Menace (Scarlet Scars #1)(41)

Grasping my cock, I rub the head along her warm *, stroking her clit with the tip, before lining up and pushing in. Fuck, she fits perfectly, like a leather glove. Her breath hitches, and she clutches a hold of me, wrapping her arms around me, her red-painted nails digging into the skin of my back.

I pound into her, on top of her, covering her with my body, digging my boots into the cheap mattress for traction with each hard thrust. Those nails rake across my skin, leaving stinging trails as she claws her way through me with each whimper, and moan, and cry, her legs wrapping around my waist, welcoming me inside.

Fuck, this woman...

Yeah, I’m actually f*cking this woman.

She grows quiet, her grip loosening, scratches becoming barely-there touches, her body shifting every time I thrust into her.

She’s limp in the bed.

Pulling back, I look down at her tucked beneath me. She’s staring off into the distance, gaze fixed to a nearby wall. Dazed. Zoned out. Gone.

“Oh, no, no…” Grasping her chin, I turn her head, forcing her to look at me. “You’re not doing that blank slate shit with me.”

She blinks a few times before her eyes narrow.

“Go ahead, get mad,” I say, continuing to thrust. “But when I’m inside of you, Scarlet, you don’t get to fade.”

“I’m not,” she says defensively.

“Liar, liar, pants on fire...”

She growls, hands running up my back before she fists my hair, tugging on it, yanking me back down toward her. “I’m not fading.”

“Damn right you’re not,” I say, brushing my nose against hers before I kiss her.

She doesn’t fade again, those moans returning, turning to sharp cries as I stroke her clit, bringing her to orgasm.

Again.

And again.

And again.

I hold myself back for as long as I can, watching her as she comes apart at the seams, the sounds escaping her primal, like a wild animal, before my body just can’t take anymore. If I don’t come soon, my balls are going to revolt. They’re seriously going to close up shop and go the f*ck home. Grunting, I thrust hard, knocking the flimsy bed into the wall, as a swell of pleasure runs through me.

“Fuck,” I groan, gripping her tightly, fishnet-covered legs still wound around me as I spill into the condom. Stilling, I press my forehead to hers, catching my breath, inhaling her scent. The vanilla is still there, yeah, but the smell of sex overshadows it now, and the shame?

Yeah, that’s still all over her.

“Satiated,” I say, still balls-deep inside of her. “Is that what your Scarlet Letter stands for?”

She shoves me when I ask that, pushing me off of her. “Stupid.”

I pull out with a groan. “Stupid?”

“That’s what yours would stand for,” she says. “Stupid. And smug.”

“Satiated,” I say again, standing up, finding myself in quite the predicament, considering my pants are wound around my ankles like shackles and I need to make my way to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. My ass is on full display, and I’m not exactly modest, you know, but I’m kind of hoping I don’t fall flat on my face.

It’s possible.

Plausible.

Probably going to happen.

So I sit back down on the edge of the bed and untie my boots, yanking them off. After dropping them to the floor, I pull off my pants, wearing nothing but my socks as I seek out her bathroom.

It’s small.

I’m talking tiny.

Fucking minuscule.

I have to be careful taking a piss, my dick practically bigger than the width of the room. A can’t-walk-into-the-shit closet. A hole in the damn wall. It’s completely ridiculous.

When I’m finished, I go back to her bedroom. It’s late, and I’m exhausted, which means I probably ought to give Seven a call to come pick me up so I can try to get some sleep tonight, get my head back on right. Maybe now that I’ve been inside of her, it’ll purge all these goddamn thoughts of her from inside of me.

Scarlet is sitting on her bed, her knees pulled up to her chest, her shirt stretched around them as she huddles beneath it. Not for warmth, no… more like trying to shield herself from the world around her. Nervous again. I sit down on the edge of the bed, eyeing my discarded clothes on the floor.

“It’s been nine months,” she says quietly.

“Nine months since what?”

“Since I last came face-to-face with Kassian.”

Ah. “I’m assuming that was him tonight?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve been hiding from him for nine months?”

She laughs dryly. “I’ve been hiding from him a lot longer than that, but it’s been nine months since he last found me. I’ve managed to evade him for forty long weeks.”

“Almost broke your streak tonight.”

“Almost,” she agrees.

“What does he want from you?”

She shrugs. It’s not an evasion. I can tell the reaction is genuine. She doesn’t put it in words, but I know what she’s saying... she doesn’t understand what he wants. Maybe she knows, in her head, but she’s listening with her heart, a dangerous path to go down.

“Whatever it is he wants, you probably should give it to him so he’ll go away.”