Master of Salt & Bones - Keri Lake Page 0,116

cock slides across my soaked entrance that’s aching to be filled. Teasing and taunting me. “But I want to watch you squirm beneath me like hooked bait. Desperate.”

Biting my lip, I focus on the sensation of his skin against mine, rubbing across my sensitive slit every time he drives forward. The lust burning in my belly like hot coils ready to ignite.

“I want my name to echo inside your head like a blade across your skull, because that’s what you are to me. The knife that cuts deeper and deeper.” Every word that pours from his lips is like my own blade dragging across my arm, and I moan at the thought of such relief, that moment when the blood seeps through the burn.

“Please,” I whine, my body tense and trembling, waiting for it. Rolling my head on the pillow is all I can do to fight the feverish passion burning through me. The craving I feel for him right now must be what every junkie on the planet suffers, just before that needle plunges into the vein. “I need it. I need you.”

The tearing sound draws my attention to where he rips a condom free of its foil of between his teeth, and he slides it down his length before tossing the wrapper onto the nightstand. “You love this. You love what you do to me, don’t you?” Sheathed cock in hand, he slings my legs over his shoulders and drives forward, my body tensing with his size, and I breathe hard through clenched teeth.

“Relax, Isa.” He inches further, working his way deeper, stretching me with his girth. As he pushes to the hilt, filling my womb, his teeth come together in a hiss that ends on a curse.

Like an invisible string pulling my chest, I arch into him and cry out.

Capturing my screams in his mouth, he eats my cries of pain, devouring my breath, and thrusts deeper. A growl vibrates against my lips, and his cock slides in and out of me, creating a wet glide.

“Fuck, Isa,” he says against my mouth. “Fuck!” His breaths are broken and fervent, teeth scraping across my jaw.

Solid muscles flex and tremble beneath my hands, where I hold tight to his shoulders, drawing him into me. On a single-minded mission toward climax, he ravages my body, taking what he wants from me. Fiery and restless, he fucks as if his entire existence rides on pleasure, as if it’s a requirement for his survival, and I’m the food source.

All I can do is hang on and hope I survive the aftermath.

Skin slick with sweat, he reminds me of a starving animal cut loose from its confines, one determined to feed to the point of gluttony.

My stomach tightens at the sight of him, the smell of his skin, and the slapping sounds that echo in the room, as he works himself toward what he needs from me. I’m shaking with excitement and fear for what’s to come. The uncertainty of what it means now that we’ve crossed this line.

In my experiences with sex, which have been nothing more than quickies in the backseat of a car, there’s nothing beyond this. The guy does up his pants and drops me off at home. I wish I could say that I trust Lucian completely, and know he won’t discard me afterward, but I can’t trust what I’ve never known. As much as I want to come and give in to the pleasure alongside him, I don’t want the moment to end, for fear of the black void. The humiliation and shame that inevitably follows.

I offer myself up like a sacrifice, letting him tear away my skin, down to my bones, where the vulnerable parts of me are buried so deep, I don’t even recognize them anymore. Secret fantasies wrapped in delicate black ribbons, just wanting for a man like Lucian to pull the strings and unravel my tightly-woven facade.

We’re just having a little fun.

The tiny compartments inside my mind open to the voices from my past, and eyes screwed shut, I shake my head, willing them away.

No, please. Not now. I won’t let them ruin this moment.

You’re dirty. Nothing but a dirty fucking slut.

A spasm of pain sends jagged lights behind my eyelids, the panic seeping in from the fringes. “No,” I whisper.

A soft caress against my cheek draws my eyes open to Lucian. My dark knight. The shadow on my wall when I sleep. The tickle on my skin when I’m alone.

A man. Not

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