Menace (Scarlet Scars #1)(91)

My muscles seize up, my toes curling as he rides me through a strong orgasm. As soon as it starts to fade, he grabs me by the back of my neck, pulling me down closer to him, making me look him in the face.

I brace myself, hands flat against his chest, holding on as he bucks hard, f*cking me, gripping tighter every time my eyelids start to flutter, parts of me trying to drift away.

Another orgasm hits, and I cry out, my breaths strained, but before I can recover, Lorenzo throws me off of him, catching me off guard as he pins me to the bed.

“What—?”

Before I can get anything else out, Lorenzo covers my mouth with his hand, squeezing my face, silencing my words. Shoving my legs apart, hitching my knees up, he thrusts inside of me, barely giving me a second to adjust before he starts to f*ck me.

Hard.

Deep.

Fast.





BAM


BAM


BAM


I scream into his palm as sensations flow through me. Pleasure and pain warps every inch of me as he rests his body weight on top of me, making my chest ache, my muscles clenching. My fingers dig into his back, scratching at the skin, as he brings his mouth to my ear, his voice low and gritty.

“Once upon a time, there was a woman—a woman with a gorgeous little body and a mouth made of sin. The only thing sweeter than this woman’s * was the thirst she had inside of her, a thirst for f*cking and fighting, for tempting fate,” he says, and I let out a whimper, gripping to him tightly, as another orgasm starts to take over. Fuck.

It hits me so intense I buck against him, my fingernails tearing skin as I bite his palm.

“Jesus Christ,” he growls, yanking his hand away from my mouth, griping instead to my jaw, shoving my head away, forcing the side of my face into the mattress. His mouth is back on my ear, tongue swirling around it before he says, “This woman, she tempted fate so much it was a goddamn miracle she wasn’t dead, but she was lucky, I think, because fate brought her a man, one who would kill for a sip of the thirst inside of her, who would start a war over that sweet, sweet *.”

His words send a chill through me as I close my eyes. He f*cks and threatens, kisses and caresses, grabs and bites, over and over and over again, until my body starts to give out. Groaning, he pulls away from me, shoving my legs further apart as he pulls out. Opening my eyes, I watch in the darkness, breathing heavily, as he strokes himself, coming right there, between my thighs. He rubs it in then, gently stroking my clit with his fingertips, before leaning down, kissing along my stomach, his tongue circling my belly button, before moving down even further, his mouth on my *.

“Oh God,” I whisper, my toes curling. I don’t know how the hell he does it, bringing my body right back to life again with nothing more than the tip of his tongue.

He’s gentle, so f*cking gentle, almost painfully so as he brings me to yet another orgasm. I gasp, grabbing ahold of his hair, arching my back as the pleasure ripples through my trembling thighs. As soon as I collapse back onto the bed, he makes his way back up, kissing along my stomach, before his mouth finds mine.

I kiss him, tasting myself on his lips, but more than that, I can taste him. Every inch of my body flushes at that realization.

“I think you’re trying to kill me,” I whisper.

He laughs into my mouth, nipping at my bottom lip. “If I was really trying to kill you, Scarlet, you’d be dead.”



The sun’s starting to rise outside, but you can’t tell it looking at the horizon. Thick gray clouds cover every inch of sky, blocking the warm orange glow from appearing. Everything just seems to gradually get lighter, like a veil is being lifted, exposing what was already hidden beneath.

Sunrise, it always makes me feel hope, another day dawning, another chance at things turning around for me, but today?

It all just felt so horribly bleak.

“Ten months,” I say. “Before we know it, it’ll be a year.”

An entire year. I can’t even fathom it.

Detective Jones lets out an exasperated sigh as he scrubs his hands over his bleary face, rubbing the overgrown scruff along his jaw. He looks like shit. His suit is rumpled. There’s a stain on his white shirt. He’s in need of a trim, his hair sticking up in a few places, and his socks, well… they don’t even match.

He’s a mess.

But I have no sympathy for him.

Maybe that makes me a bitch.

I used to come here, begging, pleading, feeling like a burden for needing his help, but those feelings faded as I became more jaded. The first few months were the worst, though. Back then, I didn’t think the tears would ever stop. But at some point along the way, my anger surfaced when I realized I was on my own, that nobody could help me. I had to help myself.

And here we are, ten months in, and I’m still treading water, closer to sinking than I am to swimming. I’m slowly drowning.

Gabe picks up his coffee mug, gently blowing into it, steam rising out, surrounding his face like a cloud. I got here before him this morning, was waiting in the lobby when he eventually wandered in, fifteen minutes late for his usual shift, which is fifteen minutes he could’ve spent working on my case.

Yeah, right... like that would ever happen.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he mutters, sipping his coffee.

“Yeah, well, where else am I supposed to go?”