Page 110 of Brutal
“You can tell me not to talk,” I say. “You can twist my nipples until they fall off. You can make me wetter than any man ever has. None of that means you control me.”
A low rumbling comes from him. I almost mistake it for a chuckle, except he’s not smiling.
“You don’t listen. I told you not to talk.”
“How am I supposed to not talk when you keep asking me questions?”
He grabs my throat, squeezes enough that I catch my breath. “I’m not asking you any questions. I told you who’s in control here, and it’s not you. If I wanted to, I could fuck you right now. Right up against this wall. You could scream and yell and tell me to stop. I could snap your pretty little neck if I wanted to, and there’s not a damned thing you could do about it. You could scrape your fingernails over me, sink your teeth into my flesh. None of it would stop me.”
I swallow audibly.
I should be frightened. I should be crying, begging him to leave me alone.
Instead?
I want Samson to take me.
I want his roughness. His dominance. His beast.
And I shouldn’t want any of that. I was attacked tonight because of him. Not because of him specifically, but because of what I’m doing, and that involves him.
“That person tonight,” he says, as if reading my mind, “could’ve killed you, Delaney. If he had been ordered to, he would have.”
I shudder.
I believe him. And I believe that if that shadowed man had wanted to steal from me or rape me, he would’ve done that as well.
“He will pay for it,” Samson says. “He will pay for touching what’s mine.”
I gulp again.
Did he say mine?
Then his lips are on mine, his tongue diving between them. He drugs me with his kiss, and thank God he’s pressed against me, because I don’t think my legs would hold me up.
I should stop him. Even though he says I can’t stop him, I believe that if I truly wanted to stop, he would.
But I’ll never know.
Because I don’t want to stop.
His control over me tightens. The kiss and his movements get rougher, more urgent. He pushes his hard cock against my belly, grinds into me.
My breasts are already free, and my nipples hard as rocks. I squirm, shiver, arch my back.
I want this. I want him.
More than I’ve ever wanted anything. Any-fucking-thing.
With one hand, he slides the skirt of my clingy dress up over my hips and then he plunges his fingers into my thong.
He massages my pussy, my clit, and I nearly explode right then and there.
“God…” I moan.
Will he consider that talking? I don’t rightfully care.
He breaks the kiss. “I’ll let that go,” he growls. “Unbuckle my belt, bitch.”
