Page 89 of Meet Me in the Dark: The Complete Series

Then he sits up. Maybe he was taking it easier on me than I realized before because he doesn't give me an inch now as he ties my other hand to the headboard. And then I'm beneath him, at his mercy. His to control. Maybe he thinks I'm still moving my legs behind him in an effort to escape, but I'm truly rubbing my thighs together, trying and failing to quell the tension in my clit. My panties are soaked, so wet that they’re doing nothing at all to prevent my arousal from coating my thighs now.

Jackson's chest heaves with a deep breath as he looks down at me. He moves back, sitting on my hips again, as he reaches up and takes his mask off. My first look at his face makes my breath hitch. Those gray eyes, filled with desire, need, all for me. His hair ruffled, strands of it settling on his face as it falls. Tattoos on display, tempting me to leave scratches across them, if only my hands were free. But his tongue is sweeping across his lips and that's all I can focus on. He leans forward, hair falling around his face and mine as his lips come closer and closer.

"You bite me, and I will snap your neck," he warns.

His mouth begins to settle on mine, but I turn my head to the side to avoid his kiss. My head is quickly straightened by his fingers digging into my jaw. Then his lips are on mine, and although I expect them to be hard, demanding, to take whether I want to give or not, they're just the opposite. His lips are soft, seeking. One touch of them to mine, then another, and another. Then his tongue begins exploring, licking along my top lip, then the bottom, before finally entering my mouth.

His tongue slowly meets mine, the tip of it curving upwards. A shiver rakes through me at the feel of it, the softness of it, how his cock is digging into my stomach. His head tilts at the sametime that mine does. Our tongues circle each other's, and a moan leaves me, long and breathy. And then... he pulls away, and in his eyes, I find none of the softness that was just in our kiss.

"Did I tell you you could moan?" he asks low, menacingly.

I shake my head.

"But you were moaning like a whore anyway, weren't you?" When I don't answer, he shouts, "Weren't you?"

"Yes," I cry out.

"I'm make you moan." He licks his lips again. "Yeah, I'll make you moan and scream."

He takes hold of my tank top, and it tears easily with the force he pulls to opposite sides with. When he looks down at my bare chest, he grins.

"You were ready for me, huh?"

"No. You sick fuck."

He laughs, and God, if I don't feel a new wave of heat rushing through me. I need him to touch me in the worst way. Need him to do something other than look down at me, other than give me laughs that fill me with images of him doing the dirtiest things to me.

"I’ll show you exactly how your body reacts to this sick fuck," he says as he lowers his mouth to my nipple.

I gasp as he takes it into his mouth. His tongue flicks against me, showing me just how hard it is. I arch into his mouth, and he chuckles. I open my mouth to curse him, but then he's moving, straightening his body over mine, legs intertwining with mine, separating them until he's settling himself between my thighs. His cock rubs against my throbbing clit, and I curl my fingers around the ropes above them, needing something to hold on to.

As he releases one nipple and moves to the other, his hand begins drifting down my body, over my ripped tank top, down to my panties. It slips under them, down and down until his finger is at my clit. A shuddering moan leaves me at the first stroke of it. He groans against my breast while sliding his finger through my wetness. I arch, trying to get his fingers exactly where I want them, deep in my opening.

"Oh yeah," he says, giving my nipple a hard lick. "You want this sick fuck. Look at you, riding my fingers, aching for more. Don't worry. I'll give it to you. I'll give it to you until you can't even walk straight."

A whimper escapes me, not at all because his words frighten me. He begins moving down my body, making my stomach clench when he licks a trail over my belly button. His hand leaves my panties to drag them down my legs. I cross my legs when they reach my knees, not allowing him to bring them any farther.

"Are you sure you wanna play this game?" he asks. "I was gonna do this the nicest way possible, but trust me when I say, I do not mind at all doing it in the hardest, roughest way. Your choice."

If anyone would have ever told me someone's words could turn me on to the point I'm at right now, I would have called them a liar. Because how can words make this ball of tension coil in the pit of my stomach like I've never felt before? How can words have my mind and body so out of control that I'm ready to plead with him to do any and everything to me, if it will take away this unbearable ache inside of me? How can words make me writhe on fingers that shouldn't be on my pussy and strain against the ropes to touch someone who shouldn't be above me?

But I can't uncross my leg, can't just let him finish dragging my panties down without a fight. Because then he wouldn't have to force my legs apart. He wouldn't have to wrestle with me tryingto kick him as he finally succeeds. He wouldn't have to regain control of me, and I want, need, long for him to do all those things. So when he tries to part my leg, I tense my muscles to hold them even tighter together.

"Rough way it is, then," he says before his mouth spreads into a sick smirk.

So sick that the next breath that leaves me is a shaky one, fear mixing with excitement once again. That smirk stays on his face as he puts both hands on my inner thighs. His fingers have to inch down slowly from how tightly I clench my thighs together. They dig into my skin, curling to get a better grip. I yelp as he yanks them apart, making my panties painfully tighten on my knees. He brings his hands down, keeping me from closing them again. When he gets to my knees, I try to twist and turn as much as the ropes around my wrists will allow, cursing at him, yelling at him. He just laughs and dodges my kicks to finally get my panties off.

My chest heaves as I wait for what he'll do next, wondering if he'll undress this time. If he'll fuck me face-to-face or flip me around like last time. If he'll bite me again, because God, seeing all those bite marks in the mirror over the past few days has made me hot and wet every single time I've looked at them.

But he uses his hold on my ankles to widen my legs even more, before he puts one knee on the bed, then the other, and begins crawling between them. He licks his lips, eyes on my bare pussy as he advances up my body, hands trailing up my calves, over my knees, onto my inner thighs, spreading them to the point of pain. Then he's leaning forward, making my eyes widen as he brings his face closer to where I am aching for him.

"What... What are you doing?" I pant.

"Whatever the fuck I want to."

Then his mouth is on me. I gasp, pulling against my ropes, to do what, I have no idea, because not a single part of me wants to reach down and stop him. Especially not the part that he's sucking into his mouth, my sensitive, throbbing clit. I arch off the bed when he sucks harder on it, but his hand is quick to push down on my stomach, pinning me to the bed. I want to clench my thighs to the sides of his head, trap him there, but I don’t dare. Too afraid he’ll stop sliding his tongue through my pussy, too turned on to risk him not reaching my opening. And God, when he does reach it, when he circles his tongue around it, my restraint was worth it, but it’s fading now as he teases me.

“Am I still a sick fuck?” he asks, his lips moving against me in the most torturous way. “With the way you’re moving against me, are you still gonna try and call me a sick fuck?”

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