Page 11 of The Castle (Endgame 3)
My breath catches. “That’s terrible.”
“I needed something pure. Someone who had never seen that side of this city. And I never wanted you to know it. You should have taken your million dollars and never looked back.”
“Maybe I will,” I say softly.
His smile is sad. “It’s too late for that. Jonathan Scott has his sights set on you. You’ll never be safe. You understand why you have to stay here, right?”
He’s not afraid of Jonathan Scott getting in. He’s afraid that I’ll escape. “I’ll stay here, for now. I’ll do what you say, but I have a voice, too.”
“Then tell me, little virgin. Use that voice to tell me what you dream about in the dark.”
My body has cooled after that dark story, but I tell him anyway. Because he gave me something incredibly valuable as payment. He gave me his pain.
“I have these dreams,” I say, my voice halting.
He grows still. “Dreams?”
Everyone thought my mother was crazy. They’ll think you’re crazy, too. I can’t tell him about the voices. I can’t bear the look of disbelief I would see in his golden eyes.
Those eyes watch me expectantly, so I give him a different secret instead.
Even that feels scary. “I have dreams about being tied down.”
His expression darkens, his eyes turning bronze. “And?”
“There are hands on me, all over, every secret place. They touch me like they own me. Like I’m a piece of marble.”
His hands tighten on my waist. “Keep going.”
“I’m naked, exposed. I can’t stop anything that happens to me. I can’t do anything but take it.”
Gabriel groans, pulling his tie loose. I expect him to undress, to take me against the balcony. Instead he wraps the silk around my wrists. My eyes go wide. “What are you doing?”
“Did you think I would wait?” Using the tie, he tugs me off the balcony. The stone feels freezing beneath my feet. My legs buckle, and Gabriel catches me. He guides me gently to the floor, turning me over, onto my knees. I barely have time to fight him before he loops the end of the tie around the balusters.
“Wait,” I whisper, even though I’m not sure. Not sure if I want him to wait.
Not sure if he’ll listen to me anyway.
The knot he makes doesn’t seem strong, but when I try to get away, it tightens into a hard kink of fabric. The restraint only makes me pull harder, yanking uselessly as he watches, his lids low over golden eyes, steeped in lazy satisfaction.
“Don’t worry,” he murmurs, running his lips down my shoulder. “This isn’t the last time we’ll do this. A hundred different ways. Soft and then rough. Every place you can think of and then more.”
He positions himself behind me. “And most of all, when you’re least expecting it. Because that’s part of the fantasy, isn’t it? Not knowing who it is? Not knowing when he’ll find you?”
I shiver. How does he know the parts I left unsaid?
His cock nudges me, finding me slick. “You’re ready,” he says on a groan. “Always ready for me.”
And then he’s inside me, pushing my walls apart, opening me, tearing me where my body can’t accommodate his size. My mouth opens on a silent cry, my hands still pulling, pulling, completely tied up.
He swears under his breath, holding himself inside me. “Yes, we’ll definitely do this again. But right now I just need to use you.”
His hands dig into my hips, fingertips bruising. That’s the only warning before he slams fully into me again, so hard I let out a shriek of pain and surprise. He withdraws and then pushes in again, completely focused on his own wild pleasure. He’s an animal rutting on the plains of the safari, concerned only with a primal mating drive. He owns me in the purest sense—where my pleasure doesn’t matter.
He slams into me again and again, a blunt force trauma that my body accepts in pure sexual shock. The teasing from before, the pain right now, it blends together in a whirlwind of sensation. And when he bites down on my shoulder, I shatter. My orgasm comes suddenly, making my insides bear down, my hips buck against him. He shouts behind me, his cock pulsing fresh heat into my sex. He draws out his orgasm and mine, pushing his still-firm cock into my slick heat with lazy thrusts, every slide a new wave of sparks behind my eyes.
I collapse onto the hard marble, the coolness a relief to the fire in my body.
He leans on top of me, pressing me down harder. It’s not an accident like this. It’s no mistake that he covers my body this way. It’s an animal signal, a message that I’m his—for any other male in the vicinity. And a message to me.
I can’t argue the point, not when he teased my fantasy from me. Not when he used it against me so ruthlessly. What other things might he get me to admit? My stomach clenches.
