Warlord (Anathema Book 1) (26 page)

That she wanted
me.

I didn’t need to
spy the damp cotton between her legs to know what she wanted. Rose needed to be
fucked. Every inch of her body surrendered to my touch, and her resistance
submitted to my demands. She blushed like a schoolgirl at Sorceress, and she
fought to escape Anathema, but she wasn’t a wilting flower or enlightened
prophet. Rose was a woman. And she was mine.

I gripped the elastic
on her panties before she decided to shield herself with another bullshit layer
of self-doubt or regret or whatever the hell freaked her out while giving me
the best goddamned head I ever experienced. She tensed as the material rolled
over her legs. I debated on ripping the cotton. Ruining it. Preventing her from
ever protecting her body from my intentions ever again.

But it wasn’t
like I could think when she laid naked before me.

Presented to me.

Offered.

She trembled
like a fucking lamb on an altar, except she had no idea what I would do with
that sacrifice. How greatly it would please me. How terrible the desecration
would be. No matter how pure she was, how perfectly innocent that sweet crest
between her legs remained, the darkness that existed within me would coil
inside her. My wrath. My aggression. My lust. Every demon she avoided and every
monster she denied.

It’d be a sweet
debauchery, even if I’d be damned for corrupting someone so delicate and naive.

She kept her
legs closed. Mistake. She didn’t want to tempt my anger. She had right to hide
what was mine, and she couldn’t deny the pleasure I’d deliver. I grunted and
spread her legs. Rose pinched her eyes shut. I slapped her thigh. Right below
where she still wore a bandage to cover a gash earned from Exorcist. I gritted
my teeth.

“No.” I settled between
her legs, edging her thighs apart. Her delicate little slit peeked at me. Damp.
Tempting. Delicious. “You’re going to watch this, sweetheart. No pretending. No
fighting. Just me tasting every fucking inch of you.”

Rose flushed so
hard even the damn folds between her legs radiated heat. She stared at me,
wide-eyed, hands gripping the bed. Her eyes widened as I lowered my head. They
watered when I dove within her slit.

Her body was a
fucking religious conversion, and I baptized myself the only way I understood. Velvet
softness. Sweet cream. A shallow gasp. Then, nothing I expected. Her hand in my
hair, tugging, pulling, pushing, and falling limp.

“You...you don’t
have to...” Rose arched as I shut her up with a curl of my tongue. “I don’t...I
don’t...”

“You don’t want
this?”

Another flick. She
flexed hard enough to bounce her tits nearly to her chin.

“I don’t know.”

I ignored her. “Little
fucking liar.”

I preferred a liar
over a tease, and I wasn’t about to let her take away the sweetest damn pussy I
tasted in a fit of embarrassed chastity. Rose didn’t understand her own body. I
licked, she muffled a groan. I swirled, her legs tensed. I nibbled, and whatever
choke she held on her engine burned away. She arched to the ceiling, and I
pressed a hand against her belly to pin her to the bed. Not that I wouldn’t
have chased.

Fuck, did I want
to chase.

Over the bed. Onto
the floor. I’d push her against the wall, take her on her knees, and rut her
from now until fucking eternity just to hear that her whimper as I seized her
pleasure. Bound her within my power over her crumbling body. She wasn’t getting
away. I wasn’t letting go. And my prize wriggled against my mouth beyond what
acrobatics my tongue offered.

“I...” Rose’s
hand dug into my hair once more. “God. Never knew.”

She gripped me
and flexed her hips. I never allowed anyone to use me before, but the little diva
wanted to sing her own song. She bucked against me. Once. Twice. I bit down
hard against that teasing little nub as it passed over my lips.

She cried out in
a note more beautiful than anything she sang at her gig.

Her body spasmed
against me. Hard. Quick. Again and again as she rode me like a stolen
motorcycle and delivered herself to her own damn salvation. My cock screamed at
me. Pinned within my jeans. Trapped far from the clenching heat that earned a
quick release from my kindness.

But that’s the
kind of charitable man I was.

The first one
would always be free.

The ones that
followed would be rammed from her willing body without the gentle pretense. I
didn’t demean myself between a woman’s legs out of the goodness of my heart. Seemed
the gentlemanly thing to do to get the women hot, bothered, and receptive to
the fucking of their lives.

I hesitated
between Rose’s thighs.

I had what I
needed. The girl ready. Begging. Gasping in hard-wrought relief and shaking
from what must have been the first orgasm she earned beyond the wiggling of her
own fingers.

So why the
fuck
did I lose myself in the touch of her velvet again?

“Th—Thorne...”

Rose shifted her
hips. She offered as much as she longed to hide. I wondered why the hell I let
her use my goddamned name. Wasn’t often I fucked anyone who knew it. Was less often
I’d even respond to it. Calling my name earned a slap across the ass, a fistful
of yanked hair, and a knife-threatened order to forget the word and replace it
with a
Sir
if the bitch couldn’t go fifteen minutes without talking.

She whispered my
name. She shivered and begged and I nearly came with her.

Dangerous
fucking woman.

The goddamned
virgin still had my hair. She jerked my head away from that perfect softness. My
temper raged as hard as my cock. I grabbed her wrist, but she threw herself at
me. Her arms wove over my shoulders, and she pressed those freckled curves
against my chest. Her breathing panted. My name. Gratitude. Confusion.

Confession.

I had no fucking
idea what the hell was happening.

Within minutes I
had gone from hunter to prey. Rose quivered under me as a delicate princess and
shifted into a starving minx within one quick lick and the jerk of my cock. She
kissed me. Gripped me. Stared at me with gentle, wide eyes.

Jesus, I was
lost.

“I want you.” Her
whisper wasn’t a plea. She spoke it like she didn’t believe it. Like she
couldn’t believe it. Like she wasn’t
allowed
to believe it. “Thorne, I
want
this.”

I groaned
against her, my fist in her hair. Even my grip didn’t deter her. Didn’t slow
her down. The kid burned so fucking hot I thought she’d exhaust herself before
she even spread her fucking legs. I tossed her onto the bed. She grabbed at me
before I unzipped my jeans.

“Christ, Rose.”

“Please, Thorne.”

God, the tremor
in her voice. Like she thought I’d stop. Like anything in this world short of
the devil himself rising from the depths of Hell would stop me from taking what
she offered willingly. Desperately.

She needed
me.

And she had no
idea what the fuck I needed her for.

Stealing the
innocence of an overwhelmed girl was hardly a stain on the grimy blackness
coating my soul.

Rose offered
more than a slick slit for me to rut. She wanted passion. Excitement. A night
to remember. A reason for her to scream beyond the constant threat of a gun to
her temple.

And I needed her
to rat out her brothers so I could protect my club.

Rose fell back. She
bit her lip, but her legs parted for me.

Smiled.

Jesus Christ,
that smile.

An innocent,
come-and-get-me, am-I-doing-this-right, please-don’t-let-anyone-hurt-me smile.

Anathema could
protect itself for the night.

The girl under
me deserved it more. Deserved just one fucking night where she didn’t need to
worry or cry. Where she’d tangle in my arms instead of curling lost against the
very edge of the mattress. Where the worst thing that would happen to her would
be the limit of my dark lust.

And Rose desired
that lust.

That darkness.

“I want this,”
she whispered again. She arched, and her tits ached for a slap, a bite, or a
gentle kiss to the tight little buds. Too many options and too hard a cock to
decide. “Thorne, please. Take me?”

Like she had to
ask
.
I jerked my jeans down and gripped her hips. The denim didn’t restrict me, but
she stared at the vest. My name. The insignia which seared through the cut and
onto my chest.

Her hands curled
over my arms. Her eyes found mine.

And she offered her
hips.

I expected to
hurt her. She tensed, preparing for it too.

I sliced through
her, but Rose’s arch wasn’t a fight against my intruding cock. She stretched
for me. Ached, but I forced within her with no resistance or agony. Only
tightness. Wetness. Deliberate and uncompromising pressure.

Rose stared at
me. Speechless. No sound passed her lips.

Unacceptable.

The diva wanted
fucked?  She wanted me bad enough to jump me. Grip my hair and ride my face. Steal
her own pleasure while seducing me with her innocence?

Then she was
going to whimper.

Then sing.

Then scream.

And the melody
on her goddamned lips would forever belong to me.

I moved within
her. Rose’s nails dug into my skin. She gasped.

“It feels...”
Her words were lost in breathless whisper. “Good?”

If I had to
explain the point of fucking, Rose wasn’t ready for what else I planned to do
to her. Then again, I hadn’t met a woman who didn’t learn her place in the
world real quick with a cock shoved eight inches deep. Rose was no exception. She
lost herself within three complete thrusts. I had her.

Her body flushed
a captive pink. Her eyes fluttered closed. Her fists gripped the bed, the
sheets, my arms, the cut. Anything and everything that ground her to the world.

I batted them
away from me. She didn’t need to be grounded. Hell possessed her, stole her
mind and ignited the vixen within. She accepted the pleasure I offered and
spread her legs for the most dangerous man in her life. It wasn’t a surrender
of her virginity. She needed to be fucked, and her broken whispers yielded to
more than simple revelation.

The pleasure
excited her. It also surprised her.

But not virgin
shock. I fucked, and her groans pitched higher. She murmured a brutal honesty
in the breathless murmurs.

She thought it
would hurt.

I didn’t know
why, but I could guess.

The pitted rage
seared through my brain.

I saw red. I suffocated
in bliss.

I tensed with an
urge to hurt. Rose’s tender voice prevented my grip from bruising her creamy
skin.

  I swore to
protect her. She whispered her gratitude for everything I did. Anything I did. Every
touch. Every thrust. Every last ounce of pleasure she forced me to give.

The night wasn’t
for me, and I knew of no better reason, no more deserving woman, to reward with
my cock.

Her body tensed
under me, clenching me until I struggled to breathe. Her eyes widened beyond
whatever astonishment clouded her mind. She stared at me, her voice lost once
more to the consuming breaths that did nothing to ease the strain in either of
our chests. She reached for me and I fell over her. My jeans scoured her thighs.
She didn’t care. My cut pressed into her chest. She pulled me harder against
her. Those wonderful hips rose, and she wrapped her legs over me.

Rose deserved a
warm bed and a devoted lover. College and a gig and guitars. A bedroom not
tucked within the upstairs of a bar. She deserved none of the nightmares she
tried to hide.

But some things she’d
never hide. Blood stained everything. It didn’t matter if it was drawn or if it
wept from the body. Bleed enough, and even bunny-eyes and chestnut curls lost
to the shadow.

In that moment, her
pain cleared. The blood faded. Rose gripped me like I was her damned savior as
I delivered her deeper into the hell she tried to escape. I thrust into her as
her voice sang my name. The sweetest damn melody reserved for her darkest
tormentor. Her body trembled in beautiful agony.

It was more than
a man could stand.

More than what
could tempt a demon.

Exactly what
someone needed to betray the unsheltered heart of someone who needed the most
protection.

We came together.
A pleasure I didn’t deserve. I lost myself, offering pump after pump of my seed
inside a body too pure, too perfect for such intent. She encouraged. Whispered
my name. Wrapped her legs tighter around me so I wouldn’t escape.

Like I had a
choice.

Not with my
damned conscience, not with my unyielding cock, and not with Rose whispering
endless gratitude and lusted nonsense under my aching body.