneath me to cushion my fall.

But I never landed.

A gust of wind slammed into us, tearing me apart from my mate.

“No! No! Don’t leave me!” I cried silently, reaching my hands toward Marlowe to grab him and never let him go.

Though I couldn’t hear it, I knew that he was shouting my name in desperation and rage as he fought to get to me. But in an instant, he vanished into the merciless whirlwind.

A blink and I was in the bathtub alone, cold water cascading down on my head, drenching my clothes and making them cling to my body. My skin still felt feverish, Marlowe’s touch still raw. My neck could still feel the thrill where his fangs had traced along my skin as he’d come inside me.

My mate was no longer with me. Our reunion in the alternate dream-like realm was too short.

A tear dropped out of the corner of my eye, merging with the cold shower water.

I’d had him briefly. It might not have been real, but it felt more real than anything else.

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