Page 80 of The Truths We Seek

I leave imprints on her thighs, nails digging into her skin and hoping to fucking God that they break the surface. That they make her bleed. That she feels the pain associated with her unwavering pleasure.

"Fuck, Meyer! Yes, yes, yes, don't ever stop!"

Much better.

With a flick of my tongue, I press hard against her clit and watch as she beautifully falls apart on my face. Thrashing, screaming, jerking her entire body on that flimsy metal table.

That's right, Baby, give it all to me. Only me. Always me.

Those thoughts run in a never-ending loop in my mind as I drink down her cum like it's water replenishing my battered body after a good workout.

Only once her body slumps from exhaustion and sated relief do I unlatch her thighs from around my face and lock eyes with her. Mine hungry, hers hooded and drunk on pleasure.

"My turn." Those two innocent words come out like a warning—like an omen—as I grab the open sides of her tattered shirt and pull her to me until her pretty, little soaked cunt is right on the edge of the table. In an instant, her eyes go wide. She's no longer the contented little kitten from before. Now, Quinn is on high alert. Every one of her muscles is rigid, like she's standing on a tightrope and one wrong move will send her tumbling down into a pit of starving alligators. It's not fear, exactly, it's anticipation and hyper-awareness.

I can smell her lust thickening at the thought of me destroying her all over again. I can feel the trembling of her flesh at the idea of me marking her entire body with my sexual rage and animalistic desire to rip her apart just so I can put her back together again with a pretty little bow to boot.

"In my world, nice and gentle don’t exist. I'm not Hunter. There's no deprived need to watch you almost die under me, either. I'm not Rory. But Quinn…" I bring her mouth to mine but don't kiss her. "Your fear turns me on. Your flight instincts make me want to paint this room with my cum." I speak against her mouth, our lips brushing ever so often and our breaths dancing to the most fucked up music she's ever heard.

Quinn gasps when she sees me palm my dick and take a step back. "I'll give you twenty seconds before I come for you, and when I catch you, I'll come in you so hard you'll taste me in your mouth."

I grin—the sadistic and wolfish one she loves so much—as I take hard, unapologetic pulls on my cock and back away to leave her enough room.

Biting my bottom lip and closing my eyes, I take in a deep breath and savor the scents all around me.

The tangy scent of her cunt still plastered all over my face.

The metallic smell of blood mixing with the early tell-tale odors of death.

The potent onslaught of bleach that we use over and over again in this place after Rory has his fun.

It's all mixed together and creating this need to chase my prey.

"Run, little lamb."

It only takes her a moment to realize I'm not fucking kidding.

Jumping off the table, she looks around the room, keeping me in her periphery at all times, before her eyes narrow on the exit door.

I've locked it, not that she noticed earlier since her focus was on my well-presented present.

The shake of her head, like she's calculating the waste of time it would be to run there only to be greeted with disappointment, makes me smile.

My smart little lamb.

There's only one way she can leave here and that's by taking the key to the door that's in my pocket, but I'm not telling her that.

What would be the fun in that?

"There's no way for me to win here." Her words are exhaled with a rough jerk of her head toward the door. "I bet that's locked and you've got the key on you."

I grin, this time wider. I love that her brain is as sexy as her tight little cunt.

"Fifteen seconds." Is all I have as a response.

Quinn's eyes flick all around as she begins to run in a controlled circle. She's frantic, her breaths coming in hard and shallow. Fuck, it turns me on like nothing else can.

"Ten seconds."

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