Destiny Mine (Tormentor Mine #3)(54)
I myself feel hopelessly adrift, like a rudderless ship in a storm.
We reach my door, and I fumble for the apartment keys in my purse, acutely aware of Peter’s gaze on me. He doesn’t look impatient, but I sense it in him, feel the violent need he’s holding in check. My breathing grows shallow, my palms dampening as I finally close my hand around the elusive object.
“Here, let me.” He takes the keys from me and unerringly finds the right one, opening the door on the first try.
We step in, and he closes the door behind us as I flip on the living room lights. I hear the click of the lock, and I turn to face him, heart hammering. “Peter…”
He’s on me before I can utter another word. His big hands frame my face as he backs me up against the couch, his mouth slanting greedily across mine as we fall onto the soft cushions in a tangle of limbs and unrestrained need.
Whatever doubts I might’ve had are swept away, drowned by a wave of lust so intense it feels like fire in my veins. The orgasm in the parking lot just whetted my appetite, leaving my sex sensitized and swollen, desperately aching for more. My nipples are agonizingly tight, and I literally throb between my legs as he rips off my shirt and moves to undo my zipper, his hands rough with urgency, with the same hunger that’s tormented me for months.
I meet him kiss for kiss, my hands ripping at his shirt as he yanks the jeans off me, growling in frustration as they get caught on my ballerina flats. I manage to kick them off my feet along with the bunched-up jeans as he unsnaps my bra, and then I’m naked, sprawled on the couch underneath him as he reaches for his zipper.
There are no pretty words, no sweet caresses—just the primal feel of him as he ruthlessly pushes into me, face taut with lust and eyes glittering darkly as he catches my wrists and pins them above my head. I suck in a breath at the relentless invasion, my inner muscles quivering, struggling to adjust to the impossible thickness of him, to the way my flesh stretches to accept him. My body has somehow forgotten this part, and it feels like our first time all over again, only the shame and guilt are now just dim shadows in my mind.
I need this—I need him—and I can’t deny it.
When he bottoms out inside me, he stops, giving me a moment to get used to him, and I see him fighting for control, reining in that savage part of him so he won’t hurt me.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, squeezing my pelvic muscles around his thick length. “It’s okay, Peter… I can take it.”
I want to take it, in fact.
His pupils dilate, and in the depths of his metallic eyes, I see the monster surface. With a low, guttural growl, he surges deeper into me, and I cry out, arching, as he sets a savage rhythm.
He takes me violently, pounding into me without mercy, and my cries grow in volume as pain edges into pleasure, blanketing my mind with white noise, silencing the incessant buzzing of my thoughts. There’s no mental room for guilt or worry, no space for doubts and questions. There’s just this, just us, and as the tension inside me spirals, I scream out his name, cognizant of nothing but the agony and ecstasy splintering me apart.
He comes at nearly the same time, his powerful neck cording as he arches his head back, hips grinding into me. The pressure triggers a wave of aftershocks for me, and I cry out again, my inner muscles squeezing and contracting, feeling every hard inch inside me as he groans and floods me with his seed.
I might’ve zoned out after that, or closed my eyes, because the next thing I know, I’m being carried again, this time to my bathroom.
I blink, instinctively looping my arms around Peter’s neck as he steps into the tub and lowers me to my feet.
“Are you okay?” he murmurs, steadying me as I let go, and I nod, still too overwhelmed to speak.
“Good.”
He steps out of the tub and strips off the clothes he was still wearing. Greedily, I devour his nakedness, taking in the powerful lines of his tall, broad body as he steps back into the tub with me, draws the curtain closed, and turns on the faucet. Every chiseled muscle in his back flexes as he moves, his ass tight and round as he bends over to test the temperature of the water. His balls swing heavily between his legs, his big cock still semi-hard, and warmth creeps along my neck as I notice the gleaming slickness of our combined body fluids on his skin.
No condom again. For some reason, I’m not particularly horrified—or the least bit surprised. If Peter really intends to do this—to settle down with me here, where we can live a normal life—then children are not that insane of a notion. Given that he admitted to wanting me pregnant, I shouldn’t expect condoms at all going forward. We’re both clean, unless—
“Did you sleep with anyone?” I blurt out, horrified at the possibility that just popped into my mind. “When you were away, I mean?”
I’m shocked this didn’t occur to me before. Peter is a highly sexual male in his prime, with the kind of looks and lethal appeal that’s bound to cream panties. Case in point, my neighbors—both women in their mid-to-late twenties—giggling like eighth-graders. There’s no reason to assume he’s been faithful to me this whole time. Nine months of celibacy for someone like Peter is—
“What?” He pivots to face me, dark eyebrows pulled low over his eyes. “Are you serious?”
I shrug and try to sound casual, as if the mere of idea of him touching some other woman doesn’t make me want to vomit. “Nine months is a long time, and it’s not like we’re—”