Page 25 of The Chosen
Raw need.
He wrapped his hand around my hair, yanking my head back, his intense gaze tracing over every inch of me.
Then he crashed his mouth against mine.
Chapter Eight
Ariana
At first, Henry’s kiss was soft and tender, at complete odds with the harsh grip he had on my hair. This was one of the things I adored about him. How he could make me feel a wide range of emotions within the span of a heartbeat.
His mouth moved slowly against mine, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips as if I were a priceless treasure. Soon, his kiss turned desperate and frantic, as if no matter how hard he kissed me, it wasn’t enough.
His grip on my hair tightened, and he yanked my head back, the sudden sting sending heat straight to my core. My breath left me on a gasp as he tore his mouth from mine, trailing rough kisses along my jawline, his teeth nipping at my skin.
But it wasn’t enough. I needed more.
With Henry, I always did.
“Harder,” I begged.
He groaned and circled his hips, teasing me with his erection.
“Why are you so damn perfect?” he rasped before pressing his lips back to the spot where my neck met my shoulder. But his gentle touch was short-lived, his teeth clamping down.
The mixture of pleasure and pain was almost unbearable. But it was exactly what I’d come to crave from him.
Before Henry, it was only pain. Only brutality.
He’d taken something that once broke me and turned it into something that made me feel powerful. Desired.
Alive.
“I need you, Henry,” I moaned as his teeth dug harder and harder into the skin, marking me as his.
Unlike with Victor, I wanted to be marked by him. Wanted the world to know I was his and his alone.
And he was mine.
“Need to feel you.”
He pulled back, his wild green eyes locking with mine. “Tell me, Ariana. I want to hear the words.” He brushed his lips against the sensitive spot on my neck, soothing the mark he’d just left. “Tell me you want me to fuck you.”
His eyes met mine again, and I didn’t hesitate. There wasn’t an ounce of uncertainty or nerves. Not like when Henry first encouraged me to give voice to my needs and wants, something I wasn’t used to.
I curved toward him and nipped at his earlobe, tasting salt and heat as my fingers worked the buttons of his shirt before sliding it down his arms. As I raked my nails down his tattooed chest, a groan fell from his throat, raw and needy.
“I want you to fuck me,” I whispered, my words seeming to echo in the stillness around us.
He cupped my face, forcing my eyes to his, his jaw ticking, tension radiating through him.
“Beg for me, Ariana.”
Again, I didn’t question it. Didn’t back down. Didn’t tremble in fear.
This was what he needed. To feel in control.
And I was more than willing to give that to him.
