Raw, stripped beyond my nudity, he grips my face in his hands.
“And now you’re hiding again because taking chances and really living for the first time in your life didn’t turn out the way you hoped it would. But I see you, Cecelia. I. See. You. You keep trying to give yourself, your heart, your allegiance away to anyone who will have it for reasons you can’t understand, but it’s so painfully clear. Your mother is a selfish narcissist, your father dodged his responsibilities, you feel that my brothers used you and abandoned you, and you’re putting on a brave front all the while you’re fucking dying inside.”
He tilts my chin with his thick finger, as a lone tear runs along my cheek. I grant him the sight of it, the last of my weakness gathering before he gently swipes it away with his thumb. “You’re sad and lonely, locking yourself up in this house day and night and I shouldn’t give a shit, but I know I’m partly to blame. I ransacked your life and—”
The crack of my palm against his cheek is sickly satisfying. He roars, gripping my wrists and pinning me to the dresser.
Eyes locked, I glare up at him a second before he slams his mouth over mine. It’s noteworthy from his kiss that he’s high from my pain, and all I’ve done is reward him with my reaction, my angry tears. He loves my opposition, and the sadness he’s inflicting with these heavy truths—his angle to take me down, just as psychological as it is strategic.
I rip my mouth away, shaking my head, disgusted. “You’re getting off on this, you sick fuck.”
“Sadly, so are you,” he counters, possessing my mouth again in a way I can’t—don’t want to escape. And I kiss him back because my body never listens. After all, he’s right. My heart was begging for love in all the wrong places, lurching in any direction for a home. But it’s not my heart he wants. It’s my spirit he’s intent on destroying.
He lifts his free hand to cradle my face and I grip his wrists, trying to tear myself away to no avail. He’s stripped me bare, robbed me of more pride with his easy appraisal. I hate that he can see it so clearly, see me so clearly.
Or that he did.
Because I’m no longer the woman I was yesterday or even an hour ago.
His words come out in a whisper. “You are a fighter. I’ll give you that.” His lips inches away, he searches my eyes. “But you give too much for not enough. You trust too easily because you’ve been lonely your whole fucking life.”
“Says a lonely king to the lonely little girl.”
Our chests rise and fall collectively as we watch one another for long seconds.
For the first time in my life, I’m in the deep end and I no longer want to find my kick, all I want to do is drown…in my enemy. He’s the way. The only way.
And once I do this, there’s no going back.
It’s as if he senses my decision when he lifts a hand to wrap the hair at my nape around his fist and pulls, exposing my neck. His breath hits a second before his full, warm lips land on my shoulder lapping the droplets of water away. Greedy, he draws them into his mouth as I tamp down the whimper on my tongue.
Snap the thread, Cecelia.
Leisurely, he moves across my collarbone drinking in more, savoring the water along my torso and down my stomach as angry tears threaten and I bite back a sob.
Determined to see this through, I sink my nails into his scalp as his hot mouth blazes a trail across my flesh. He devours, covering every inch in his path before he parts my thighs with his palms and begins licking at my core.
Fisting his hair, I cry out at the force in which he sucks, his thick locks tickling my thighs before his tongue darts out separating me, spearing my clit with precision. And with one sure swipe of his tongue, I go boneless, my back crashing into my dresser as I throw my head back and begin to ride his face.
“Damn you,” I pound his shoulders with open palms as his licks increase speed before he slips a probing finger into me. He eats me, his hunger fueled by my cries as I silently sag against my dresser, the knobs digging into my back. Soul aching, my desire for him consumes me as I begin to tremble uncontrollably. An orgasm threatens, and I deny myself, hating him, hating me, hating that nothing has ever felt so fucking good.
“Tu te retiens.” You’re fighting.
This much I understand.
He flicks his gaze up to mine as he works me with slick fingers. The sight of my wet heat coating his digits sets my blood on fire. “Je gagnerai.” I will win.
Lust overtakes me as he drags me down to the carpet spreading my thighs wide while he hovers above. Silent, he commands my eyes as he lowers his head and begins a second round of assault. With the beckoning of skilled fingers and one more long pull on my clit, I detonate in his mouth. He rims my pulsing core as he draws out every bit of my orgasm with the lap of his tongue.