Menace (Scarlet Scars #1)(57)

It’s torture, what he’s doing. I can’t see. I don’t know. But his mouth is fully on me now, tongue doing whatever it does, flicking and licking, sucking and f*cking, completely devouring me, like he’s starving. I try to yank my arms from his grasp, but he isn’t budging, his grip damn tight. I want to grab him by the hair and pull him closer, desperate for more friction, but I think I’m just as likely to punch him if he frees me, because Jesus Christ, what is he doing to me?

“The prince, he doesn’t know,” I say breathlessly. “That night, he runs through the tunnel, no clothes on. The glass is smashed, he’s cut up, blah blah blah, uhhh... he, uh... Christ, that feels good.”

Lorenzo laughs. The * laughs. His mouth is on my *, my clit pulsating from the feeling, the sensation damn near shoving me over the edge, an orgasm building, because he’s laughing.

Yeah, I’d punch him.

“He’s cut up, bleeding out... I don’t know... dying. It’s killing him... f*ck, it’s killing me...” I swallow thickly, squeezing my eyes shut. “Don’t stop.”

He doesn’t stop, but I know he will if I don’t pull myself together. Asshole.

“The glass is magic. His cuts won’t heal. He’s still dying, so the King, oh god…” I shift my hips, my toes curling when he hits a spot that sends shockwaves rippling through me, my thighs trembling. Oh god… oh god… oh god. “The King promises whoever heals the Prince can marry him.”

Lorenzo releases my wrists, and I’m grateful for a brief moment, instantly running my hands through his thick, dark hair. He pushes a finger inside of me, maybe two, I don’t know, f*cking me with them before abruptly pulling his mouth away. His gaze finds mine when I open my eyes, and I almost panic (did I pause too long?) before he speaks. “What if it’s a guy?”

He curves his fingers, hitting that sweet spot deep inside. The unicorn found the f*cking Holy Grail.

Didn’t even need a map.

He navigated right there.

It feels so good I can’t make sense of anything else. It takes me a moment to remember he even spoke. “Uh, what?”

“What if a guy heals him?”

“I, uh… he marries him?” Did he really stop for that? “Are you seriously asking questions?”

He shrugs. “I’m curious.”

“It can’t wait?”

He smirks. “I like watching you squirm.”

His mouth is back on me after that, but I’ve lost my train of thought, because now that he’s added fingers to the mix, well, I really am going to die.

The pressure is building, and I’m panting, spewing out words.

I don’t know if they make sense.

“Nella, she goes to tell him goodbye, gonna die, no cure, I don’t know, holy f*ck. But an ogre, you kill it, you save him. Nella overhears. Jesus Christ, don’t stop, please…” I fist his hair, my breath hitching. I’m thinking Lorenzo’s mouth could’ve saved the prince, because I don’t think there’s anything this mouth couldn’t do. “She murders the ogre, cures the prince, they marry… blah, blah, blah, oh god, I’m gonna… uh, Lorenzo!”

Orgasm tears through me. I gasp. My legs shake. He doesn’t stop, even though I’ve run out of words, doesn’t let up at all, his mouth working miracles as I buck my hips, practically f*cking his face. Tingles engulf me, goose bumps coating my skin.

It’s short lived, the sky-high euphoria, but worth every damn second of stumbling through that story.

As soon as it fades, I relax back into the bed, my eyes closed, my muscles needing a moment to work again. Lorenzo sits up, his voice serious, matter of fact, as he says, “That was a terrible story.”

“You’re an *,” I mutter, peeking at him.

“Seriously, that’s your favorite fairy tale?”

“At least it has a happy ending.”

He shakes his head as he moves closer, climbing up the bed, hovering right over me again. He slowly licks his lips, making a shiver runs through me. “I might be an *, Scarlet, but that little game kept you from fading, didn’t it?”

Yeah, I guess it did.

He leans down, kissing me, fumbling with his pants, unbuttoning them.

“I’m going to f*ck you now,” he says. “That okay with you?”

I nod. More than okay. I’m aching, my body on fire, desperate to feel him inside of me again. I hate that I want it so much, that I want him, but he’s like a drug, I think, one of those potent, addictive drugs that alters your brain chemistry.

“Good,” he says, retrieving a condom from the stand beside the bed. He hitches my legs up, settling between them, as he pulls his cock out, rolling the condom on.

He wastes no time thrusting inside.

I cry out as he fills me, tilting my head back, and barely have a chance to adjust before his body weight is pressing upon me, his hand around my throat. A chill of fear shoots down my spine, but he doesn’t squeeze. He could, though. Instead, he looks me dead in the face and says, “You zone out, I choke you. Whether or not I let go is anybody’s guess. You still okay with this?”

I nod, no hesitation.

I probably shouldn’t.

Hell, I know I shouldn’t.

Would he let go? I like to think so. But I’m not sure, and that’s what causes the panic to trickle into my chest, spiking my system. It’s sick. Maybe I’m sick, the fact that it excites me, that being just a breath away from death makes me feel alive again.