Menace (Scarlet Scars #1)(30)
Oh god, he growls.
The sound pulses through me, like electricity to my soul. I don’t know what the hell I’ve gotten myself into, but when he slams his body against mine again, shoving me back into the door, instinct takes over. I go with it, grabbing onto him, wrapping my arms around him as he drops the knife. It clatters to the floor between us, and I consider, for a split second, diving for it, but the thought is wiped away when he kicks it, sending the damn thing sliding across the living room. Smart.
“What turns you on more?” he asks, his hands grasping my thighs as he pulls me up. “The fighting or the f*cking?”
I wrap my legs around his waist, bracing myself, clinging to him as he thrusts, the force of his hips slamming me into the shaky door. Sparks ignite inside of me as something hard rubs that sweet spot between my thighs, hitting my clit despite all of the fabric, sending jolts through my body.
Oh f*ck.
“What makes you think I’m turned on?” I ask, my voice breathless, earning a chuckle from him, the sound spawning goose bumps across my skin.
“Call it a hunch.”
A gasp escapes my throat when he thrusts, again and again, like he’s f*cking me with our clothes on, slamming into me with so much vigor I can barely think. I grind against him, desperate for friction, banging my head against the door as I tilt my chin, his mouth again finding my flushed skin.
His teeth nip along my jawline, biting, scraping, nothing loving about his lips, nothing sweet about his tongue, as he makes his way to my ear and whispers, “I would destroy that *.”
“You think so?” I ask, those words making parts of me tingle that haven’t come alive in quite a while, like a match being struck and finally finding a flame.
“Without a doubt,” he says, not letting up. Pressure builds inside of me as I run my fingers through his thick hair. “I’d wreck you for any man that came along after me, put them all to shame, because I’d give you exactly what you wanted.”
“How could you possibly know what I want?”
“Because,” he says, grabbing a fistful of my hair and twisting my head, forcing me to turn away from him. “Looking at you is like looking in a mirror, Scarlet.”
He keeps his grip on my hair, holding my head there, pinning me to the door with his body as his other hand slides between us, slipping down the front of my pants. Rough fingertips rub my clit, and I let out a cry at the jarring sensation.
Holy f*ck, I’m close.
I can feel it in every inch of my body, all the way down to my bones—the tension, the tightening, the desperate need for unraveling as it builds and builds and builds. He yanks my head further to the side, pain creeping across my scalp. His lips are on my throat, his tongue swiping across the small cut from the knife. The stinging sensation shoves me over the edge as he brings me to orgasm. Pleasure rushes through me. I squeeze my eyes shut, my lips parting, noise catching in my throat as my body convulses.
Uhhhhh…
“Fuck,” I gasp. “Uhhh… f*ck.”
As soon as it fades, he stops, letting go of my hair, letting me look at him again as he removes his hand from my pants. I damn near fall, my legs dropping down, feet hitting the floor again as he pulls away. I stay pressed up against the door, keeping my distance, even as he retreats a few steps, giving me space. He retrieves my knife from the floor, regarding it in the darkness. Four-inch blade, iridescent rainbow coloring, the dark handle etched with spiders.
My heart pounds hard, making my vision hazy as he strolls toward me with it.
His eyes flicker from the knife to me, as a small smile twists his lips. Locking the blade away, he holds it out. I take it carefully, surprised that he’s returning it. He seems like the type to confiscate people’s possessions and call them his own. Not that I have room to talk or anything, considering stealing from him is what got me in this mess in the first place, but still… I don’t know what to make of it.
I don’t know what to make of any of it.
I slip the knife away, eyeing him. “Why are you here?”
“Sixty-six cents,” he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a few coins, tossing them at me. I don’t try to catch them. There’s no point. They hit the floor and scatter, rolling around, a discolored quarter coming to rest near my foot. “Figured I’d pay you back before midnight struck and interest kicked in.”
I stare at it. “Well, I guess we’re even now, huh?”
“Seems that way.”
Pushing away from the door, I move past him through the apartment. I’m still fully clothed, but I feel completely exposed in front of that man right now. Way too exposed. “I’m sure you can let yourself out, you know, since you had no problem letting yourself in.”
I make my way up to the roof. My hands are shaking and I need fresh air. I need the hell out of there. The place is a stifling cubbyhole made of splintering wood and crumbling brick, not much of an apartment, much less a home. Even most prison cells have four walls and a ceiling, a place to lay your head while cut off from society.
I’ve lived worse places, though. A lot worse.
Try sleeping chained up in a concrete dungeon, and then we’ll talk about living in hell, because I’ve been there.
A cloud of breath surrounds me, my teeth chattering, as I step out onto the roof, strolling over to the ledge and sitting down on it. The wind is bitter cold, slicing against my skin like razor blades, but I welcome the sensation, letting it cool my feverish skin.