She didn’t stop thrashing, didn’t for a second make it easy for him. But he was bigger, stronger, built with the right equipment and the cruel agility to take a woman from behind.
In one thrust, he stabbed past her opening, driving hard and spearing her to the very hilt of himself.
Tears hit her eyes as a strangled groan sounded in his throat. He rocked against her, picking up speed, digging deeper, violating, ravaging, and grunting in her ear. She wanted to die.
He fucked into her over and over like an animal, opening her legs wider with the spread of his powerful thighs. His hands were on her everywhere, grappling, stroking, and mauling while at the same time holding her immobile.
The condom must’ve been lubricated, because the initial burn dissolved into slippery wet strokes. He was thrusting savagely, jerking out, slamming in, and building a rhythm that made her writhe in agony.
It didn’t hurt, and she hated him for that. She hated that he fit inside her just right and that he moved his body so sensually and obsessively, suggesting he was fully engaged in this, physically and emotionally.
This wasn’t like the three-minute ruts she endured from the brothers. He fucked her with passion and filled her with fire, penetrating her body with his entire being, forcing her to feel him beneath her skin, taking over every cell, and delving deep into her core.
She gasped and clawed at the floor, frantic to escape the overbearing onslaught of his fervor. Gaining a few inches, she saw Tomas watching from the door before she was dragged back beneath John and utterly devoured.
That was the only way to describe it. His lips locked onto her nape, tasting and consuming, his tongue laving at her damp hairline, only deepening the fevered kisses on her neck, then her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth.
Her senses swam, her breathing unmanageable. She tried to struggle, but he only buried himself deeper, stretching her, stuffing her, nailing her to the floor, and rendering her even more helpless.
“Goddamn, you feel unreal.” He surged harder, his fingers wedged beneath her chest, tormenting her breasts. “Fucking incredible.”
He attacked the shirt, the material ripping and pulling in a flurry of urgent movements, buttons breaking, and her arms forced from sleeves. Her whole body jostled with the frantic piston of his hips and the tugs on the fabric, causing her bare nipples to scrape against the coarse rug beneath her.
She tried to push up, to crawl away, but her arms gave out from under her.
“All that straining and fighting makes your pussy clench.” He lurched back with a sudden outward pull, only to ram back in, stretching her wider around the slick steel of his cock. “Christ, you’re tight. Hot. Wet. I want to feel you bareback.”
“I hope your dick rots off.”
“Give me that fucking mouth.” His arm banded around her chest, holding her tight as he gripped her chin and fused their lips.
She used her teeth, her hands, the last of her strength, but she couldn’t stop his tongue from melding with hers. His mouth ground with maddening pressure, his fist balled in her hair, and he took. Lord have mercy, he took, deep and long and ravenously, while shoving his cock, plunging mercilessly, and groaning with poisonous pleasure.
He was heat and virility, fury and stamina, plundering and claiming with a skill that destroyed everything she knew about sex. No one had ever fucked her so vehemently. Every touch, kiss, and thrust was an effusive blaze, flowing out, over, and through her.
Answering heat simmered her blood. Her insides burned and tightened. Nerve endings sizzled, and her soul shook. She was shook. Mentally unhinged. Damned to eternal hell.
She wanted him to punish her. She needed him to beat her, hurt her, smack her back into reality. Anything but this. What he was doing to her, making her crave it… It was sick.
She was sick.
Faster and faster he moved inside her, sparking pleasure she didn’t want. Their gasps mingled and mixed into one. A moan escaped her mouth, and he faltered above her, recovered, and began to rock almost reverently into her, the cadence strangely slowed, languorously thickened, and weighted with the dragging pull of his lips against hers.
His hands strayed her hips, gripping tightly as he caught a telltale rhythm. His invasion seemed to swell, growing impossibly thicker and harder in that last painful moment, his legs trembling, and chest heaving as he chased his release.
“Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck…” He came, driving deep and pounding into her with a growling roar.
As he ground into a slow halt, jerking and catching his breath, a wet sheen blurred her eyes. She felt dirty. Twisted. Used.
He twitched, and her inner muscles spasmed around him in response.
Shame. That was chief of her emotions and the worst feeling of all.
Without a word, he pushed off her, flung the condom at the trashcan, and yanked up the shorts he still wore.
“See that she gets dressed and hydrates,” he said to Tomas. “We leave in five minutes to work out.”
He ambled toward the bedroom, leaving her with a hollow, pulsing ache for something she couldn’t possibly want. Her lips were raw. Her breasts tingled with heaviness. Her pussy throbbed with soreness, and her chest cleaved for want of air.
She’d been violated more times than she could count since arriving at the compound. But not once had she ever felt so hot and needy and fucked-up afterward. What the hell had he done to her?
Anger spiked, coursing through her veins. She jumped to her feet, eying the demon who strolled away without a single glance back at the woman he’d just raped.
She didn’t think. She just ran. Past Tomas, toward the bedroom, she headed off the monster before he turned the corner. With a hard kick to the back of his knee, she caught him by surprise. He lost his balance, gripped the door jamb, and when he spun, she was ready.
Her fist collided with his granite jawline, sending a jolt of pain up her arm. She swung again, faking the hit, while driving a knee into his groin.
He doubled over and wrapped his arms around her like iron bands, slamming her against the wall as he stumbled. Those were the only strikes she got before he subdued her with a hand on her throat and his body planked along the front of hers.
“Do you want a postcoital cuddle? Is that it?” He wet his lips, his fingers tightening against her tender airway.
“I don’t want a coital anything from you.”
“You sure about that?” With his free hand, he reached between her legs and fingered her wetness. “Ah. You want a release.”
She gulped, dragging in precious drops of air and furiously shaking her head. But the tears that sprung were telling.
This need… The awful, involuntary longing he’d woken beneath her skin had teeth. She didn’t know how to fight this new enemy inside her. She didn’t even understand it. But she needed to. She couldn’t straighten out her head until she figured out the mystery between them.
He watched her closely, his face an inch away. The hand on her throat loosened, melting into fingers that stroked and beguiled.
“Say what you’re thinking,” he murmured.
“You…” Kiss differently. Fuck differently. “You hurt me differently. Not like the others.”
Nothing changed in his hard expression. No surprise. No annoyance.
“You want to know why.” He did something with his finger between her legs, making her entire body bow off the wall and press into his. “Why does my touch bring more pleasure than pain? Why do I kiss with the patience of a man who worships women, not owns them?” He leaned in and slid his nose along hers, his whisper kissing her lips. “The truth is so disturbing you wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Let it go.”