Scarred(Never After #2)(61)

“Someone could—”

He bites my shoulder this time.

“S-someone could see,” I stutter.

“I’ll kill anyone who does.”

The words he just said so casually should give me pause, but they don’t. They excite me more.

It’s intoxicating to have a man willing to do anything just so he can keep touching you.

Still, the risks outweigh any momentary reward, so I push against his chest and scoot away, reaching up to smooth the flyaways of my hair. “And your brother will kill me if he finds out.”

Tristan exhales a deep breath, his jaw grinding. He hops up from the bench, grabbing my hand and pulling me behind him before I can even process we’re moving.

“Wait,” I say as he drags us toward the forest. “Tristan, wait! What are you doing?” I try to rip my fingers from his grip, but he just smirks back at me and picks up the pace.

I should put a stop to whatever this is. There’s no way it will end well.

But I let him lead me anyway.

He doesn’t stop until we’re in the middle of thick trees, the leaves covering us in darkness that even the moon can’t shine through. “Where are we going, Tristan? You cannot just traipse into the forest and manhandle me however you… oh—”

He jerks me forward, my body twirling around him and slamming into the thick trunk of a tree. The bark scratches my upper back, creating a sharp sting that radiates down my spine, and the sleeve of my dress falls off my shoulder, revealing the white lace of my chemise underneath.

He presses into me, the hard planes of his body molding to my soft curves, his arms coming to rest on either side of my head until I’m blocked in, surrounded by temptation and bad decisions.

“Do you ever stop talking?” he quips.

Irritation winds through my middle and I open my mouth to reply, but before I can, he sweeps in, claiming my lips in a bruising kiss. My hands fly to the back of his head as I pull him closer, inhaling the hint of smoke on his breath and trying to implant the taste on my tongue. He groans, his hips pushing harder against me, the thick length of his cock gliding along my belly.

His teeth sink into my lip, piercing my flesh. A moan pours from my throat, and he swallows the sound, licking along the wound and sucking, his tongue swiping over the bubbling liquid.

I jerk back. “Did you just lick my blood?”

One of his hands grips my waist and drags me until we’re plastered together, his other palm grabbing the back of my head, fingers digging into my bun, and pulling the strands until my neck bends.

“I will lick, and suck, and cut any part of you I wish, as often as I wish, until you’re begging me to slice you open and do it some more.”

My stomach flips at his words, shock mixing in with the sharp rush of desire that splices down my middle.

“I want to consume you, Sara, until I feel you thrumming in my veins.”

“That’s sick,” I say. “I thought you hated me.”

He pauses at this, his hand releasing my hair and moving to cup my jaw, his thumb wiping the remnants of blood from my mouth. “What is hate but obsession tinged with fear?”

“I—”

His palm slaps over my mouth, the rings on his fingers cold against my flesh. “Stop. Talking.”

He grips the skirt of my dress and moves it slowly up my leg, the fabric tickling my skin. My abdomen tightens, a warm sensation spinning like a cyclone in my stomach. My leather garter is exposed, and his fingertips trace over the daggers, his stiff cock pulsing against my torso as he traces along their sharp edges.

“Ma petite menteuse, pretending to be so pure.” He drops to his knees, leaning in and kissing the spaces between my blades. “So innocent.”

My chest heaves as my heart slams against my ribs. He works his way inward, his lips peppering kisses across my flesh until he reaches the lace edge of my drawers. Quick as a flash, he’s removed one of the blades, twirling it in his fingers. My stomach jumps, wondering if I’ve made a mistake. How stupid of a woman must I be for giving my enemy a blade and trusting he won’t slit my throat.

Still, I don’t move from my spot.

If this is where death finds me, at least it will be my choice.

With one of his hands holding up my dress, the other drags the dagger up my thigh, creating pinpricks of sensation as a shallow red line appears. He hasn’t cut the skin, but he’s dangerously close, and the anticipation has my senses heightening, wetness seeping from my center. He slips the tip of the blade beneath the lace and glances up at me, his green eyes blazing with heat so fierce I swear I can taste it in my soul.

“Do you trust me, little doe?” he asks.

My heart stalls. “No.”

He smirks. “Good.”

And then he flicks the knife, splicing open the fabric until cool air whips across my bare skin, making me gasp from the sudden chill. But I needn’t worry, because soon enough, his mouth is on me, his nose pressing into my soft curls and his tongue lavishing attention on my sensitive bud, making it pulse and swell with every swipe.

I moan, my body collapsing into the tree, fingers tangling in his disheveled locks as I push my hips against his face, letting him suck my cunt like he’s a desperate man.

“I—” I pant out, the sensations almost too much to bear. He alternates between licking me in long strokes and pulling me into his mouth, his cheeks hollowing as he does.