“Why did you go looking for him?” Nash asks, leaning against the bathroom doorframe.
I’m in the bathtub, surrounded by bubbles, my skin pink, exhaustion pulling me into a dream-like state while I slowly rinse my hair, picking out twigs.
He’s watching me like a hawk, eyes tracing the scratches marking my cheeks, his annoyance palpable in the steamy air.
“What do you mean why? I couldn’t let Chloe go alone.”
“Chloe’s an adult and Jensen’s not your friend.”
“But Chloe is. I don’t consider Jensen a friend, but he’s missing. Why wouldn’t I help look for him?”
Nash snatches a towel off the door then helps me out of the tub. “Because he’s a sleazy fucker who wants to tick you off his list, Hailey.”
He wraps the towel around me as soon as my feet touch the cold tiles, his big hands moving up and down, drying me off. He makes quick work of my back, then takes extra care over my breasts, stomach, and my pussy. A soft gasp falls from my lips, the feel of his fingers—even through the thick, soft towel—pressing into my clit, chases the sleepiness away.
“He wants to fuck you,” Nash adds.
“So do you.”
“That’s not the same. He doesn’t get to think you could be his. He doesn’t get to look at you.”
A sweet shudder shakes me when the towel falls off and it’s just Nash’s fingers playing my clit.
“I probably shouldn’t love that you’re so jealous. I don’t want Jensen. I want you, but—”
“There’s no but, pretty girl. You could’ve been hurt.” He backs me against the wall, sinking his fingers inside my pussy, aiming straight for my G spot. “You were hurt.”
“I’m okay, you’re over-over-oh…” I mewl, pressing myself further into his touch, my body reacting to every slow stroke of his long fingers.
“Overreacting?” he grinds out, removing his fingers. He grips my wrists, spins me around and plants my hands on the tiles. “On your toes and spread your legs for me.”
I do, immediately, consumed by the possessiveness radiating off his touch as he swipes two fingers between my legs.
“Such a pretty girl,” he tuts, leaning into me, his hard muscular chest pinning me against the wall. “Still sore?”
Yes, but I won’t admit that aloud, risking that he’ll stop touching me or that he’ll tone down. I could tell he held back the other day. He wanted more than the slow, sweet sex session, but gave me time to learn the ropes.
Now, I want a taste of Nash without inhibitions.
“No, not sore.”
“You’re about to be. Keep your hands here.” He flexes his long fingers around my wrists before moving one hand to my hip. The other frees his cock, sliding it between my pussy lips. “Brace, pretty girl.”
In one quick move, he drives himself home, tearing a loud moan from me.
“I’m not overreacting,” he grunts in my ear. “You’re mine.” He yanks his hips back then powers forward, hard enough that my boobs jump. “Mine, Hailey. And you don’t understand what that means. Do you?”
I can’t form a reply when he’s fucking me like this. He’s not gentle, not brutal, just… greedy. Like he wants to imprint himself on me. Mark me, claim me with those long, intense strokes, the head of his cock hitting my G spot every time.
“Words, pretty girl,” he rasps, his tone impatient.
He grasps my throat, squeezing hard enough that my ears ring as he leans my head on his shoulder so he can see my face. My eyes close, roll back into my head and that’s when he eases off the hold, but not the way he sinks his cock deep into me.
“Say it, Hailey. Open your eyes and say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” I breathe, staring into the abyss of his black pupils that ooze a scary kind of territoriality.
“That’s right.” His lips come down on mine for a hot, deep, spiderman kiss, teeth scraping, tongues mingling. “No one gets to touch you,” he whispers, his hand squeezing my neck harder again. “Not one fucking finger. No one gets to look at you or speak to you the wrong way.”
Every word wraps itself around my mind like a blanket. His attitude, the darkness in his tone, the crazy in his eyes… it should be scary, but I feel safe.
The orgasm builds, frying my nerve endings, amplified by the outside pressure on my neck. My inner pressure stacks higher until all I feel is him.
Everywhere him.
Behind me, inside me… he commands my body, my breathing, and my mind.
“Every man that comes near you, every man who tries his luck,” Nash grits out, pistoning his hips faster, “will end up dead. Six feet under.”
Fireworks detonate inside my head, the orgasm knocking me off balance. Orgasms. The first hits like an earthquake, rocking me from the tip of my head down to my toes.
“There it is…” he says, one arm clasping my middle, his hand no longer squeezing my neck but covering my mouth to muffle the delirious moans reverberating round the bathroom. “One day soon, I’ll take you home and you’ll scream the place down.”
I mutter something incoherent through his fingers, losing touch with reality when an aftershock hits.
“Too much,” I gasp, the word muffled, barely audible, but Nash follows just fine.
“Not enough. You’re so responsive, pretty girl. If you can’t take it, use a safe word, and I’ll stop.”
“What safe word?”
My legs shake, thighs cramp, eyes water… I don’t think I can take any more, but stopping isn’t an option.
“Pick one,” he grunts, still moving, still working himself into me hard and fast while I’m falling apart, snapping back together, then falling apart again.
“Apple.”
A half-groan, half-chuckle falls from his lips. “Fine, apple it is. I won’t stop unless you say apple.”
The word dances at the tip of my tongue, unspoken. I’m incoherent, writhing in his arms, unsure whether I want to run away or crawl under his skin.
He holds me flush to him, the warmth of his chest seeping into my back, his cock prolonging the torturous high.
“Fuck, I need to see you. All of you.” He pulls out, hauling me up, one arm under my butt for support. “I keep you safe, Hailey. Me. No one else.” He brushes my wet hair away, out of my face, as he drops me on the bed. “And I decide how I do it. Is that clear?”
“Time,” I mutter, swallowing hard. “Five minutes. I need five minutes, please…”
He smirks, shoving a pillow under my hips. Spreading my legs open, he makes room for himself, his lips crushing into mine. He’s still dressed, his tracksuit bottoms halfway down his ass, his t-shirt—damp where my wet hair soaked it when he crowded me in the bathroom—clinging to the sheet of muscles rippling down his abdomen.
I want his skin on mine and his weight pinning me to the mattress. Bowing off the bed, I sit up, dragging the hem of his t-shirt over his head, my eyes drawn to a patch of Saran wrap protecting a fresh tattoo on his pec.
It’s red. Two smeared lines… familiar lines. The exact same ones he drew when he wiped my bloody fingers after taking my virginity.
My breath hitches.
A curious chill shakes me from head to toe, my pulse beating a pounding rhythm.
“That’s… that’s…” My mind’s spinning and I can’t… I can’t think. I don’t understand, but I touch, checking it’s real, that I’m not dreaming. “Why?” The word barely makes it past my lips, past the confusion twisting inside me.
He takes my wrist, guiding my open palm until it covers the tattoo, right over the rhythmic flutter of his heart.
A torrent of opposing emotions fights for the spotlight inside my mind. I don’t know what I feel until my eyes flicker upward, locking with his and I know exactly what I feel.
Love.
Deep, raw, messed up. Beautiful. Empowering. So pure it’s unlike anything I ever felt.
God, the way he watches me, feasting on my face, roving every detail like he never wants to look away. That pathological possessiveness is back. I feel it in how he clutches my hand against his chest. Alarming and enthralling. Sweet and edgy.
The question dangles between us, suspended in the charged air. His thumb brushes the inside of my wrist, inciting shivers across my skin.
“You asked if I’m yours,” he starts in a low tone that vibrates deep into my bones. “Marked…” He presses my hand harder to the ink, “…yours.”
I’m motionless, caught in the gravity of his words. I asked in the heat of the moment, knowing damn well it was a fantasy. A naïve girl’s dream that she could tame, and hold onto, a man like him.
A naïve girl’s dream that’s become a reality.
He’s mine. The tattoo is his way of proving I have a power over him. Power no one else ever had.
I feel like I’ve caged the Devil.
“Mine,” I repeat quietly. The word hangs in the air between us as I scramble to meet his lips.
His hands slide down, full of my hips, and he flips me so I land on my back. He’s on me like a savage, forcing the silk-covered steel of his cock inside me. I’m trapped under his body, loving his weight pinning me down while he rocks back and forth, his kisses deep, demanding, almost brutal.
Almost bruising.
Almost.
I move with him, my body running a fever, my mind in a frenzy. We both fight to touch as much as we can, chasing our orgasms. He’s using me, powering in so deep I yelp, then deeper still.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he growls. “Come, Hailey.”
We’re slick with sweat, hot, and panting.
“Don’t stop.” I sink my nails in his shoulders, eliminating the tiny gap between us. “I’m so close.”
“Three…” He slaps his big hand on my thigh, spreading me wider. “Two…” His other hand slips under my head, lifting it off the pillow, his forehead against mine. “One. Let go. Fucking come for me, pretty girl.”
I do. My body obeys the order, every muscle wound up tight, my breath caught in my throat for a delirious second before the orgasm strikes like a clap of lightning.
Nash slams in one last time, then pulls out, still holding the back of my neck, angling my head so I’ll watch him jerk his cock fast and hard.
We should start using condoms, but it feels like a felony to miss this, the most sinful, filthy, erotic visual. The tendons on his neck pulse. A bead of sweat slides down his temple and his biceps bulge as he jerks his length.
A muscle feathers his jaw. He grinds his teeth, freezing when the orgasm rattles through him, swift and all-consuming. A low, gravelly groan vibrates his chest as warm cum spatters my breasts and stomach, hitting as high as my neck.
He falls forward, completely spent. Utterly unfazed over the mess he’s made of me and himself.
“Don’t ever put yourself in danger,” he says, brushing my hair over my ears. “Promise you won’t go looking for Jensen again, Hailey.”
“But—”
“No buts. You trust my judgment. He’s been gone almost three days. Humans can survive three minutes without oxygen, three—”
“Days without water, and three weeks without food,” I finish for him. “Dad taught me that rule years ago.” I rest my cheek against his chest, my breathing sawing in and out.
“Then you know if he’s in the woods, the chances he’s still alive are slim. The cops are looking, but you won’t go there again. You’re mine, pretty girl. You need to protect what’s mine. Especially when I’m not around to do it.”
