“So what do you say, sheshissma?” The teasing tone didn’t fool her; his voice behind it was hoarse. “What do you want? To work off some of that anger?”
He edged the panties aside so he could slide his fingers along the bare, slick folds of her skin. His own rough breath drowned out the moan she couldn’t stop. “You want to take it out on me, my bryaela? Use me? Hurt me?”
Fear slid down her spine, meeting the heat pooling in her pelvis and sending a shiver through her body. This was dangerous. She should pull away, put a stop to it, because his words were edging her far too close to a chasm she wasn’t sure she could emerge safely from.
But oh God, she wanted to jump.
“Do you? Is that what you want? I’m here. Just tell me. Whatever you want, we’ll do it.”
He unzipped her dress and slid it from her shoulders, stopping just at the point where the fabric trapped her arms at her waist. Her bra was next; cool air swirled over her aching nipples as the scrap of lace and wire fell from them. She still couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes, so she floated weightless in perfect darkness, with only his warmth and hands keeping her in the world.
Those hands sculpted her body from the air, creating every line and curve as they traced them. It should have been as soothing as it was arousing. Normally his touch made her purr like an extremely contented lion. Now…like the flames of his energy burning in her chest, between her legs, so her restlessness grew, her need to do something, anything, to move. Tears of frustration sprang to her eyes. Why was he doing this to her? Why was he forcing her to be still, to not let it go, to not run through the darkness and scream in bloody triumph?
“Jesus, Meg…you make me ache. How do you do that…” More teeth now, harder, nipping at her shoulders. He filled his hands with her breasts, lifting them, and the heat of his skin radiated out.
Flames appeared, dancing along the top of the window, hovering above them. They were in a different world now, the one where he ruled, and the knowledge of his domination forced the word from her lips.
“Yes…”
Megan reached behind her, forcing her hand between them to caress the hard ridge of his cock.
He bit her neck, so hard she felt her skin dent and bruise beneath his teeth, and it was as if he’d flipped a switch, set her free. She spun around and tried to wrap her arms around him, but they were still trapped by her dress. She shoved them forward as far as she could, managing to grip the firm muscles of his ass in her hands before his lips found hers and sent her flying into the burning sun.
His growl rumbled against her lips, into her mouth. Their tongues tangled, fighting a war Megan didn’t think could be won, as he shoved her hands away and freed them from her dress, pushing it down over her hips to fall on the floor.
She yanked at his tie, pulling his shirt open, dragging it up from his waistband. Her panties disappeared. She thought she heard them tear, thought she felt the tug against her skin as they did so, but didn’t care.
Together they fell onto the bed. Megan thrust his shirt away, desperate to feel his bare skin beneath her palms, beneath her nails. She wanted to bury them in it, to see his blood dark against the tawny flesh.
The thing inside her, the demon or ghoul or simply a part of herself she’d never known before, still raged and ripped at her with sharp, terrible claws, roaring in anticipation when he unfastened his belt with one quick, decisive movement and removed his pants.
He shoved himself inside her with more force than finesse, and Megan screamed his name, her back arching, her legs spreading wider. His answering cry was lost somewhere in the waves of pleasure crashing over her, drowning her. She dug her nails into his skin and felt it break; she smelled his blood in the air. The scream erupting from her mouth didn’t even sound like her voice. She was gone, lost, trapped in a body too small for the tumultuous emotions inside it.
His fingers twisted in the hair at her nape and yanked, pulling her head back so far all she could see was the opposite wall. It didn’t matter. His face was seared into her brain. She focused on it, seeing him, feeling him burning deep inside with his every rapid, forceful thrust.
“Go on, Meg,” he gasped. The pressure on her neck relaxed as he pulled her face closer. His eyes glowed like traffic lights, redder than she’d ever seen them. “Whatever you want. I can take it.”
Her hand moved before she even realized it, before she thought of it, striking out at him with the same unreal speed she’d noticed when Maldon had tried to touch her hair.
Not fast enough. Greyson caught it before it hit him, his fingers making the bones in her wrist grind together painfully. Sharp tingles ran up her arm and blossomed into something stronger in her chest.
She tried again, harder, faster, wanting to hurt him, wanting to feel that power, but he caught her again and slammed her wrist down onto the bed. She wanted to cry, but instead of disappointment, instead of anger, she felt relief. She couldn’t hurt him. He’d beaten her. He would beat her every time, and for some reason that knowledge made her feel safe. She could let her rage go, let it take over. Permission was granted. Her heartbeat sped up.
As if he sensed this—and he probably did—he let go of her hand and took her lips again, plundering her mouth, not stilling or slowing his movements inside her.
“Just…just fuck me,” she managed. “Greyson…”
She hadn’t thought he could go faster, harder, but he did. He gripped the edge of the mattress, using it as leverage while he reared up over her and slammed into her. The smooth perfection of his chest hovered only inches from her mouth. She lifted her head and sank her teeth into it, twisting her fingers in his hair and pulling as hard as she could while the fingernails of her other hand made fresh gouges in his back.
His voice echoed in the small room, mingling with hers. She couldn’t stop herself, couldn’t control herself. Flames filled her body, filled her vision, destroying everything else. All the memories of the last few days, all the memories of this house and her childhood, her father’s betrayal, eradicated in a second by the voracious fire, mixing with the rage and pain and turning into something so pure she wanted to live on it.
“Greyson!” Her back arched as the first waves of her climax rolled through her. Megan rode it, letting it wash her clean, until nothing was left of her but her bare, stripped soul wrapped around him.
His final thrust almost pushed her off the bed. He swelled inside her, impossibly large, wringing one last scream from her throat to almost cover his, until the walls of her childhood bedroom shook from the force of their release and he collapsed on top of her.
Chapter 17
The room looked as though a lecherous hurricane had blown through it. Papers covered everything, the comforter had somehow ended up bunched on the floor, and the sheets had come away from the corners of the mattress. Droplets and streaks of blood decorated them, visible sins on the snowy white.
It smelled like smoke and sweat and blood and sex, mingling together like a bordello carpet.
All of this Megan observed when she sat up and found the remains of her panties, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. The room could be cleaned. Her mind was not so easily erased.
Greyson entered holding a pie plate and a bottle of water, which he handed to her without comment. The icy liquid cleared some of the cobwebs in her head, but when he sat down shock replaced them.
“Oh God…did I do that?”
The wounds were already healing, which made them look worse. Deep, angry furrows covered his back from shoulder blades to waist, surrounded by blood dried almost black.
He nodded, sticking his fork into a piece of her mother’s famous apple crisp. His gaze traveled from the top of her head to her feet. “And I did that to you.”