Page 155 of Fatality

Her eyes—that pale blue and pale green I'd fucking kneel for if they so much as asked me to—fly open, wide and disoriented, clouded with sleep for the briefest second before shock crashes in.

No.

I don’t kneel for anyone.

They kneel for me.

CHAPTER 31

Evren

Crave – DieYoung ft Tom Barber

The feeling of her throat working to eject me, the sight of her panicking and then fucking looking at me shock and then with a hate so pure, send a dark, fucking possessive, obsessive thrill down my spine.

She tries to twist her arms but I’m holding them above her head and my other hand is anchoring her to me.

I don’t stop, I can’t. I wish I could, but I can’t.

If anything, the sight of her, waking in panic, struggling against me, the hate, sends a fresh, dark thrill through my veins.

My hand in her hair tightens, enough to sting but not really harm, making sure she is aligning with my rhythm.

“Shhh,” I rasp, my voice low, a dominant hum. I look down at her, my eyes blazing with a possessive fire, I know it. She’s mine. “There you are. Took you long enough.”

I push deeper on the next thrust, feeling her throat convulse around me, struggling to take it all.

A low, guttural groan rumbles in my chest.

“That’s it, gag on it. Swallow it.”

The hand holding her head comes to grip her jaw, my thumb pressing into the hinge, forcing her mouth to stay open.

“This…” I slide back to the tip and thrust back. “Watching you wake up with my cock down your throat…” I thrust again “It’s way fucking better.”

I set a harder, more demanding pace, my hips pistoning, driving myself into the wet, tight heat of her mouth, tears start streaming down her eyes.

“Eyes on me Riven,” I command “Look at me while I use you.”

She struggles, trying to twist, but it’s just background noise for me.

A pathetic, beautiful resistance that only makes me harder.

I don’t let her turn away, the grip on her jaw and wrists is an iron vise, forcing her to take every inch of my thrust.

My hand leaves her jaw and slides down her body, over the fabric of her shirt that we put her on when I took her away from the Upper Layers, down to her thighs.

I grip her there, my fingers digging into the soft flesh, feeling the tremors that wrack her legs.

She is shaking, from hate, for the pulsion of murdering me, of course.

But probably also because, she is fucking aching.

I know it.

“Shaking?” I murmur, my voice a dark, hungry whisper against the sound of my own ragged breathing. “Good, remember it, because I’m far from done with you.”

I reach up, and slides my fingers under the waistband of the sweatpants, and reach for her pussy through that fucking thong.