Deep (Chicago Underground #8)(44)

I pulled uselessly at the muscled arms holding me in place, but my hands slipped on his sweaty skin. I couldn’t move him, couldn’t stop him.

“Let me down,” I begged. “I’ll take you in my mouth. I’ll suck you.”

“No,” he said, clenching tighter. “This. I’m going to pour my seed into you, and then I’m going to drape you over that f*cking couch so it gets to the right place. And when your belly is round with my child, you won’t ever think about leaving me again.”

Even as my sex tightened, my heart chilled. Oh God. He was insane. And cold as ice. I knew it, I should have known it, but I couldn’t have imagined this. I couldn’t have imagined he would even want this, but here he was, holding me still while he pumped faster, the jerky movements signaling his impending climax.

I pulled away, a last-second bid for freedom—and only got as far as the sofa, cushions under my knees, hands grasping the back ridge of the sofa. He followed me down, legs between mine, pumping up into me with more leverage and force than before.

My whole body strained forward, only to be slammed back against him.

“Take it,” he muttered harshly.

“You’re not thinking straight,” I cried. “You can’t—”

“I thought too f*cking much about you. I’m done thinking.”

His body stiffened, and he made a choked sound. His cock flexed. Then a spurt of hot come hit the soft place inside me, and my mouth opened on a cry of betrayal. No.

It was too late. The climax rolled over me, triggered by the very thing I didn’t want. Pleasure turned my vision to black, and I sobbed my denial and gratitude all at once. My sex clenched around his cock as the waves of orgasm ran through my body, and he grunted in masculine appreciation.

Spasms racked me as I came down from the high. My hands were clenched tight on the back of the sofa, my breasts pressed against the silky fabric. I panted, my mind dazed.

“That’s right,” he said, his voice languid, thick with lingering orgasm. He slid a hand down my stomach to where his body was still joined to mine. Callused fingers slid through slick, sensitive skin. I jerked at the touch.

He circled my clit with lazy motions. That was all it took. A few turns of his fingers and I was rocking against him, mindless, on the edge again.

“That’s right,” he said again. “You feel my come. I know you do. Keep it inside you, kitten. This will help.”

No. It was so wrong, but maybe I was wrong, because his words pushed me over the edge. I came again, this one tight and hard, rocking against his hand as I rode out the razor’s edge climax—that climax that would keep his come inside me. My inner walls clenched, and I imagined his seed traveling deep, rooting there.

A mewling sound filled the air, and I realized it was me.

I shook my ahead against the illicit desire in my gut. Tears tracked down my cheeks.

“I told you I’d pay the ransom,” he said. “But we do it my way. Understand? You follow orders, kitten. Just like you do when I’m f*cking you.”

I shivered at the force in his voice, the sensual threat. “Yes.”

Eventually he took me to his bedroom, where heavy curtains blocked out the daylight. We slept to make up for the night we had lost and to prepare for the trials to come. I didn’t know how many times he took me, hands moving me, arranging my body to accept his.

He didn’t even wake me. Instead he slid rough fingers between folds already wet and brought me to orgasm in my sleep. I hovered in the space between dreams and darkness, pleasure and pain.





Chapter Twenty-Six

WHEN I WOKE again, it was still dark in the room. There was a kind of stillness in the air that told me it would be dark outside too, night time again. But I was fully awake, having slept all day.

And so was Philip. It was too dark to see more than his profile, but I felt his alertness like a tactile force.

The memories from last night beat heavy in the air. I didn’t know what to say. You shouldn’t have come inside me without permission seemed too tame. And he already knew that. You’re a horrible person and I’m never speaking to you again seemed a little dramatic considering I’d let him come in me several more times last night. He had washed me with a warm cloth by the end of it, but I still felt his come like a tickle against my folds. That was how full he had made me, that it was still there, still leaking out of me.

“Good morning,” he said.

The dry note in his voice made me smile. So we were going with avoidance. At least for now. “It’s nighttime. Are you a vampire then?”

“If so, I’ve made you one too.”

“Please, I was cramming for tests before this.” Of course I’d never stayed up quite that late or slept all day long. Still, it was nice to lie in Philip’s arms, speaking casually, without the dread of death and kidnapping. It was nice to pretend to be normal.

Normal wouldn’t be Philip, though. Normal would have been taking my sociology exam today. Had anyone noticed I’d been gone? Sloan would have. Being with him would have been normal. But I’d never felt the intensity between us the way it was with Philip, never felt an undeniable connection. I had never been held still while he pumped his come inside me. Take me.

I pushed the thought away and stroked Philip’s chest, feeling his muscles tighten and ripple beneath my fingertips. “I saw the little machines. In your library.”