by A. Zavarelli
“Scarlett?” he whispers as he nibbles on my ear.
“Yes?”
“You won’t use me to punish yourself,” he says. “Whatever crazy notion you’ve got up in that head of yours, let it go now. Relax. You have the control to tell me to stop whenever ye want, sweetheart. And I will. But trust me a little, can ye?”
I lean into him and rest against his chest. Where his skin is warm, and he smells like salt and citrus and ocean breezes. There’s still a scar on his bicep from where I stabbed him and I’ve left my mark on him and I like that.
I touch it with my fingers and he touches me too.
He’s playing with me now. Moving his fingers over me and whispering into my ear. He tells me I’m the most beautiful and hellish woman he’s ever seen. He loves my tits and my ass and that this pussy is his now.
The line is cresting higher and higher. I’m at the peak of a rollercoaster. And I’m about to fall.
The release is violent.
I come on Rory’s cock just like he wanted and I’m squeezing him inside of me and he’s groaning with every contraction. My body has collapsed forward, and the sheer size of him swallows me whole when he wraps his arms around me.
“Now I want ye to fuck me,” he says.
This time, he leans back in the chair and spreads his legs wider.
“Ball’s in your court. I’d love nothing more than to watch ye ride my cock like you wanted.”
I grab his shoulders and use them for leverage as I do exactly what he said.
I ride him.
Slowly at first. It’s awkward and clumsy.
I’m practiced at seduction. It’s an art I’ve perfected. But this, I’m a brand-new student. I’ve always been the one being fucked, the few times that it happened.
Now I’m fucking him.
And it feels good. The harder I go at him, the more he groans, and the better it feels for me too.
There’s a reflection of us in the mirror across the room. My smaller body mounted on his massive frame that extends beyond the chair. His legs spread wide and his hands on the back of my heels, holding me in place.
He’s watching us too, in the reflection. And his eyes are on me. Only me.
He pulls on my hair and forces me to arch my back so he can taste my nipples again.
At some point, one of his hands moves between my thighs again. And I come for him, again. It’s not any less violent and Rory can’t fucking stand it.
He grabs my hips and stills me, holding me in place as he thrusts up from below, as deep as he can get. His head tips back and his lips part and he empties himself with a deep groan.
His warmth spreads inside of me. Filling me up.
And I like it. I like to imagine that warmth destroying all the bad of my past. Obliterating any other who has been inside of me this way.
Neither of us moves, even as he softens inside of me.
Rory kisses me again, and then eventually carries me to the bed. I’m too tired to fight it, but then he spoons me.
“What are you doing?”
“Cuddling,” he murmurs into my back.
“But… that’s…”
Words have literally failed me.
I feel his smile against my skin. “Get used to it, sweetheart,” he says. “Ye’re going to get a whole lot weirder with me.”
15
RORY
SHE TRIES to sneak off on me in the morning, so I grab her by the wrist and yank her back into bed, trapping her with my arm.
“Uggg,” she groans. “Get off me. I’ve had about enough of this cuddling bullshit.”
I kiss her throat, and she softens against me.
“How do ye take your eggs?”
She’s quiet for a moment, and then, “what the hell kind of question is that?”
“Seems like the sort of thing ye should ask a woman the morning after. Before ye have another go at her.”
“Gee, you’re so thoughtful,” she muses. “Asking how I take my eggs while you’re still covered in Ethan’s blood.”
Her words provoke me, and it’s exactly her intention because she’s scared and she wants to run from me and whatever she’s feeling right now.
“This isn’t a bleeding joke, Scarlett,” I tell her. “And we are going to talk about it, too.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” she argues.
I take a deep breath. And then another.
“I have no problem sorting out a bloke for ye. All ye ever had to do was ask. But there’s a time and a place. And that wasn’t it.”
“It’s no big deal,” she snaps. “The news reports said it was a robbery gone wrong.”
Her phone is on the nightstand, and she must have retrieved it at some point during the night. The thought of her waking up in the middle of the night and then coming back to me when she had the choice to leave… it makes me feel something.
I yank her into my chest and drag my lips along the soft skin of her neck. Breathing in the fading scent of her perfume and even some of me where I rubbed off on her. I like that too.
“The news reports said it was a robbery gone wrong because we got lucky. That isn’t the way we do things, Scarlett. You almost fucked us both last night.”
“Well then you can just fuck off.” She tries to pull away again. “If you’re so goddamn worried about catching heat.”
I pin her to the bed and bear my weight down on her, forcing her to look at me.
She’s doing that thing again. Breathing fast. Her fingers dig into my biceps as her eyes squeeze shut.
“Scarlett.”
She doesn’t reply.
“It’s me, baby doll. You have nothing to be scared of with me.”
“Get off me.”
Her voice is soft like a child’s and broken like nothing I’ve heard from her before. And I am a fuckwit of the highest order. I sit up and pull her with me.
I give her enough distance to breathe, but not enough to let her run out on me again.
After a few moments, it’s like it never even happened.
“You’re either with me, or against me,” she says. “It’s the only way.”
“I’m always on your side, sweetheart,” I assure her. “But I need to understand what’s happening here.”
She looks at me, and it’s obvious that she’s hanging on by a thread. Whatever is going on, it’s slowly unraveling what little sanity she has left. There is so much rage inside of her. So much hurt. And I want to take it away for her, but she won’t let me.
“Is someone threatening you? Was that prick threatening you?”
“They’re all a threat,” she says. “They all need to go. Because it’s either them or me. And it’s never going to be me.”
I’m trying to make sense of her riddles. The broken bits of information she feeds me, but it isn’t easy.
“Them,” I repeat. “So, there’s more.”
“I have a list,” she answers.
And why does that not surprise me?
The room falls quiet, and I honestly have no bloody clue how to help her. In her mind, this story is already written. There’s a hurricane brewing in her eyes, and it’s heading straight for whoever fucked her over.
There is only one thing I can offer her. One thing that will ensure she doesn’t destroy herself in the process.
“Let me help you.”
She looks at me, and her face is blank again. Empty again. And we’re right back to square fucking one again.
“Who said I needed help?” she asks. “You could be at the top of my list, for all you know.”
“Let me rephrase that,” I tell her. “I’m going to help you. And ye’re going to accept it without any more bitching and moaning.”
She opens her mouth, and I cover it with my hand.
“I wasn’t done.”
She glares at me, and I continue.
“I have a condition to your acceptance of my help.”
Her eyes are burning through me, probably murderin
g me a dozen different ways in her mind, but the silence is golden, even if forced.
“Ye’re going to tell me your real name.”
She peels my fingers off her mouth one by one and something has flipped inside of her. A switch. Her eyes are predatory when she leans forward, hunting me across the bed.
And I have to admit, it scares me a little when she reaches down and squeezes my cock through the material of my jocks. I haven’t a clue if she intends to rip it off or worship it. It could go either way with Scarlett.
Her fingers wrap around the hard flesh, a smile curling across her devilish lips when she feels my body responding to her.
“All the women who want you… do they make you promises of being the best you’ve ever had?”
I reach for her hand to pull it away, convinced she’s about to turn on me any second. But she shoves my hand away and straddles me instead.
“Were any of them better than me?”
She kisses her way down my throat, and I’ve already forgotten the question. Somehow my jocks are pulled down, and she’s not wearing any panties and she’s rubbing herself all over my dick.
She digs her fingers into my shoulders and glares at me.
“I asked you a question.”
“Honestly, baby doll,” I admit. “I never wanted anyone as badly as I’ve wanted you. You rocked my fucking world.”
She smiles again, and it scares me.
Fucking Satan is in my lap, looking hotter than any fallen angel should ever look.
“Let’s do it again,” she says. “Just in case you try to go and forget later on.”
“I won’t forget,” I assure her, even as I whip her bra off and bury my face in her breasts.
They are perfect and soft and pillowy and I could spend my whole life here, napping and fucking and eating off her ungodly body.
We’re both a fucking mess, and I’m still covered in Ethan’s blood. But she doesn’t give a fuck. In fact, I think she likes it even more the second time around when she kisses down my chest and licks some of it off my nipple.
Jesus fucking Christ.
It would be fucked up if it wasn’t so hot.
My sadistic little hellion.
Scarlett’s trying to get straight down to business, intent on shoving my cock up inside of her and riding me like she’s only got eight seconds to do it.
But I’m not about to let her have control the second time around, and she needs to know it. The first time was a courtesy to her. A mutual trust and respect. But this time, I’m in charge, and she’s going to fucking know it.
I flip her onto her back and watch her breasts bounce when I yank her down the bed. She yelps and struggles until I drag her pussy onto my face.
“Jesus Christ,” she yells.
“It’s Rory.” I smile against her. “But that works too.”
“I don’t know what you think you’re doing…”
Her words come to an abrupt end when I start eating her out like she’s my last meal. Her hands tangle in my hair like she wants to pull me away, but instead she’s yanking me closer, riding my face because she can’t help herself.
I like seeing her this way. Back bowed, lips parted and head tilted back. Her perfect tits are on display for me, round and swollen and I want them in my mouth too. I want all of her. Every orgasm, every psychotic thought. Her anger and her wit and her loss of self-control on my face.
I want to be the only one who’s ever seen her like this.
I’m going to do everything to her.
Every dirty, filthy, hot and depraved thing I can think of.
I own these moments from now on, and I tell her so.
“Fuck me,” she cries out as she crests higher and higher. “I don’t like this.”
“You fucking love it.”
She wrenches her head back and comes relentlessly, just to prove how much she doesn’t fucking like it. My little liar. I taste her until she begs me to stop, panting and out of breath.
When I try to climb up over her, hoping she’s too spent to argue with me, she pushes me back instead.
Taking back her control.
“My turn,” she says. “Better hope I don’t bite.”
And then she dives face first into my groin. And fuck me, her mouth is heaven. I’ve changed my mind about her tits. I want to live here instead.
She shoves me flat onto the bed to give herself better access to my cock, and apparently, my balls too.
She’s touching them with her hand. And licking them now too. And Jesus fucking motherfucking shite fuck Christ.
I want to ask her if it’s her first blowjob. Mostly because I want to hear her say yes.
“It actually is,” she tells me, and I guess I did say it out loud. “Now tell me I’m good at it.”
“Ye’re the best, baby.” My back arches off the bed and my hands are in her hair and she’s bobbing up and down on me and I don’t know if it’s a lie but I don’t care. Her lips are wrapped around me and they were made for sucking my dick.
Drag me out into a field and shoot me because I am done for.
She’s hard and then soft and just when I think I know what I’m going to get she changes everything.
It feels so fucking good I don’t want her to stop.
But I’m like a kid with too many toys and I am torn. I want to come inside of her again. I want to fuck her raw again. I want to come on her tits and her arse and her throat and in her mouth. In a car and on a plane and on a motherfucking train. I want to fuck her all day, every day, and oh fuck… there it is.
I explode inside of her mouth.
She swallows it, and she’s still licking my cock and I fall back onto the bed and throw an arm over my face.
“Jesus Christ.”
“It’s Scarlett,” she mocks me.
I have to pull her off my cock because she’s still going at it and she loves it just as much as I do. But I need a breather and we need to talk.
She lays down beside me, and we’re both quiet and I’m thinking about what I want to do with her today. She apparently is thinking how to ruin this.
“So, we’re even now, right?”
“What?” I pull my arm off my face and glance over at her.
“I made you feel good. So we’re even.”
“Don’t ye ever just give it a fecking rest?” I ask her.
She glares at me and covers up her tits, and this is all wrong.
“I don’t like to owe anyone anything.”
“For fucks sake,” I growl under my breath. “Can ye please dispense with the bleeding bullshit? Just for five minutes, Scarlett. This was not a goddamn tit for tat.”
“You’re right.” She bolts up and starts gathering up her clothes. “It was nothing.”
She looks me in the eye then, goading me.
“Even less than nothing,” she clarifies. “Because I’d have to care for it to be something. And as you already know, I just have this thing where… well I really don’t give a fuck. About anyone.”
“That’s how ye want to play it?” I ask.
I’m exhausted with this game, and when she pulls shite like this, it’s hard not to be. She’s always pushing me away. Always trying to cut me and make me bleed. She’s so quick to draw her weapons, and the most dangerous one is always her tongue.
But then I take one look at her, and I know that I’ll always play this game with her.
Because I do care.
And Scarlett needs someone to care about her. For at least once in her life.
16
SCARLETT
PUT ON YOUR BOXING GLOVES, sports fans. Looks like there’s another contender.
Conor gives me a lift home at Rory’s insistence.
He’s quiet and broody which suits me just fine. Don’t know what I ever did to offend his delicate sensibilities but I don’t really give a fuck either.
When he pulls up to my apartment building, I make a mad dash for it because all I wanted was a ride and not an attitude.
But Conor follows me up the stairs- uninvited- and I’m already annoyed and why the hell is he still here?
“I don’t need an escort,” I tell him.
“Saint doesn’t want you going in to the apartment alone,” he says. “I’ve got orders, and I’m going to follow them, whether you like it or not.”
The way he says he’s got orders makes him sound like he’s about to invade the Middle East. And I want to tell him if he wants to enlist, all he had to do was say so. But one look at him and I know Conor couldn’t handle my war.
“What are you going to do?” I ask. “Protect me from the big bad wolf?”
“You really are a bitch,” he mutters.
Words are just words and sticks and stones and all that, but it bothers me that he thinks so because I am a bitch but he doesn’t need to say it.
“Don’t act like you know me.”
I unlock the door and he barges in before me, going about his duties like a good soldier. He checks for monsters and killers, completely oblivious to the fact that the worst is already standing right in front of him.
“Satisfied?” I ask.
He pauses at the kitchen counter and looks at me.
“I felt sorry for you,” he says. “That whole thing that happened with the butcher? You didn’t deserve that. Nobody deserves that, Scarlett.”
The scars on my chest burn the way they always do when someone brings it up. I want him to stop talking and I tell him so.
He carries on anyway.
“I get that you’re fucked up in the head. But we’ve all had a shitty go of it, okay? Even Rory. It doesn’t give you the right to take your hate out on everyone else.”
“Stop talking,” I tell him again. “And get the fuck out of my apartment.”
“He cares about you,” Conor says. “And I know you’re fucking with him. I can see it in your eyes. We all can. He doesn’t deserve that any more than you deserve what happened to you.”
He keeps talking about the butcher and he’s being an asshole and now it’s all I can see. All I can feel. His body on top of me. Inside of me. His taunting words and the blade of his knife slashing through my skin.
Conor’s laughing. Or is it just in my head?
