Page 3 of Scorched Veil
I swing again, and this time he catches my wrist. I kick at him, and he takes it on the thigh without flinching. I'm fighting with everything I have, twisting, pulling, and clawing at his hands, and he absorbs it all as if it costs him nothing. He pulls me in tight, both wrists locked behind my back in one hand. I can feel his heart beating, it’s steady and even. Meanwhile, mine is thumping through my chest.
"Let go of me." My voice comes out ragged.
"No." His mouth is at my ear, his breath hot. "You ran from me, Summer. On my island, that mistake is going to cost you." He lifts me off the sand like I weigh nothing, his hard cock pressing against my ass through my wet dress. "Keep fighting, I want to feel you break."
He carries me up the beach path, and I fight the whole way, writhing, kicking, and cursing at him. He doesn't react, but his arms don't loosen either. He carries me through the garden, past the pool, through the glass doors, and into the cool dark of the villa like he's done this a thousand times.
Where are the staff? Can’t they see he is manhandling me? Or maybe they’ve been told not to look. They’ve probably seen this before, remember the last girl begged, he said.
He continues stomping through the villa, makes a turn down one side to a wing, kicks open a door at the end of the corridor, and drags me inside.
“No. No. No.” I kick and scream.
He ignores me as he drops me onto the edge of a leather chair in the corner of the room and stands over me, blocking the light from the window. I scramble to get up, but his hands come down on the armrests, caging me in.
"Sit."
"Fuck you."
His jaw tightens as he leans in close enough that I can see the red mark my hand left on his cheek, already darkening. "You hit me," he says.
"And I'll do it again."
"I know you will." His eyes drop to my mouth and stay there. "That's the problem."
He straightens and then grabs my jaw, tilting my face up. I spit at him. It lands on his chin, and he doesn't flinch. He just looks at me with those amber eyes, their centers almost black.
"Stand up."
"No."
He pulls me up by the jaw, and I grab his wrist with both hands and dig my nails in hard enough to draw blood. He doesn't let go as he presses my back against the wall, one thick thigh pushing between mine, forcing my legs apart through the wet fabric of the dress. The silk rides up, his thigh is hard and warm, positioned exactly where he wants it.
"You want to fight me, Summer?" His voice is barely a whisper. "Then fight."
I try to push against his chest and twist my hips away, but every movement grinds me against his thigh, and the friction sends a hot, sick jolt through my stomach that I refuse to acknowledge. He watches my face, reads every flinch, every catch in my breath. His hand slides from my jaw to the back of my neck, gripping the base of my skull.
"There it is," he murmurs. "Feel how wet your cunt already is for me?"
"I don't feel anything." My voice breaks on the last word, and we both know I'm lying.
He rocks his thigh up hard, and my whole body jerks. My hands go from pushing his chest to gripping his shirt as my fingers twist in the black cotton. He starts grinding, slow and deliberate, dragging my clit along his leg with every roll of his hips.
"Your mouth says no." He rocks up again, harder. "But this greedy little pussy is soaking my thigh."
“That’s the seawater,” I spit back as my head falls back against the wall. The heat is building low in my belly, spreading down my thighs. He hasn't even really touched me, and I'm already shaking.
"Say my name," he commands.
"No."
He grips my hair and pulls my head forward until our faces are inches apart. "Say it."
I kiss him instead, hard, brutal, teeth and fury. I bite his lower lip and taste copper. His blood, hot and metallic on my tongue. He groans and kisses me back like he's trying to devour me, his tongue forcing its way into my mouth while he grinds harder against my clit. I bite him again, and he pulls back, blood on his lip, eyes completely dark.
"There's my girl," he says, voice wrecked.
I slap him, hard, right across his bloody mouth. His head turns with the impact, and when he looks back, blood is smeared across his lip, and he's wearing that dangerous smile with red teeth. He tightens his grip on my hair viciously, yanking my head back until my scalp burns. His other hand wraps around my throat and squeezes, cutting off just enough air to make my pulse spike.
