The more torturous it was, the more I enjoyed it.
Seemed like I was admitting a few home truths to myself where Byron was concerned. But with it came a sense of relief. I wasn’t lying to myself anymore. I was all in because he was all I wanted.
Which was fucking madness, but maybe that’s what it took to be with a psychopath.
“Fuck, you taste good,” he said with a moan.
“Weirdo.” I tried to look over my shoulder at him, but I couldn’t see him. I wanted to know what he looked like when he tasted me.
He reached beneath me and cupped my aching cock. “You don’t seem to mind. In fact, I think you rather like it.”
I had no response. How could I? I had no idea why I liked it, other than it washim. I liked everything about him, but I especially loved the dark, twisted parts. They were in harmony with my own.
He shifted his position behind me, and I heard the telltale sign of his zipper lowering. “You should see how hot you look, baby. All splayed out, painted in blood, needy and desperate for my cock. We’ll do this in front of mirror one day so you can see every single moment.”
There was another sting as he sliced my skin again. This one was deeper and in the soft spot above my hip.
“Fuck,” I hissed as I felt the blood pool and trickle down my back.
Byron dipped two fingers into the cut and then pressed them against my hole.
Holy fuck.
“Byron,” I moaned.
“I love how you say my name, Wilder. Like it’s in holy fucking worship.” He sank his fingers inside me, not even pausing to let me adjust. The blood he’d used—myblood—was barely enough to take the edge off.
“Are you ready for me, baby?”
I was more than ready. I was desperate. “Yes.”
He chuckled, the sound caught somewhere between affection and amusement. “Alright. This is going to hurt.”
“Don’t care. I want it to hurt.”
His response was a feral growl, and I shivered at how animalistic it sounded. I braced myself as he entered me, but fuck itburned. It was painful and sharp, and it twisted with the pleasure of feeling him inside me.
“You’re so tight, baby. I love it when you clench around me like that.” His voice was strained with the effort at holding back. He twisted his hand in my hair and pulled my head back so that I could look at him. “You’re mine, Wilder. Whether you’ve admitted that to yourself or not, I’m never letting you go and there’s nowhere you can run where I won’t find you.”
Then he bottomed out in one harsh thrust. A gasp flew out of my mouth followed closely by a pained whimper.
“Brace yourself,” he said as he placed a soft kiss at the corner of my mouth. “This will hurt.”
“Good,” I replied through gritted teeth. There was no point in lying. To him or myself. I wanted it to hurt. I wanted to be able to feel him inside me for days. I wanted him to own me and ruin me and break me all at the same time. I wanted to be his in any capacity that he’d have me.
His grin was salacious as he pushed my head back into the mattress and finally started to move.
This wasn’t lovemaking. No, it was brutal and painful and deliciously carnal. Every one of his thrusts was deep and hit my prostate with agonising accuracy. He knew my body, knew how to make me writhe and squirm beneath him whilst he fucked me into the mattress.
All the walls I’d built, all the things I’d told myself to hide, were tumbling down with each thrust of his hips. My mind was in free fall until all I could think and breathe washim. Byron Blake. Psychopath. Assassin.
He waseverything.
“I’m going to let you come, baby.” He nipped my ear sharply. “And when you do, call me kitten. Got it?”
I thought I’d live to regret giving him a pet name, but he was revelling in it.
“I asked you a question, baby.” His tongue traced the pulsing vein in my neck.