Goosebumps rush along my skin as his breath ghosts over the pulse point in my neck.
“Should I bite you here?” he murmurs.
He releases my head and slides his hand slowly down the front of my body, cupping my right breast. “Or here? I know how you love when I bite your nipples.”
His hand continues its slow path down my stomach, over my hip, until he grabs my inner thigh. “Or here. I think that will be your favorite.”
“Let me go,” I rasp, but it doesn’t even sound convincing to me.
I don’t want to give him this win. How can I have escaped my parents’ control only to end up in someone else’s? Can I not just be free?
And yet, being with him doesn’t feel like a trap. I know better, but I am so tired of fighting, and I can’t even begin to touch the betrayal I feel that he kept this from me. I feel like I’ve wandered into the forest too far and can’t find my way out. This is so dangerous and I want it.
Henry spins me suddenly and pulls me into a kiss. I want to scratch and claw at him—to shove him away and run forever—pursued but not caught. Instead, I kiss him back. I open, letting him take what he wants. His shirt is slick with his blood. I press against the place I stabbed him. I want to hurt him in any way I can. I want him to feel sorry.
Henry groans and kisses me harder.
I have never met a man who liked this monstrous side of me. This is what I’ve wanted the whole time. Not the soft, delicate things. I want this raw, unbridled need.
He picks me up and I wrap my legs around his waist. He slams my back into a tree trunk, and I bite his lip hard enough to draw blood. I lick it away, and that breaks all of his control.
“Fuck, Harlow,” he groans, kissing down my neck, rocking his hips against me. “I can’t be gentle.”
But I don’t want gentle.
He shoves a hand under my dress and rips my panties away before fumbling with his pants. A second later, his cock is pressed against me. He rubs it over my clit, and I shudder. I swear it feels different, but he just waits.
“Anything to say, lovely?”
It takes my brain a full minute to understand he’s giving me a chance to say the word and stop him.Stars. The part of me that wants control above anything else screams the safe word in my head.
But the stronger part of me that wants so badly to surrender just once wins.
Henry searches my face for any hesitation. I narrow my eyes, and that’s all it takes. That small hint of a challenge and he thrusts his cock inside me to the hilt. I grunt a guttural sound from being overwhelmed by the fullness. Something is different—he’s big, but not the kind of big that edges on painful.
“Does it ache?” Henry asks with a smug smile that shows off a hint ofsharp fangs. “Claiming makes the teeth come out and my cock swell. I’m in my full form for you, teeth, cock, and all. So I can be sure there’s no part of you I don’t reach.”
He offers no time to adjust, immediately pulling out and thrusting in again. His hands on my hips are bruising, holding me in place and forcing me to take every inch of him.
There’s a satisfied, glazed look in his eyes, like he knew I’d be wet enough to take him, but it makes me hotter that he wants me so much that he doesn’t care. It feels good to be out of control—to let Henry take over. His sharp teeth scrape down my neck, and my whole body clenches.
Henry grunts a curse.
There’s something about being able to control the pain in my body, to see the place it’s coming from, to feel it given with pleasure. I’m not in control, but somehow choosing to surrender makes me feel powerful. This is a thing I can choose to give away without risking losing something, or maybe it’s that I’m losing something I never wanted.
Henry growls into the curve of my neck as he picks up his pace. My skin is covered in goosebumps, my nipples so sensitive they ache. Pleasure rushes through my blood. It’s freeing to be wanted like this, to be taken without judgment.
With no warning, Henry spins and takes me to the ground. He pulls back for a moment and rips my white dress down the center, baring the green lace undergarments.
He pauses to take me in, his eyes passing slowly over the lace. He yanks the cups down and tweaks my nipples. I arch off the ground and groan, and his grin turns feral. Then he strikes, biting my right nipple.
My scream turns into a groan as he thrusts into me and sucks the nipple hard. He does the same thing to the left nipple, and I’m stunned with pleasure and pain and fear that I’m his now. I wait for something to happen—some sign that I’m not myself.
“I didn’t draw blood,” he says, pinching the sore flesh.
He pulls back and thrusts into me, his gaze fixed to where we’re joined. He does it again, harder, and I slide along the leafy ground, twigs and stones scraping the backs of my arms.
“You look so good taking me like this.”
