The Pawn (Endgame #1)(55)

My legs are trembling with the force of staying together. My inner thigh muscles are clenching and unclenching, spasming as I watch him suck the little head of the piece.

My breath catches. “I can’t—”

Every cell in my body is screaming for me to open my thighs, but it’s not just his thumb that will touch me. Not just his lips or his tongue. He’ll fuck me tonight. The promise is burning bright in his gaze.

“You have to, little virgin. It’s the only way you’ll feel better. Just give in.”

Move into jeopardy. Be captured. So simple and yet so hard to do. Surrender.

My fists clench in the sheets behind me. Slowly, centimeter by centimeter, I open my legs to him. Two of his fingers lift the frill at the bottom of my nightgown, studying me with humiliating frankness.

“Such a beautiful pussy. Is it beautiful because no one has fucked it yet? Or is it fuckable because it’s so beautiful?”

I have to laugh. “Now that’s definitely the moonshine talking.”

His grin is dark and playful. Seductive. “The moonshine is a nice excuse to say what I’m thinking. God, little virgin. If you knew what I thought about, watching you in that gold dress, seeing you in those godforsaken yoga pants. Prancing around the house like you feel safe. I want to bring you down like a fucking gazelle in the Serengeti.”

My eyes feel wide, my breath faster. My legs spread a little farther apart.

“Keep your hands in the sheets,” he says softly.

“Okay,” I gasp.

“Yes, sir.”

There’s a fight inside me. The string, hold onto the string! But I want so badly to surrender. I need to. My eyes close on a sigh. “Yes, sir.”

Blunt fingers push my thigh to the side even farther. I’m so exposed like this. Vulnerable. Then he touches my clit, like I wanted him to. My body shudders against the caress.

Except it feels different. Harder. Cooler.

I look down to see him holding the pawn, pressing it against me. “Oh God,” I whisper.

“I love those ridiculous ruffles, but I need you to take that off now. Unless you want me to come all fucking over it.”

It’s hard to move, hard to breathe when he’s doing that with the chess piece against my clit. Clumsy arms manage to work their way out of the nightgown. I push it over my flushed face, not even minding the stark nakedness that follows, his hungry gaze on my breasts. It all feeds the intensity building between my legs, centered on that horrible little chess piece. The one he caressed. The one he licked.

My body responds to the hardness of the wood, the curve of the head, but I want something else. Heat. Velvet. His body, muscled and hair roughened. The pawn feels impersonal, demeaning, and God, even sexier because of it. There’s a darker seduction in knowing he’s once removed from me. The pawn is a tool, and so am I. My head drops back, eyes staring at nothing, hips rocking into the piece.

“That’s right,” he murmurs. “Come all over the pawn. Spill your sweet juice on it. I want to lick you up like that. I want you nice and wet for what happens next.”

What happens next, what happens next. The words bounce around in my head, meaningless. Until the sound of a zipper tears through the room. Then my gaze snaps to his pants, where he’s taken out his cock. He’s stroking it. And it’s big. Massive. A million times bigger than the pawn. How will it go inside me? Why wasn’t I satisfied with the small wooden head on my clit? He’s got a club in his fist.

“Wait,” I say, the word slurred with impending climax. “Wait, please.”

“Naughty, little virgin. There’s no waiting.” He makes the circles faster, tighter, pressing the pawn right where I need it. Then I’m crying out, sobbing, begging him to stop, give me, no, more, please.

The spasms continue long after he pulls the chess piece away. He doesn’t just lick me up. He puts the whole head of the pawn into his mouth, sucking me off the wood before tossing the pawn aside.

Then there’s something thick and blunt at my entrance.

“How?” I ask, almost frantic with the question. How will he fit? How did I come to this? How will I go on after this, knowing that I sold my soul to the devil?

He doesn’t give me an answer but pushes inside with one hard thrust.

The cry that escapes me is primal—grief at losing something. Pain at the violation. “Gabriel.”

“A little more,” he says, teeth gritted.

That’s when I realize he isn’t all the way inside. “Oh God. I can’t take more.”

“You knew it would hurt,” he murmurs, jaw tight, eyes shut as if he’s hanging on to control by a thread.

I shouldn’t care about him, shouldn’t love what he does to me. That’s how he’s broken me. So much worse than the ripping agony in my body. So much harder than knowing we’ll end when the clock stops ticking. “Do it,” I whisper.

He takes the invitation with a curt nod. There’s a slight tensing of his muscles. I feel it between my legs. That’s the only warning before he pushes forward, plunging deep inside me. I can feel him at my very center, filling me, hurting me. “How do people do this?”

His laugh is pained. “Only you could make me smile at a time like this.”

I wince. “Is it over?”

He reaches down and uses his thumb like he promised, rubbing it over my clit like the smooth head of the pawn. Around and around in endless, blissful circles. By degrees I can relax. It still feels too full. There’s a memory of the burn as he entered me. But my muscles ripple around in something almost like pleasure.