Sweet Obsession: Ruthless Games #1 Page 8

  There’s something vicious in the action. Something primal.

  Like he’s trying to punish me, maybe, or teach me a lesson.

  Or maybe he’s trying to punish himself.

  He works his way down the length of my scar again, licking and sucking and biting the flesh like he’s trying to eat me alive. A barrage of different sensations crash into me, and I moan softly as my clit throbs.

  The only thing keeping me upright anymore is his firm grip on my neck and jaw, and I watch through hooded eyes as he presses his lips to the palm of my hand, dragging his nose over my skin as he inhales me.

  Then his eyes flash up to mine again, and any vulnerability I thought I saw in them earlier is gone.

  All I see now is heat.

  Possessiveness.

  Dominance.

  He moves my hand down between us again, and this time, he doesn’t rest it over his heart. Instead, he presses my palm to the place between his legs where his stiff cock pulses behind his jeans. Even through the fabric, I can tell he’s fucking huge, and he feels hot as a brand as my hand molds around his shape.

  Electric heat spikes inside me. A gush of wetness floods my panties.

  Fuck.

  Oh, fuck.

  A craving I can barely understand rises up inside me, and instead of pulling my hand away, I slip it out from beneath his and shove it down the front of his pants. My palm skates over the hard planes of his stomach, feeling the muscles contract under my touch, and past the waistband of his boxers until my fingertips brush velvety steel.

  “Fuuuck.”

  Marcus’s groan is deep and raw, and his hips jerk forward into my touch as his whole body leans into mine, his forehead resting against mine.

  I don’t know what the hell I’m doing right now. I don’t know why I need this so badly—but I need to hear him make that sound again.

  Wrapping my hand around the smooth skin of his cock, I squeeze him again, and he lets out a choked grunt, thrusting his hips once more.

  With our faces so close together, I’m inhaling his exhales, and it feels like our fucking souls are merging, like we’re stealing little pieces of each other with each breath.

  His grip on my jaw is so tight it almost hurts, and our noses brush, our lips nearly touching.

  “It’s always been you,” he murmurs roughly, his voice like sandpaper. “Ever since the first time I saw you that night. You’re my fucking guardian angel, my dirty secret, my broken doll. You’re everything I obsess over. Everything I crave.”

  This man is no one to me.

  My mind screams the words, but they die like echoes in an empty cavern.

  He may be nothing to me. But I don’t care anymore. Because whatever this is, I need it.

  Tilting my head, I shove against his hold on me, surging away from the door until my mouth meets his.

  This isn’t a soft brush of lips.

  It’s a violent collision.

  My teeth smash against the inside of my lip, drawing a bite of pain and a faint coppery taste. But it hardly matters, because his tongue is already stroking the seam of my mouth, demanding entry and lapping up the drop of blood at the same time.

  His body crushes me against the door, pinning my entire arm between us, my hand still shoved down his pants. Lips and teeth and tongues war as we kiss, wrestling with each other to get closer, to take more.

  Several drops of wetness slide down his cock and onto my fingers, and I squeeze him harder, stroking him as much as my limited range of motion will allow. His low grunts punctuate my gasps as we kiss like fucking animals, no grace or finesse to it, no sweetness to be found anywhere.

  Just hunger.

  Just raw, desperate need.

  My clit is throbbing so hard that every time I clench my pussy walls, a jolt of pleasure shoots through my body. I want his thick leg between mine again, want to ride the hard muscles of his thigh until I come.

  Or better yet, I want his cock. I want the heat that’s burning my hand to be inside me. I want it to mark me from the inside. To fucking brand me.

  I close my eyes as his kiss eviscerates me, rocking against him and pressing away from the door to get my body closer to his. I wish my other fucking arm worked, because I want to wrap it around him, to pull him closer, to pin him to me the same way he pinned me to the door. The half-limb flails uselessly, trying to wrap around him even though it can’t—as if my body has forgotten it’s missing a piece.

  Marcus has let go of my throat to move his hands all over my body, his touch rough and possessive. His fingers slide up under my shirt, drifting over my ribs and tracing the length of my spine before delving below the waistband of my pants to knead the flesh of my ass.

  Then he withdraws both hands to hook them around my thighs, lifting me and wrapping my legs around his waist. My good arm loops around his neck, and I’m vaguely aware of the door at my back disappearing as he turns and strides quickly across the room.

  He walks up the stairs without ever breaking the contact of our lips, and the jarring movement of each step grinds my clit against his hard body, making me whimper into his mouth.

  I don’t know where he takes me, just that a few moments later, we enter a dark, shadowy room. He drops me on a soft mattress, and before I can rise up onto my elbows, he’s tearing at the button and zipper of my pants.

  He fumbles slightly as he yanks them down, and my heart crashes in my chest.

  Marcus Constantine doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who fumbles over anything. He’s the embodiment of grace, power, and control. But his movements are rough and uncoordinated right now as he tugs my pants and panties off, throwing them and my shoes to the floor somewhere.

  He doesn’t even touch my tank top. He just grabs my legs and pulls me down the bed as he kneels at the foot of it, forcing my thighs open as he drags his tongue up the inside of my leg.

  “Wh-what are you doing?” I gasp.

  It’s a stupid fucking question. I know exactly what he’s doing.

  But I don’t think that’s quite what I mean, anyway. My question is bigger than that. Bigger than the way his breath burns my skin. Bigger than the way the wetness of his tongue makes my hips squirm on the bed as he bites at the muscle of my inner thigh, dragging my flesh between his teeth.

  My question is so big, I don’t think I’m ready to hear the answer to it.

  So when he ignores me just like he did earlier, I pretend I never asked, throwing my head back and fisting the soft sheets on the bed as his tongue reaches my pussy and slides up the length of my slit.

  “Oh god! Fuck!” My back arches, my legs twisting and straining in his grip as I try to escape the ravaging onslaught of sensation.

  It’s too much.

  Too intense.

  It’s going to fucking break me.

  He doesn’t stop though. He drags his tongue through my folds again, lapping me up like he’s dying of thirst. Then he latches onto my clit and sucks hard, making stars dance before my eyes as pain eclipses pleasure for a second.

  I let go of the sheets and grab desperately at his hair, digging into the roots of his rich brown strands and pulling hard.

  He growls against my skin, the sound vibrating through my clit as he keeps licking and sucking at it. A harsh scream rips from my throat when he scrapes his teeth over the sensitive bud, and I explode.

  The orgasm isn’t sweet or gentle.

  It’s not nice.

  It grabs me by the throat just like the man who gave it to me, stealing my breath and making my heart pound so hard I think it might crash through my ribs.

  The scream keeps pouring from me as my hips jerk and writhe uselessly against the unrelenting force of Marcus’s grip. He keeps lapping at me until my cry finally dies away, and when he lifts his head to look up at me, his lips and chin glisten with my arousal.

  Yanking his hair from my tight grasp and ignoring whatever pain it causes him, he crawls up my body, settling his heavy weight between my thighs as he crashes
his lips against mine again.

  I can taste myself on him. I can feel my own slick arousal smearing over my lips and face as he fucks my mouth with his tongue.

  It tastes sweet.

  It tastes filthy.

  It tastes like fucking defeat.

  The strokes of his tongue against mine finally slow, becoming deeper and more probing as he rocks against me, pressing his jeans-covered cock into the soft wetness of my soaked pussy. Then he wrenches himself away, kneeling between my legs as he drags in harsh, fast breaths. I’m still wearing my tank top and bra, and he grabs the hem of my shirt and yanks it over my head before slipping a hand beneath me to deftly unsnap my bra.

  He throws them both off the side of the bed, then pauses again, staring down at me as his tongue darts out to lick his lips.

  “Fuck.” The word is quiet, almost like he’s talking to himself more than me. “I’ve thought about this…”

  He shakes his head, like he’s dragging himself out of some inner thought. Keeping his gaze trained on me, pinning me to the mattress with no more than the weight of his stare, he reaches for the button of his jeans and pops it open. He shoves his pants and his boxers down in one quick motion, shucking them both before settling onto his knees between my legs, his hand wrapped around his cock.

  He’s got big hands, but even so, his cock looks massive as it throbs in his grip.

  What did it look like with my hand wrapped around it? My fingers and thumb didn’t even touch.

  My pussy clenches at the thought, making more wetness seep from me as a broken, desperate noise sounds in my throat.

  Marcus is still towering over me, holding his cock like it’s a fucking weapon. In the dim light of the room, the blue of his right iris seems to stand out even more, and I have a sudden vivid memory of him pushing inside me, filling me up, stretching me to my limit.

  He’s done it hundreds of times in my dreams.

  I’ve thought about this…

  He’s not the only one.

  The wave of pure insanity I’ve been riding ever since I came to this house takes over completely, and I reach for him, lifting my good arm to try to pull him down toward me. I can’t even reach him where he’s kneeling, but it doesn’t matter. My movement seems to jerk him out of whatever stasis he was trapped in, and he leans over me, bracing one hand beside my head as he finds my entrance with the thick head of his cock.

  I feel the beginning of the stretch, the way the fat head of his dick wedges inside me. And then, with no more warning or preamble, he pitches his hips forward hard and fast, driving balls deep in a single thrust.

  All the breath is driven from my lungs, leaving only enough air for a guttural grunt to pass my lips as I clutch at the arm that’s braced by my head, trying to survive the onslaught of sensations.

  It hurts.

  It soothes.

  It overwhelms.

  He fills me up so completely that there’s no room for anything else. The only thing that exists is Marcus.

  His broad shoulders hovering over mine.

  His lean waist between my legs.

  His firm ass clenching as he draws out and drives back in.

  His head hanging down, his eyes glassy and almost dazed, messy pieces of brown hair falling into his face.

  The clean aroma of soap and leather mixes with the musk of arousal and the heady scent of sweat, and when I force my lungs to draw in more air, all of those things flood my senses, overtaking my body.

  Marcus thrusts into me with brutal determination, not giving me any time to adjust to his size. Pain morphs into pleasure and back again, the sensations so closely connected that only a knife’s edge separates them.

  My hand that was hooked around his arm moves up to grasp at the back of his neck, fingernails digging into his skin as I drag him down on top of me. His lips find mine as our bodies rock on the bed, his chest brushing against my peaked, sensitive nipples with every stroke. Our tongues war, teeth clacking together as we invade each other’s mouths.

  “Jesus, you’re so fucking tight.” He grunts against my skin as he rips his lips from mine and drags them down the column of my throat. “So fucking perfect.”

  His mouth finds my bullet wound again, and he licks and sucks on it the same way he attacked my clit, as if he could somehow make the scar give me pleasure instead of pain.

  And maybe it does, because it doesn’t take long before my walls are clamping down around him, gripping his massive cock tightly as another orgasm ramps up inside me.

  My legs wrap tightly around his waist, locking our bodies together as he plunges inside me harder and faster.

  Finally, he lets out a deep, harsh grunt and slams into me one more time, throwing his head back as he comes. I swear I feel every lash of hot cum as it bathes my insides, and the feel of him pulsing inside me, the sight of his corded neck and bunched muscles—it has me so fucking close.

  I’m teetering on the edge as he grinds his hips against mine, his cock still pulsing softly. Then he looks down at me, his nostrils flaring as he breathes hard.

  “Uh uh. We’re not fucking done. We’re not done until you come again on my goddamn cock.”

  He braces himself on one arm again and slips his other hand between us, finding my clit with the pads of two fingers. I can feel the wetness of my cream and his cum slicking his fingers as he works them against my clit in deliberate motions, watching my face the entire time.

  I don’t want to give him this. I don’t want to let him see me break apart.

  But it’s too late to stop it.

  I was so fucking close already, and he knows exactly what he’s doing. His fingers move faster, sliding down just a little to find the perfect spot, and a wave of sensation blasts through my body.

  My legs tighten around him just like my pussy does, my entire body convulsing, trying to bring him closer and deeper as the orgasm crashes over me. “Oh, fuck!”

  He drops his weight onto me again, his hips grinding mercilessly against mine as his trapped fingers continue to swirl over my clit. I don’t think he can possibly come again, but it feels like his cock is trying, throbbing inside me once more as his whole body shudders.

  Then he rests on top of me, his full weight pressing me into the mattress as his body and mine both go boneless.

  Chapter 9

  I can’t move.

  I can barely breathe.

  And I definitely can’t think.

  I’ve never felt this untethered before. It feels like I’ve slipped into some sort of alternate dimension where nothing is real. Where nothing matters. Where every bit of pain and trauma in my past no longer exists, where it doesn’t drag on my heart and mind like a lead fucking weight.

  I feel… peaceful.

  Drawing in little sips of air through my nose, I let my fingers drag through the hair at the nape of Marcus’s neck, relaxing into the feeling of his chest crushed against mine, his cock still buried inside me.

  The peace won’t last. I know that.

  Just outside this bubble, reality is screaming at me, but for a few more moments, I’ll let myself ignore it.

  My body is exhausted, pummeled and worn out by pleasure. When Marcus pulls out of me, I hiss a pained breath at the sting in my raw pussy, and he makes a noise low in his throat.

  My eyelids drift shut, and I don’t move when I feel the mattress shift and hear his footsteps pad across the room. The mattress dips again a few moments later, and a warm, wet cloth moves gently over my core, wiping away the cum that seeps from me and soothing the ache in my flesh.

  I’ve never had a man clean me up after sex before.

  Not like this, anyway.

  Not tenderly. Not carefully.

  That thought calls up a sharp memory of a battered fifteen-year-old clutching a pair of shredded panties, and my body suddenly turns cold. I roll onto my side and curl in on myself, trying to protect myself from the visceral memories. From the hurt that lingers in my past, infecting my present and refusing to
die.

  But a warm body settles behind mine, and when Marcus pulls me back toward him, draping his heavy arm over me as he tucks me into the cradle of his large frame, I don’t resist.

  The heat radiating from him burns away some of the chill in my bones, and I find myself sinking toward sleep, my muscles relaxing in increments.

  I don’t know how long we stay like that, and I don’t think I ever completely fall asleep. All I know is that by the time Marcus moves, my body has melted against his, and I’m warm all the way through, despite the fact that I’m still totally naked.

  When he sits up, the loss of his skin pressed against mine makes me blink my eyes open.

  The room has gotten darker now that the sun is completely down outside, but it floods with warm golden light as he flicks on the bedside lamp.

  I feel the mattress shift again before he settles back down beside me—near me, but not touching me this time. I roll over onto my back and glance at him.

  And my heart nearly stops.

  He’s got the little cigarette case I use as a wallet open in his hands, flipping through the contents as if he’s got every fucking right to be going through my shit.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  I sit up so fast my head spins, grabbing for the small metal case.

  He holds me off with one arm, moving his other hand quickly to keep the cigarette case out of my reach. My heart rate spikes, panic spreading through me like a shot of adrenaline, and I practically crawl over his body, ignoring the fact that we’re both still naked as I dive for the case again.

  We wrestle over it, but he’s too big and his arms are too fucking long—not to mention, he’s got two of them and I only have one. I’m fully straddling him by the time I manage to get it back, and it doesn’t escape my notice that he’s semi-hard again, his cock pressing against my ass.

  I snap the case shut with one hand and pin it to my chest, then scramble awkwardly off of him, almost face-planting on the mattress in my haste to put some distance between us.

  My heart is pounding hard and fast, and if I needed a reminder that I shouldn’t trust this fucking guy, he just handed it to me on a goddamn silver platter.