Page 44 of The Pretty Savage

I had casual hookups in the past with people I found attractive, but none of them made me want to sink my teeth into their necks, refusing to ever let them go. None of them made me feel this possessive, this unhinged and ready to do anything to keep them with me.

And it fucking had to be this man.

Adrian's eyes focused on his fingers on my neck, increasing pressure slowly, as if he wanted to see how far he could go. How far I would let him.

And God, my body quivered with need for him, and I had no idea if that made me a masochist or crazy, but I yearned for more than his touch. I was also terrified that the moment he opened his mouth I would succumb to the dark thoughts I’d tried to erase from my mind since last night, telling me I wasn’t good enough.

But the way he looked at me, the way he caressed me, none of it screamed that he thought I wasn’t good enough. None of it made me feel as if he didn’t want to be here with me.

But why was he here? Why come after me?

He bent his head, burying his face in the crook of my neck, his nose slowly running over my hypersensitive skin, inhaling my scent like a fucking animal, and I let the moan I was trying to suppress slip over my lips, ashamed that someone like him could make me feel this way.

My panties were soaked, my pussy clenching, empty and needy for something only he could provide.

His eyes blazed with a fire I hadn’t seen before, connecting with mine in the mirror, just before his teeth sunk into the soft skin between my neck and shoulder. My body convulsed, my ass pressing against him, needing more and more and more and?—

"What am I going to do with you, my little liar?" His raspy voice broke the silence, only slightly louder than the sound of my own heart pounding in my ears. His other hand wrapped around my waist, bringing us closer, until I had no idea where he began and I ended. "What are you doing to me, Vega?"

I had a feeling he didn't mean for that question to slip, judging by the frown on his face, but it was too late to take it back. I stored that one question deep inside my mind, savoring it on my lips just like his name.

But I was mute.

I had no words left to describe what I was feeling and what I was trying not to feel.

His dark energy threatened to suffocate me, and the more he nuzzled against my neck, licking the spot he bit mere seconds ago, the more I was getting lost in the haze of desire so potent I had a feeling I would've been on the floor by now if it wasn't for his hand holding me flush to his body.

He unwrapped his fingers from my neck, leaving behind a chill I didn't want to feel, and before I knew what I was doing, I let a moan of protest slip, pressing against him like a bitch in heat, feeling his hard cock brushing against my backside.

It was more than obvious that I affected him as much as he affected me, and we both hated it. We both struggled with our desires, and that sick and twisted part of me loved seeing him struggle with this as much as I did.

"You're a fucking bastard, Adrian," I breathed out, my voice barely audible, as he traced his fingers over the bruises on my cheek. I waited for the pain to flare, for him to grab me and torture me or snap at me like he did last night, but none of it came.

He caressed me, his touch barely registering in my mind, but it was there. What also was there was a look of utter exhaustion on his face, mixed with anger as he dragged his finger from my cheek, toward my eyebrow and back.

"I never said I wasn't," he mumbled, tightening his hold on me. "I am not someone you should mess with, my little liar." He chuckled, that dark promise lacing his words. "The only reason why you're standing here is because you're almost interesting. Almost." He put emphasis on that last word, his accent coming through.

I guess I wasn't the only one lying.

"Is that right?" I smirked, foolishly believing this could go any differently than last night.

His hand wrapped around my throat again within seconds, cutting off the oxygen intake to my lungs, making me struggle against him. His other hand slid over my stomach, toward the button of my pants, opening it with a soft sounding pop.

"You're nothing more than a toy I could use, Vega," he chuckled, slipping his hand underneath my pants, all the way to my underwear, moving it aside as his fingers reached my pussy, parting my lips and dragging his fingers through my soaked folds. "And just like every toy, you're going to do whatever the fuck I want you to."

"Fuck. You," I gasped, hating how good he felt. How good his fingers felt as they slowly dragged over my clit, down toward my opening, and back up again.

I fucking hated the fact that my body betrayed my mind, grinding down on his hand, seeking the release he was dangling right in front of me.

"Well," he laughed, pressing against my clit, "that's not going to happen. I wouldn't want to dirty my cock with someone like you."

He was piercing my heart again and again, and like a masochist, I stayed there, letting him do whatever the fuck he wanted. My hips swiveled, my lips parted, while he rubbed his dick against my backside.

When you were deprived of touches, of little caresses only shared between lovers familiar with each other, you learned to accept them in the most fucked-up of ways, letting a man you hated, a man that obviously hated you, touch you as if he owned you.

I loathed him, yet I needed him right now, and no matter how much my mind rebelled, how much my soul screamed that this wasn't what we wanted, the rest of me refused to listen. And like a mindless robot, I let him touch me, rub me, bite me, and kiss me with punishing force as his fingers worked me to the oblivion I so desperately craved.

"That's it, Vega," he said, dragging his teeth over my unharmed cheek. "You're such a good girl. Such a good little slut."

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