Page 213 of Craving Venom
He yanks me up effortlessly, my knees scraping the cell floor before my feet leave the ground entirely. I choke on a gasp as my spine crashes into the door, my legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. My pussy grinds against the hard plane of his stomach, slicking the ridges of his abs. He shifts me higher, aligning his cock against the seam of my folds, dragging it through the wet mess between my thighs. The head slips against my entrance, and I nearly sob from how hollow I feel.
“What did I tell you,” he hisses, “would happen the next time I saw you?”
He fucking knows what he said. I know what he said. But he wants me to say it. He wants to rip the last of my pride out of my throat and hear me choke on it.
I tear my gaze away, cheeks aflame. My throat constricts under the unrelenting weight of his hand as my lips open around a breath I can’t catch. His hips slam into me, the ridge of his cock grinding over my clit, and my thighs lock tighter, desperate for something I’ll never be able to name.
“Say it.”
I shake my head, and he answers by sliding the head of his cock into the wet heat between my folds.
“F-Fuck me,” I whisper, too ashamed to look him in the eye.
“What was that?”
Shame blooms across my skin like heatstroke. My lips tremble. I can’t meet his eyes, not with the need pooling between my legs and the humiliation that I still want this more than air.
“You said you’d fuck me.”
He grins like I just gave him the key to heaven.
“Good girl.”
His hands drop to my hips. His fingers dig in, anchoring me in place. I feel the blunt head of his cock nudging at my entrance. He barely breaches the entrance before his cock slips free with a wet sound, and I cry out as it slaps against my thigh.
He chuckles low in his chest, dragging his cock back through my folds, teasing the swollen slit, coating himself in everything I’ve leaked for him.
He tries again. Another slow, insistent thrust. My pussy stretches around the head, straining to take him. But the second he pushes deeper, my body rejects him again.
“Quit spitting my cock out, good girl.”
I brace my forehead against his chest and gasp, “Zane, wait—fuck—it doesn’t fit.”
He hushes me with a kiss that never lands.
“You want me to stop?”
I nod, but even I know it’s a lie, and so does he.
“Bite my shoulder if you have to.”
And with that he thrusts.
The scream rips from my throat before I can stop it. My eyes slam shut as fire blooms in my cunt while he splits me open, stretching me around his cock as if I were built to take every brutal inch.
I sink my teeth into his shoulder, tasting his skin, feeling the salt and heat of him flood my mouth.
He doesn’t push me away. He groans deep in his chest, as if my pain feeds him, as if my suffering is the only thing anchoring him to the world.
Two, maybe three punishing thrusts grind the pain down until it softens, replaced by a need that feels even harder to survive.
I release my bite with a shaky breath and drag my lips across the skin I’ve likely bruised. My nails are still anchored in his back, holding onto the last shred of the person I used to be. My thighs shudder around his waist, and when I open my eyes, my heart skips a beat I will never get back.
He’s only halfway in.
Not even all the way.
“Fuck,” I rasp, barely able to form the word. “That’s… only half?”
