Dark Savior: A Dark Bad Boy Romance (2 page)

I yelp in surprise and arch my back in response, which only causes him to increase his force and start nibbling on my sensitive bud. It hurts, but just enough that the infliction of pain turns into a sting of pleasure within seconds. He switches back and forth between biting, licking and sucking, and just when I feel like my hardened tip can’t take it anymore, he switches to the other side and repeats the same action on my right nipple.

I moan under his treatment, relishing the joy of having his attention all to myself. He treats me like no one ever has before, with such focus and special care, it makes me feel like I’m floating on a cloud of bliss.

I flinch when his hand returns to my center. He doesn’t go for it with the same determination as before, but instead gently cups my mound with the palm of his hand, as if he was protecting me from any potential intruders. My flesh is radiating with heat, his hand almost feeling cold against my pulsating lust. I find myself grinding against his hand, begging for more, for another release. The urge to come is building up at unprecedented speed.

Suddenly, he stops. His lips leave my stiff nipple and his hands lose their respective positions. But before I can express my surprise, he lifts the sweater over my head, freeing my vision to take in the beautiful sight of his naked chest before me. He smiles at me, and I’m terribly aware of my nakedness in front of him.

He grabs me by the hips and turns me around, so that my entrance is facing him and my head rests against the backrest of the sofa. My body is heaving with desire and I leave my arms above my head, even though he’s no longer holding them in place.

My heart jumps when he starts unbuttoning his pants. Finally.

He frees his huge rod, already hard as steel, and I try not to gasp in wonder at the sight of it. It's thick and long, even in his big powerful hands. As he starts stroking his length, I wonder how it's going to fit inside of me.

He doesn’t give me a lot of time to wonder. A billion thoughts are racing through my mind when his tip starts teasing my entrance. I’m torn between greedy lust, aching need, excitement, fright and worry.

“Condom?” I breathe, as he starts forcing himself inside of me.

He shakes his head. “I need you raw, baby.”

Fine, then. I take him in, heaving with craving and astonished wonderment as his member spreads and stretches me wider and wider. Fuck, he feels so big. He fills every part of me, consumes me.

My eyes roll back into my head as he starts fucking me, slowly at first, moving his rock-hard cock in and out with appreciative, steady motions. My hands claw into the cushions of the sofa backrest and my legs involuntarily spread apart even further, begging for him to plunge even more deeply inside of me.

“Faster,” I beg. The word almost perishes under my heavy breathing, but he understands.

“Good girl,” he praises. “You’ll come on this big, thick cock, won’t you?”

Heat of embarrassment rushes up to color my cheeks again, and I curse him for trying to make me say things that put shame on me.

I nod, adding nothing but a hearty groan to my response.

He chuckles and grabs me by the hips, lifting me up slightly as he starts ramming his thick, enormous length inside of me with brute force. My eyes open wide in shock, and I hold on to the sofa for dear life, trying to comprehend the fact that I’m about to be hit by another orgasm. No, this can’t be. I never come twice. Never.

Yet, I do.

My climax is relentless, blinding and overwhelming me. Another kind of negligence causes me to lose myself in its delight, squirming, screaming and crying as a merciless flood of pleasure engulfs me. His motions don’t ease up for a moment, his deep and thorough thrusts adding bliss to every throb of my orgasm.

He doesn’t stop pounding into me until he’s counted to four.

CHAPTER ONE

Kade

I’ve been waiting for almost half an hour, but the girl hasn’t moved. She’s just standing there, her long ash blond hair dancing in the wind as she holds onto the rail behind her and stares down into the depths beneath. It’s a chilly day, and she’s wearing nothing but a white cotton summer that billows in waves with each gust. No shoes. She must be freezing.

But something tells me she couldn’t care less.

The bridge is deserted at this time of day, the reason why I chose it in the first place. Not a single car has passed by since I stopped. My black Camaro is parked at the side of the narrow and unpaved road, about two hundred yards away from her. She didn’t notice me approaching, or at least showed no sign acknowledging my existence.

The longer I stand here watching her, my eyes narrow to slits. I’m beginning to lose my patience. This was supposed to be over in a minute, just a quick drop-off, if you will. I didn’t plan to stick around any longer than absolutely necessary to get done with this business.

Trouble is, I can’t be seen doing what I need to do.

So, when I first arrived and saw that girl standing on the ledge of the bridge, I grunted with anger. I mistook her for a lonely tourist at first. A person just visiting the area who stopped to take a picture of the scenic view from the bridge. It’s quite a sight, even though the remoteness doesn’t draw very many tourists and for some reason, no one has ever exploited the area for tourism. The bridge crosses a deep canyon, and the river that runs through it is such a deep blue color that it almost looks fake, like a bad painting. The tourists who do make the trek here love it because it’s such a good photo opportunity.

But this girl is no tourist, and it’s obvious that she didn’t stop to take a picture.

I looked around searching for a car that could be hers, but I couldn’t find one.

I’ve no fucking idea how she got here, but it didn’t take me long to figure out why she’s here.

This girl is here to end her life.

She's backed up against the narrow-looking, rusty rail behind her, her head lowered with her chin touching her chest, her body leaning forward, though unmoving. In fact, that’s the only motion I’ve seen her make since I parked my car - the cautious rocking back and forth of her upper body. Sometimes, it looks as if something is pulling her down, and other times I can sense her tensing up and pulling back. The movements are so subtle that they’re hardly visible, but I notice them.

Because I have nothing else to do.

If I didn’t have that damn body in my trunk, I would have turned the car around and driven away. But I need to finish this job. I can’t return to the city with the asshole still in the trunk of my car. He needs to go, and he needs to go here.

So, I’m just waiting. Waiting for her to do what she came here to do.

I check my watch again. Forty minutes.

“Oh, for fuck sake,” I hiss.

I look over to her. Her head is even lower now, and her body appears to be shaking in violent spasms.

She’s crying.

At least that’s what I think is going on. She’s still far enough away from me that I can barely recognize her features. I have only seen the profile of her face, her long hair covering most of it as it flies around in the wind. She might be a young girl or a fifty year-old woman, fuck knows.

One thing I do know, and it’s that this is getting ridiculous.

I let out an irritated growl and unfasten my seatbelt. Maybe all she needs is a little push.

She doesn’t even flinch when I noisily slam my car door after stepping out of the driver’s seat. Either she really didn’t hear me because she’s too absorbed by her own anguish, or she chose to ignore that someone else is here.

That someone is marching up to her now. I approach her with wide and deliberate steps, turning around to scan the street behind me. Nothing. No car, no random stroller or cyclist. A 360-degree rotation reveals nothing but the vast and empty wasteland that surrounds us. While the canyon itself is a beautiful sight, the area surrounding it couldn’t be uglier or more uninviting. Maybe that’s why no one has ever built a lodge here or dares to bring busloads of tourists to scope it out on a daily basis.

As I get closer to her, I realize she must be rather young. Younger than me, that’s for sure. She could even be a teenager. Oh, fuck no. I’m not pushing a kid off this bridge.

I’m only about ten feet away from her when she finally lifts her head and turns around to look at me.

Strands of blonde hair are sticking to her face where it has been dampened by tears. She looks up at me through dark, hollow eyes, her mouth partly opened as if she was about to speak. Her eyes connect with mine, but she doesn’t seem to react to my presence or even act as if she knows I’m here. For all I know, she looks at me with the same facial expression that she’s been casting down into the canyon.

As soon as we make eye contact, one thing is obvious. She’s devastatingly beautiful.

My heart literally skips a beat when I’m faced with her crushed expression. She looks so fucking vulnerable, so sad. She looks to be in such horrible agony, and it cuts into me like a cold dagger.

I freeze mid-motion when our eyes meet, locked onto each other for a few seconds with nothing but the wind whipping around us. I fucking don’t know what to do. She’s young, but not a kid. She may be eighteen, or twenty, in her early twenties at the most. Younger than me, but not a kid.

Fuckable. So damn fuckable. And so overwhelmingly beautiful.

Oh, for God’s sake! I need to get a grip on myself. I have things to do, and she’s keeping me from doing them.

She needs to leave, and it would be best if she left the way she intends to. Who cares about those eyes? Those damn beautiful eyes that are way too dark for her ash blond hair.

I shouldn’t care. I can’t afford to care.

I clear my throat.

“A jumper, I see.”

She doesn’t react, but just looks at me, watching me with those freakishly dark eyes.

I avert my gaze and nod toward the abyss beneath us.

“Here to end it?” I ask, speaking with a soft voice, as if I was afraid that my words alone would make her jump.

She should jump, damn it. Now that she has seen me, she has become nothing but a troublesome witness. It would make things so much easier for me if she just jumped. Beautiful or not, she just needs to jump.

I look around, scanning the area once again. We're still alone, miles and miles of vast nothingness around us. If a car were to come by now, I'd definitely have to come up with another plan. Every minute that passes increases the risk of that happening. I have to speed this up.

But I'm not prepared to console a suicidal girl. I have no idea what to say to her because I don't even know what I want the outcome to be.

"Look," I say, still not looking at her. "I'm not good at this comforting stuff. If you want to kill yourself, go ahead and do it. I don't care. But could just go ahead and do it already, would you? You're putting me in a difficult position here."

I pause, waiting for a reaction from her that doesn't come. My gaze wanders back to her and I’m met with the same tearful expression I saw before. You'd think that my lack of empathy would push some buttons with her, confuse her, make her angry. Instead, there's nothing. No expression, no reaction.

I don't have time for this.

It seems I have to dig a little deeper if I want to stir something inside of her. The sick and twisted part of me takes over, as I come up with my next line.

"Or - since you're going to die anyway," I continue, "how about the two of us have a little fun before you go? One last good fuck. Is there a better way to die?"

Finally. Her eyebrows shift into an angry furl. Her grip tightens around the rail behind her, and she pulls herself back, away from certain death, as she hisses, "What the fuck, you sick bastard!"

I smirk at her. "Is that a no?"

She contorts her face and looks at me with utmost disgust. "That's a
hell no
!"

I shrug indifferently, hiding the fact that my heart flutters behind my broad chest like a trapped insect. It's too late for me. If she jumps, I fucking care. If she doesn't jump, I have a problem on my hands, one that I was trying to avoid today.

It's that damn dilemma that leads me to follow up by saying something that causes her to inhale with shock.

"Oh well," I say. "I guess I'll just have to wait until your body washes ashore then."

I add another little shrug and look at her as if I just proposed to go for an innocent drink, while she stares at me with wide eyes, gasping for air as she tries to process what I just said.

"That's so...," she stutters.

Disgusting. I know. But it did the job. Her hands are tightening around the rail, and while she stares at me as if I was the creepiest person alive, she seems to have forgotten about her initial intention. Her agony is replaced with shock and distaste for this odd stranger who suggests fucking her dead body if she dares to jump without granting him one last fuck.

And curiosity.

"Either way," I say, now daring to take a few steps closer to her, "I don't care what you do, or how I'll get a taste of you."

I pause, taken by the striking sight of her fright before I continue speaking and walking cautiously toward her.

"Just make up your fucking mind. This is getting ridiculous."

She bites her lower lip as she looks up at me. I am now within arm’s reach of her. Even if she decided to let go of the rail now, I could probably catch her before she plunged to her death. However, I'd prefer not to be put to test on that.

"You're disgusting," she hisses. "And cruel."

"Cruel?" I ask, raising my eyebrows at her. "How's that?"

"Don't you think there are better things to say to someone in this position?" she wants to know.

I shake my head. "Maybe. But I told you, I'm not good with this whole comforting stuff, and I'm no therapist. If you think your life is not worth living anymore, who am I to judge? Maybe you're right. Some people are better off dead. For their own good - and that of others."

That may not be true for her, but it certainly is for the garbage that is currently rotting in my car's trunk. That terrible excuse for a human being didn't deserve to live one moment longer than he did.