her with a vicious thrust. Ah, fuck, but she’s a fighter to the last, and her body resists me. It takes another to break through, and the hot rush of her virgin blood calls to my worst impulses.
I fuck her like she’s prey, trapped under the weight of me, lost in the unbelievable tightness of her and the gripping, primal glide of flesh on slick flesh. A flash of green, the color of her eyes, begs for red. I reach between us and find some on my fingertips then trace a jagged path between her breasts. She’s breathing fast, hard, air forced out every time I take her again. I trace the line of her jaw, the front of her throat. “I don’t believe you,” I tell her. “I don’t fucking believe you.”
She cries out, trying and failing to keep her hands above her head, and Brigit wraps her small hands around my wrist. It’s like she’s trying to help me, and that sets off lust like a bomb. It has to be hurting her, fucking her this roughly, with this much abandon, and nothing can stop me. Even Brigit isn’t pushing me away. She’s pulling in, her hands tight on my wrist, her body begging.
I give her what she wants.
She disappears into herself, panting, those sharp little breaths that give her away. This is worse than performing. This is what she hated so much in the lounge.
I don’t let her stop.
I take my hand away and thread it through her hair again, pulling tight enough to bring more tears to her eyes. Her hips work against mine, coating us both in her blood and her desire, and I’m a fucking animal, biting her, fucking her with deep thrusts and pulls that make her moans pitch higher and higher until it’s time.
Her eyes fly open at the shift in my hand, trying to follow it—but she can’t because of the frankly obscene way I have her pinned on the bed. She jumps when my knuckles make contact with her clit. Jumps again, then freezes.
I trace a slow circle on her swollen nub, then another, stroking so deep with my cock I bottom out. “No,” she manages. “Not again, please not again, don’t make me like this—”
“Yes.”
A twist of my hand and I get the pad of my thumb there. The lightest possible pressure. Relentless circles. And my newest little whore can’t help herself. Her hips rock up into my touch, even though it hurts her. Her moans become something else entirely, something low and raw and more panicked by the second. This is what she didn’t count on. It’s confusing. Humiliating. I won’t stop until it happens.
Brigit puts a knuckle to her teeth, and I bat her hand away, pinning her arm above her head while the other hand scrabbles for purchase on the comforter. Her hips jerk out of rhythm, and she tightens around my cock—impossible, it should be impossible—and then she comes in a wash of heat and a cry that is so pure it almost kills me.
Instead of dying, I empty myself into her with abandon.
It’s the first release in years that’s given me anything, and I reward Brigit for it by forcing her to come on my cock a second time. This one’s tougher—she fights me on it, trying to get my hands away from oversensitive skin. I make sure she hears me laughing while the pleasure builds. “Make me believe it,” I whisper into her ear.
She comes hard, gritting her teeth, giving in.
When I’m finished with her, I pull out and drag my cock across her legs, marking her again. Brigit gets herself up onto her knees, and I realize it’s because she’s preparing for what’s next. She’s not going to be caught lying down.
I can’t let her believe her own delusion. On her knees or not, she’s mine.
Brigit doesn’t flinch when I edge closer, and not when I wrap a hand around the back of her neck. Not when I test between her legs with two fingers, though she hisses with pain. I use those fingers to play at her newly fucked entrance and put my thumb to her clit again. Such a good girl. She must truly need the money. Her legs shake, but she keeps them apart while I bring her to a third, ragged orgasm, fucking her casually with my fingers until she leans her forehead into my shoulder, her fingernails carving crescents in my arms, and comes. Brigit rides the