Want.
I’ve been asleep for years, and a single taste of her in the air—a heady mix of adrenaline and arousal—finally woke me from that slumber. If I open my hand just enough, I can still feel the vein in her neck singing under my fingers as she stood there.
Exposed.
Terrified.
Completely soaking wet in every sense of the word.
Forme.
The ghost of her body still lingers against my thigh. The kiss of her nipples still whispers against the fabric of my shirt. And her moans… God, the moans that leaked from her lips around the barrel of her own gun in her mouth.
Her body had been rigid and alert at first, but it softened with each pulsing second of defeat.
Of her own desire.
She soaked my pants and I still haven’t changed them. I want the wet stain and her lingering scent forever.
I want her name to dissolve on my tongue as she chokes on mine, eyes rolling back as I claim her sweet, tight pussy. To hear her beg me to ruin her for every other man because she belongs to me and me alone.
To leave her spent and gasping on the floor, on her bed, in that shower, and even here on this desk.
Feeling her come nearly broke all my sense of control.
I want to fuck her until she forgets who and what she is so that I might put her back together into who she is always meant to be.
But in the end, my restraint won.
Our first time together should be special.
My little viper.
Forever.
She’s practically calling out to me from the depth of my bones. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone as badly as I want her now.
Well, that’s not true…A familiar whisper rises in the back of my head. As soon as it does, the smell of blood, the sound of whimpers, and that hateful rattle of chains starts echoing in the back of my head. And the steam curling up from blood in the cold.
Breathe,I tell myself.You’re not there. You’rehere.
In. Out.
My hands tighten on the arms of my chair, my fingers dig into the rough fabric, and I remind myself that I’m still in control of my mind and body.
But barely.
In. Out.
My eyes zero in on the image of Giselle writhing in bed. The sheet twists and coils around her delicious body. For a moment, I’m jealous of a fucking inanimate object because it’s wrapped around her exquisite legs, body, and neck, and I’m not.
My heart starts up again, reckless, as if I’m there with her. Holding her close before I hold her down so that I can watch her pretty face contort with pleasure. Hear those breathy sounds just before they turn to screams as I bring her from one toe-curling orgasm to another. Mark her skin with my teeth and lips and hands so that the world knows who she belongs to.
I don’t want to possess her.
I want to controlher.
I’ve gotten a tiny taste of just how much she craves the chaos I inspire, and like a hopeless addict holding out for just one more hit, I want more.
