Page 154 of Powerhouse: Boxed Set
“After this,” he growled in a ravaged voice I hardly recognized. “You’re mine. When you turn eighteen, when you go off to college, when you think you’ll be rid of me, you won’t. I’ll always own this pretty little cunt and the tears I’ve made you cry. There’s no going back from this, little thing.”
A shudder rattled through me that had nothing to do with the cold wind. His possessiveness ate at me, chewing off pieces of my resolve.
A tiny, dark part of me, abandoned by my father and mother to death and neglect, surged at his possessiveness, craving it almost as much as I craved love.
I knew I would never get the latter and, in that moment, I didn’t care.
I lunged up to grab Tiernan’s lower lip in my teeth, biting hard enough to rend the skin, his blood beading on my tongue. He groaned, the last of his civilized veneer crumbling to ash as he savagely thrust his hips, impaling me in one brutal thrust. I threw my head back into the sand as I cried out to the clouded sky. He grunted as he worked himself deeper, angling his hips, using one of his hands to cant me up toward him so he could delve deeper.
“So big,” I panted, tears in my eyes and thick in my voice. “Jesus.”
“Lord,” he corrected, rocking hard, finally seated at the very end of me, kissing the entrance of my womb in a way that shot sparks through my pelvis. I loved it. “Your lord.”
I answered him by biting the stubbled edge of his jaw, nibbling along the square length until I reached the frayed end of his scar. He continued to pump into me, dragging his entire length in and out of my sensitive pussy, firing every nerve ending I never knew I had. After a brief hesitation, I smoothed my tongue over the line of his scar, from mouth to ear. He didn’t freeze. Didn’t reprimand me. Instead, he cursed wickedly, hunched over me and sunk his teeth into the junction of my neck and shoulder, pinning me in place as he used me.
Tears spilled from my eyes into the sand. Tears of pain and pleasure, but also of acceptance.
This.
This was what I wanted.
Rough-edged, teeth-bitten love.
A body against mine like a weapon, inside me like an invasion. I wanted to be filled up and used because he couldn’t get enough. Couldn’t help himself. Couldn’t be a gentleman.
Now, I understood that love wasn’t soft and warm. It was fire and brimstone and if I wasn’t careful, it would burn me alive.
But on that cold beach under a moonless sky, Iwantedto be consumed.
“I need it,” I told him brokenly as pleasure gathered like a supernova at the core of me. “Please, Tiernan, I need you.”
His hips stuttered: his movements inelegant for the first time.
“I’m here, little thing,” he grunted against my pulse, flicking it with his tongue, then scraping it with his teeth. “Come all over my dick and show me how pretty you are when you break apart for me.”
His words set off the final spark.
White blasted behind my eyes as I squeezed them closed against the ravage of pleasure that exploded through me, starting at the meeting of his cock and my cunt, nuclear wave after nuclear wave battering through me from head to toe.
He held me as I convulsed, pinning me to the sand with his cock and hands, beating into me senselessly, like an animal chasing completion. It only drove me higher, my climax stealing my breath, my thoughts, my very soul. Until I felt like I was just a vessel, a sacred place for Tiernan to come.
When he roared like a lion above me, I cried out at the heat of his release spurting inside me, his cock kicking against the confines of my swollen, raw pussy. He pumped me so full, I could feel his seed leaking out of me, dripping down my ass into the sand. Something in me loved the thought of my tears and our cum staining the sand, sinking into the beach so that this memory would be a living thing in Bishop’s Landing long after I left it.
Long after whatever fucked-up game we were playing ended and one of us emerged the victor.
Tiernan didn’t move for a long time, bracing himself on an elbow above me, his head ducked into the crease of my shoulder and neck, breathing across the hickey I knew he’d tattooed on my throat. I liked him there. The weight, the stability. It was a comfort even though he wasn’t a man to offer that.
Eventually, the cold and the doubt crept into my bones. I shivered, wondering what my mother would think about me sleeping with her boyfriend, what my father might think of me fucking a man almost double my age.
“This is so wrong,” I murmured before I could censor myself.
Still, I didn’t move him off me.
His hand convulsed around my wrists, then gently let them go so he could brush my hair back from my forehead in a gesture so unexpectedly tender, it shot my heart into my throat.
“Most good things are,” he murmured, and if I didn’t know better, I would have thought he soundedsad. “Don’t worry, they don’t last. Good things never do.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
