“Good,” he says, retrieving a condom from the stand beside the bed. He hitches my legs up, settling between them, as he pulls his cock out, rolling the condom on.
He wastes no time thrusting inside.
I cry out as he fills me, tilting my head back, and barely have a chance to adjust before his body weight is pressing upon me, his hand around my throat. A chill of fear shoots down my spine, but he doesn’t squeeze. He could, though. Instead, he looks me dead in the face and says, “You zone out, I choke you. Whether or not I let go is anybody’s guess. You still okay with this?”
I nod, no hesitation.
I probably shouldn’t.
Hell, I know I shouldn’t.
Would he let go? I like to think so. But I’m not sure, and that’s what causes the panic to trickle into my chest, spiking my system. It’s sick. Maybe I’m sick, the fact that it excites me, that being just a breath away from death makes me feel alive again.
I shift my body beneath him until he slips out a bit before I buck my hips up, slamming into him so he fills me. He’s thick, and rock hard, but I’m so slick he just slides right in, like he was made to be inside me. His expression goes slack. I can practically see the pleasure flow through him. The man is rough around the edges, something so primal about him, but there’s something else there, something unexpected.
So much passion.
He moves then. He starts fucking me, just like he said he would, slamming hard, one hand still on my throat, the other digging into my hip as he pins me beneath him. Every thrust knocks the air from my lungs as I gasp, and whimper, and moan...
“You like that?” he asks, his voice low, barely a murmur against my lips before he kisses me so hard it hurts. “You like giving me this beautiful pussy? Like me taking it hard? Beating it? Fucking it? Killing it?”
“Yes,” I whisper, chills coating me as I let out a shaky breath. “I love it.”
“Love it, do you?” he asks with a little laugh, nudging my head aside to kiss along my jawline. “Savage little thing, aren’t you? Is that what your Scarlet Letter stands for?”
“Not even close.”
He bites my chin, and I hiss, flinching, before he pulls back to look at me. His movements slow a bit, but he’s still hitting deep, hard, pain tickling my stomach with every thrust.
“Seductive,” he says. “Submissive.”
He’s just spewing out S-words, I know, but that last one grates a nerve. My cheek twitches, and I tense, nails digging into his skin as I rake my hands along his shoulder blades. His eyes widen, the corner of his mouth lifting. Amused.
“Don’t like that one, huh?”
“Fuck you.”
The hand on my throat shifts up a bit, fingers pressing into the skin, not cutting off the air to my lungs, but it makes me lightheaded. He increases his pace, pounding into me, the room filled with the sound of skin slapping, cries escaping my throat. My vision blurs, my entire body tingling, but I keep my eyes fixed on him out of pure principle. He expects me to fade. He thinks I’m going to float away. But fuck him, if he thinks I’m submissive.
Fuck. Him.
I might love the way he makes me feel, but seriously, fuck him.
“You want to hurt me, don’t you?” he asks as I claw his back so hard I have to be drawing blood. “Got a bit of a sadistic side, don’t you, Scarlet? You like to give it as much as you take it, want to fuck up my face some more as I wreck this beautiful pussy of yours?”
He lets go of my throat, pulling away.
I don’t respond, because what can I say?
He forces my knees up to my chest, my legs over his shoulders as he shifts position, driving deeper, harder, faster. Oh god. His fingers find my clit, rubbing, stroking, and I can do nothing but make noise as he makes me come, over and over.
I don’t know how much I can take, and he’s not letting up. I’m soaked with sweat, my body trembling, muscles aching... even my fingers hurt from clutching his back. Eventually, he starts to slow down, hitting a few deep strokes. His face is nuzzled into my neck, teeth nipping at the skin as he grunts.
He stills then, lying down, not even trying to keep his weight off of me. Fuck, he’s heavy. I wrap my arms around him, too exhausted to fight it, and hear him muttering under his breath. “I feel like I could actually sleep tonight.”
Lorenzo does sleep, it turns out.
Me? Not so much.
For someone with a talent for zoning out, I can’t shut my mind off, lying next to him. I watch him sleep for a while, like a creep, staring at the steady rise and fall of his chest. Every time I move, he stirs a bit, and I feel guilty as hell, disturbing his slumber, so I just lay there in silence until I can’t take it any longer.
Carefully, I climb out of the bed, pulling my clothes on and tiptoeing out of the room before making my way downstairs. It’s still dark, but I can see where I’m going, in that space right before sunrise where the world is just starting to lighten.
I pause at the bottom of the staircase, my gaze drifting to the living room to the right of me, seeing someone standing in the doorway. A young guy, dressed in a black cable-knit sweater, wearing khakis and black boots. The younger brother, I’m guessing.
He shakes his head, staring into the living room. “Do I even want to know what happened to the couch?”
“It got a hole in it,” I say vaguely, not sure how much Lorenzo would share with him.
The guy startles at the sound of my voice, turning around. “You’re not Lorenzo.”
“Well, that’s something to be grateful for, huh?”
He seems to be about my age and looks just like Lorenzo… or well, how I imagine Lorenzo would look if the world hadn’t hurt him. Fresh-faced, wide-eyed, and kind of adorable, frankly. How he keeps any sort of innocence living in the same house as the menace upstairs, I don’t know, but I commend him for it.
Every moment I spend with the guy, I feel myself slipping further.
“I’m Leo,” he says, holding his hand out. “You are?”
“Morgan,” I say, shaking his hand lightly. Manners. Huh.
Someone’s apple fell far from the family tree.
“I’d ask how you know my brother, but well, I’m sure I probably don’t want to know.”
“Probably not,” I admit.
Before either of us can speak again, there’s noise on the stairs, footsteps that aren’t trying to tiptoe. Leo glances up, something akin to shock crossing his face before he spins around so fast it’s like he’s twirling. “Jesus, Lorenzo! Really, bro? Really?”
I glanced behind me, eyes widening. Lorenzo’s buck-naked, like the prince running through the glass tunnel, waltzing down the stairs like he’s not got a care in the world.
He’s groggy, only half-awake, everything prominently on display.
“Don’t act like you’ve never seen a dick before, Pretty Boy,” Lorenzo says, skirting around me, brushing against me. “I know you’ve got one. I used to change your diapers, remember?”
“No, I don’t remember,” Leo says, “but you certainly remind me enough.”
“That’s because it earns me the right to do whatever I damn well please,” Lorenzo says. “I wiped your ass, made your lunches, taught you how to treat a woman, and I let your girlfriend eat my groceries. Let me air my balls out without jumping my ass about it.”
Leo turns around then, laughing, no longer seeming to care or notice his brother’s not wearing clothes. “You taught me how to treat a woman?”
“I did,” he says, strolling past us, heading down the hallway, calling back as he says, “Showed you exactly what not to do if you were trying to keep one.”
Lorenzo disappears into the back of the house, past the library. Kitchen, I’m guessing. Process of elimination.
“Well, you certainly did that,” Leo mutters, turning to me, his cheeks flushing. “Sorry about that. He’s, uh… well, he’s him.”
Okay, that makes me laugh, which isn’t the response Leo expects, based on the strange look he gives me, but he’s apologizing for his brother—a genuine apology for Lorenzo’s behavior.