by Pam Godwin
“I touched her body and imagined my wife, but I never kissed her. Never fucked her.”
He released her wrist and yanked the shirt from her grasp. Blood-soaked fingers curled around her hip, and he lowered his head, touching his brow to her stomach.
Was he staring at her pussy? Or were his eyes closed? She kept her attention on his bladed finger and held her breath.
“When I was with you tonight, I didn’t think about Semira. Not once.” He pressed his lips to her belly button. “Celibacy was my penance for failing her. It was my choice. Until you.”
He broke his twelve-year abstinence. For her.
It means something to me.
As if pulled by an invisible string, her hand floated toward his head, where his soft hair lay against her abdomen. Before she made contact, she snapped out of the enchantment and dropped her arm. “Why me?”
In a swift glide of powerful muscles, he unfolded his body and rose to his full height, towering over her, completely nude. “You’re mine.”
Mine. That fucking word set her teeth on edge. He could say the same about this house, his security guards, the stupid blade on his finger. He could take his property and all his precious little possessions and shove them up his ass. She refused to be one of his belongings.
Stretching her spine, she tried to add length to her height, to stand taller than eye-level with his chest.
“Why did you cut yourself?” She lifted her face. “What was the punishment for?”
He narrowed his eyes.
She narrowed hers back. “For everything you’ve done to me?”
“No, Kate.” He cocked his head. “For everything I’m going to do to you.”
CHAPTER 16
The heat in Kate’s cheeks gave way to numbing chills. She didn’t have a chance to stammer a response before Tiago grabbed her hand and hauled her into the bathroom.
“What are you doing?” She dug in her feet, slipping in the blood that trailed him.
“Get in the shower.” He pushed her in the general direction. “Back against the wall. Hands at your sides.”
He didn’t need to flash the blade on his finger. His tone was sharp enough to send her running.
“What did I do?” She pressed her spine against the shower wall and pinched her arms close to her ribs. “If I angered you—”
“You meant to. You’ll fight me at every turn.” He set the razor on the counter and prowled toward her with a terrifying glint in his eyes. “I look forward to it.”
“Don’t hurt me.” Her breathing quickened, knocking her chest into a heaving jog.
“Too late for that.” He stepped into the shower and wrapped both hands around her neck, forcing her head back with his thumbs beneath her chin. “I fucked you thoroughly and completely, and I’ve only just begun.”
Warm blood dripped from his arm to her chest, and she shivered. “You need to get Boones. Let him look at your cuts.”
“Tell me you care if I bleed out.”
“No.” She set her jaw. “I don’t care.”
“So fucking honest.” He leaned in and licked her lips. “Tell me more.”
“You’re a possessive, duplicitous, unreasonable nutjob.”
“Your insults make me so damn hard.” He dropped a hand to her ass and squeezed it painfully. “Me encanta tu culo. When I put my mouth here…” He wedged a finger into the crack, making her clench. “When I lick this tight rim, tell me you hate it.”
She couldn’t. Just thinking about it hardened her nipples. She knew it was happening when he glanced down at her chest and grinned.
“I waited twelve years for you.” He touched his mouth to the corner of hers.
“Don’t say that.”
The wet sound of dripping drew her attention to the tile floor. Red splatters hit the drain. One heavy drop landed on her foot and worked its way between her toes. They both stared at it.
“I’ve seen a lot of shit in my life. What’s normal to me would be shocking by society’s standards.” He wiped a hand over the cuts on his arm, collecting a palm full of blood. “Don’t move.”
He set that hand against her stomach and smeared the scarlet wetness across her hips, her thighs, and between her legs.
Horror hit her in a surge of tears, trembling her chin and burning through her sinuses. She closed her eyes, desperate to unsee the blood he was rubbing into her pussy.
“I’ve been a voyeur for twelve years.” His hands cupped her face, warm and sticky. “Always watching from the front row, close enough to smell the tang of a soaked cunt, to hear the hungry slap of balls. I collected a lot of fantasies, and the things I’ve imagined… The dirty, filthy fucking things I’ve played out in my head never had an outlet.”
Until now.
Until her.
She kept her eyes squeezed shut and bit down on a sob. But it found her vocal cords and vibrated in her throat.
He moved in closer, his wet palms sailing downward, lingering on her chest, tweaking her nipples, then continuing south to her waist and hips. No inch of her was left untouched. He was so attentive that way, achingly affectionate, and it fucked with her head.
Reaching her balled hands at her sides, he pried them open and guided one to his groin.
“Let go of your self-imposed restrictions, Kate.” He forced her fingers around his heavy testicles.
When she tried to pull away, his free hand flew to her throat and applied pressure.
“Let go of every preconceived notion you have about sex.” Holding her neck in a threatening restraint, he slid her hand to his cock and molded her fingers around the girth. “Fuck the stigmas and labels and society’s definition of what’s proper. Stop thinking about what you should do and fight for what you want.”
“You know, maybe I’d feel more liberated if the roles were reversed.” She swallowed against the collar of his fist and opened her eyes. “I have no power here. I’m completely at your mercy, and as you already pointed out, you have none.”
His lips split in a feral smile, a menacing spark lighting up his eyes. “Fucking love your mouth.”
The hand on her throat crept into her hair, and he clutched a hunk of it to yank her lips to his.
Stubborn as she was, she tried to resist. But she just couldn’t. Not with his hot, beautiful cock in her hand, his fingers holding that grip, and his mouth setting her on fire.
The kiss went from playful to starving in seconds. Her body craved him. It recognized his touch, his mouth, the scent of his skin, and the rumbling sound of his voice. Didn’t matter how selfish or cruel he was. The brainless, fleshy parts of her loved the way he made her feel.
While his tongue chased and licked hers, he guided their hands along his shaft, angling to rub the head between her legs, touching her, touching himself.
It was erotic and tantalizing and so fucking wrong. She loved it. She hated that she loved it. He was corrupting her, and her mind seemed hellbent on rationalizing and justifying every illogical reaction.
“You’re right in that you have no power here,” he breathed against her lips. “Not while I’m holding you against your will and you’re constantly looking for an escape. But you have the power to take from me. When we’re together like this, you can take as much pleasure as you want. Deviate from everything Van taught you. Break free from your hang-ups. Explore whatever you desire without judgment.”
She wanted that, but she didn’t trust it. Not with him. He was spinning her around so fast she didn’t know which way was out.
Her eyes fluttered closed. “I don’t know how.”
“Look down. Look at us.”
She lowered her gaze, taking in her bloodstained body, his hand holding hers around his cock, and the semi-hardness of it gliding between her thighs, seeking entry.
He adjusted his grip to drag a finger along her slit, collecting the ejaculate he’d left there minutes ago. Then he smeared that into the blood on her thighs.
It didn’t feel forced or planned. He
wasn’t pretending to be something he wasn’t. This was Tiago, the man no one else saw, in all his crude, natural, horrifying glory.
No one had ever captivated her the way he did.
“You’re covered in me.” He tipped her head back to stare into her eyes. “You’re wearing my spit, sweat, come, and blood. Give me your definition for that. The first word that comes to mind.”
“Raw.” Her brows pulled together.
“Yeah.” The corner of his mouth curved up. “Raw isn’t a bad thing, Kate, and I’m not finished.”
He swooped in and caught her lips, stealing choppy breaths from her lungs.
What did he mean he wasn’t finished? Would he cover her in his tears next? Or… Oh, God.
A hot, wet stream flowed down her legs. The length of his dick rubbed against her hip, warm and half-hard in their hands. His mouth moved over hers, distracting her with the potency of his assertive tongue and sultry lips.
But she knew what was happening. A steady rush of liquid warmth drenched her lower half, tickled her feet, and stirred an appalling reaction between her legs. He was peeing on her, shamelessly pissing on her body, and her pussy throbbed.
It wasn’t the shocking dirtiness of it that turned her on. It was the intensity of his arousal from it. The quicker his breaths grew, the faster her heart panted. He kissed her harder, more frantically, and she met him lick for lick, bite for bite.
She clung to the sounds of his groans, the confident way he held his cock in their hands, and the sensation of his body’s hot fluid soaking her skin. It was the rawest form of intimacy she could’ve ever imagined.
Urinating wasn’t much different than climaxing. There was a need for privacy while doing either action. The urge to hold it, stall it, then the tightening, building internal pressure, until the burst, the gushing flood, and the overwhelming relief. It made her want to release her bladder and orgasm all at once, just to share in the freedom he was experiencing, to let it all go without the judgment of prudes in the outside world.
Because a prude was one thing Tiago was not.
As the warm trickle slowed, he sighed as if he’d just jerked himself off on her legs.
“Look at you.” He swayed back enough to let her see down the length of her defiled body. “So goddamn beautiful.”
“Yeah.” She unraveled her hand from his as modesty and shame crowded in. “I’m a glowing matriarch for women’s rights.”
Somehow, she’d forgotten to scream and fight him off while he was peeing on her.
“Hate me all you want.” He clutched her chin and put his face in hers. “But never hate your desires. Never be ashamed of what you want.”
“You pissed on me. I can’t want that.”
“Says who? You? Or the world you were raised in?” He released her to turn on the faucet and adjust the water temperature.
“It’s dirty,” she said lamely.
“I don’t have an infection.” He positioned her under the shower head. “It’s sterile enough to drink.”
“Where do you draw the line?”
“No shitting and no sharing.” He grabbed a bar of soap. “Those are our limits.”
“You can’t tell me my limits.”
“I just did.”
He proceeded to wash her body. Then his own. His dick, fully erect now, jutted from the apex of his powerful legs. But he ignored it as he focused on cleaning away the blood and urine.
She was at a loss. Part of her warmed at the thought that he didn’t want to share her. When he’d offered her to Arturo in the kitchen, it had been the worst possible scenario. Worse than Tiago finishing the job himself.
Why was that? Wouldn’t a quick fuck by a random guard have been better than the hours she endured with Tiago?
The voice in her head screamed no.
“Do you still want to kill me?” she asked quietly.
“No.” Grasping her hips, he spun her to face away. “Put your hands on the wall.”
Exhaustion sluiced away her resistance. She flattened her palms on the tiles and let her head drop between her arms. “But you’ll kill me if you need to.”
“I should’ve killed you weeks ago.” He set the soap aside and ran lathered hands up and down her back and shoulders. Then his fingers curled around her throat. “There are other forms of punishment if you try to escape.”
“Torture.”
“I have endless energy when it comes to you.” He lowered his other hand to her abdomen and sank his fingers between her legs, pushing one inside. “I can torture your pussy for days. If you lose consciousness, I’ll dunk you in cold water and start again, sucking, licking, biting, fucking, and never letting you come.” He thrust that long digit in and out, racing her pulse. “If that doesn’t convince you, you should know I won’t hesitate to hunt down your friends.”
The implication he would kill them slammed into her gut, but he didn’t voice it. He didn’t need to.
I hate you leapt to her tongue, and she bit it back. She’d said it so much it’d become trite and predictable.
“What are the rules?” she asked. “How do I guarantee their safety?”
“Don’t try to escape and no murder attempts against me or those in my employ.”
“But I can defend myself? I can fight and disobey you if I don’t like what you’re doing to me?”
He leaned his chest against her back and put his mouth at her ear. “Be my guest.”
Strength revisited her muscles and joints. Determination wound around her spine. As he kicked her feet apart and sped up the finger inside her, his intent was clear.
She pulled in a breath, knowing he expected her to start struggling. Instead, she held still, anticipating the right moment.
He seized her from behind, banding both arms around her. His teeth went to her neck, and she dropped like a rock to the floor, breaking the hold. He lurched after her, but she was already swinging.
Her fist collided with his erection and the meaty sac of his nuts. She put all her strength into it, certain the hit was hard enough to drop him.
Except he remained on his feet. He didn’t even let out a grunt or reach down to cup himself. Pain drew his lips into a flat line, but that was it.
She gave him a point for barely reacting, knowing full well that behind that stoic expression, he was battling the need to double-over and roar.
Water rained down upon her, and she blinked through the deluge, watching him, terrified.
After several heartbeats, he glared down at her and blew out a swift expulsion of air. His body seemed to widen before her eyes, flexing with testosterone and aggression, his nostrils flaring with a surge of heavy breaths. Like a bull preparing to charge. To fight, fuck, and maul.
Instead of attacking, he tilted his head and considered her. “I didn’t give you that hit.”
“Yeah, well, I took it.” Point for her.
Begging for forgiveness was her best option at this point, but she wasn’t feeling apologetic. So she swung again.
This time, he caught her fist and wrenched her to her feet. The shower stall spun around her, and her cheek smacked against the tile wall. His body pinned there, his hand at her throat, cutting her air.
He was teaching her a lesson, proving he had the upper hand. He could crush her throat—her trachea, esophagus, and whatever else she needed to stay alive—with nothing but a squeeze of his fingers.
Pain pulsed beneath his grip, and she pawed at it, eyes watering and lungs burning for oxygen. Her fear was deep and cold, stinging without mercy. He said he wouldn’t kill her, and she hung onto that promise as dots blackened her vision.
“I’m going to take you right to the edge, Kate. Over and over again.” He let go of her.
She gasped, clutching at her throat and savoring the weightlessness of unbridled breath.
Wrapping his arms around her from behind, he pressed his mouth to her jaw. “You hate me for it now, but someday, if I earn your trust, that razored edge will set you free.”
>
He was completely unhinged if he thought she could ever trust him.
Grabbing her hands, he placed them on the wall before her. Then his fingers slid between her legs.
He worked her the way she knew he would—passionately and persuasively. Every touch rubbed salt in the wound of desire. His lips at her neck wobbled her knees. His hard, long cock against her backside coaxed cravings she didn’t want.
Engaged in a constant war, with him, with herself, she was tired. So goddamn tired.
As he sensed her body begin to yield, he braced his bleeding arm on the wall beside hers and guided her other hand between her legs. She was wet, not just from the shower but from her treacherous arousal.
Twining their fingers together, he glided them through her folds and around her clit. He stroked himself, stroked her, his foreplay an endless night of mind-fucking torment.
By the time he stuffed his cock into her from behind, she was grinding in his arms and panting raggedly.
He banged her against the wall, with his hand trapping hers where they were joined. Just another of his wicked tortures, forcing her to feel his strokes with her fingers, using their hands to caress each glide of his length as he thrust.
That erotic touch brought an awareness to the connection she couldn’t ignore. Sparks of pleasure shimmered across her fevered skin. Pleasure that belonged only to them. She couldn’t fight it, didn’t want to.
Greedy and mindless, she surrendered to the climax, moaning and rocking and clawing at the shower wall.
He pulled out, spun her around, and took her again, chest to chest, mouth to mouth, hiking her up his body, so he could kiss her as deeply as he pounded into her. He came fast and hard, roaring her name and shaking from head to toe.
“Never letting you go,” he whispered long after he finished, still buried inside her, still chanting her name as he caught his breath.
It wasn’t the last time he fucked her in the shower. Over the next two weeks, he took her there, on the mattress, the floor, and everywhere.
He moved her into his room, made her sleep in his bed, and spent more time inside her than out of her.
His headaches came and went. Some days, he exercised downstairs. Every day, he worked out in her body.
