malice in his voice. Malice and the joy of reveling in the act. “There’s no stopping me now.”
“But—”
“You hit the magic number. Remember our game—I get something in return now, don’t I?” He growled. “I’m covered in blood. I just beat a man to death. And I need you.”
“I—”
It was useless. There wasn’t any stopping him. He growled, and his lips hovered over hers, his breath washing over her. He smelled of violence. Of the bitter metallic scent of blood. “Brace yourself, pretty girl…you’re in for a real rough night.”
17
Nero twisted his hand into her hair. Clenched it in his fist. She gasped, but she let him pull her head back and expose her throat. She was afraid. But she stayed pliant. She didn’t fight him. She didn’t strike him.
She surrendered.
I love you, Hope. I love you so, so, much. I won’t hurt you. Maybe only just a little.
He was covered in blood. He was going to ravage her. He was going to make her ache. He had held back this whole time—he hadn’t ever taken her in anger before. But tonight was going to be different. The damnable assassin was dead on the ground behind him, his head bashed open, blood and guts spilled out onto the tile. And he wanted to throw her down to the gore and roll her onto her stomach. He wanted to press her face into that cooling puddle of blood and rut her like a wild beast.
But that would probably be going too far.
Maybe.
Save that for after their first anniversary.
He dug his teeth into her neck where it joined her shoulder, right above her necklace. She moaned and went limp in his arms. Beautiful girl. Precious thing. She knew what he needed, and she wanted to give it to him.
But he wanted her to fight. He needed a brawl. The assassin had died too quickly. He was bleeding from a cut on his side and a split lip, but he wanted more.
He dragged her by her hair to his bedroom. She dug in her heels, she tried to yank away from him, but it was hopeless. He threw her toward the bed, and she collided with it. The force of it bent her top half over the silk. She was struggling to breathe already.
Slamming the door, he locked it shut. She had already pushed herself up from the bed and was standing there, trembling in fear.
Gods below, it made him want her so much.
He stripped off his clothing, tossing away the bloodstained fabric. He made her wait. When was naked, he walked to her and unclicked her bracers and tossed them onto the pile of his clothes. He wanted her to be blind. Truly blind.
He tilted her chin up to face him. “Hit me.”
She stammered for a moment. “What?”
“Fucking hit me, Hope.”
“I—”
He grabbed her around the throat. “Hit me!”
She slapped him. Hard. Harder than she ever had before. He laughed and cracked his neck. “Do it again.”
She did.
“Sweet girl.” It triggered something in him. It was like every nerve in his body was on fire. It was as if that dark part of his past had come roaring forward with brand new meaning. He pushed her toward the bed, and she lost her balance and had to sit down. He stood over her, cradling her head in his hands.
She was trembling. She probably wondered if he was going to snap her neck. “Pompei used to beat me. He used to pin me down and hit me. After a while…it started to turn me on. I didn’t want it to. But I couldn’t help it. I never understood why.” He picked up her hand and forced her to cup his desire. It was throbbing painfully, begging for attention, needing relief. “He used it against me. Any time he wanted me then, he just slapped me around a few times…and I was ready for him. I used to think it was my fault. That I was somehow a deviant. I suppose maybe I am.”
“Nero…”
He fisted her hair in his hand and pulled, tilting her head back. She hissed in a breath. “No. No pity. Tonight, I’m going to be rough with you, pretty girl. Do you think you can handle that?”
“I—I think so.”
“Really?”
She shivered. “I want to try.”
Fates, she is unbelievable. “Open your mouth, sweet girl.”
When she obeyed, he rammed himself into her mouth.
She was so perfect. So wonderful. So his.
“Fuck, Hope…ah…” He grabbed her head in both hands and began bobbing her on him.