Devlin UnLeashed(50)

“King?” My heart skipped a beat. Fucking hell, she sounded just like my mother calling me that. I didn’t know why I gave her that name when she asked. I could’ve given her a million fake names, but for some reason, I wanted her to call me something I could connect to—something that made it feel like she was talking to the real me—the person I’d been before Damien shattered everything I thought I knew about myself.

“Nothing… he didn’t do anything… to me.”

“So you’re doing this for someone else. Working for someone?”

“That’s two questions.” I pushed the spoon against her lips and she accepted it. A few more spoons and I’d be safe from her inquisition.

“You seem like a really smart girl.” She swallowed and then twisted her mouth.

“Uh… thanks.”

“So why would you walk home on a deserted road all alone?”

She let out a dry laugh. “Excuse me if I didn’t realize I was being stalked by a psychopath.”

“Stop fucking saying that!” It was entirely too close to the truth, and even if I realized it as the truth, I hated knowing she thought of me that way. It was a term I associated with Damien, and hearing her refer to me that way pissed me off. I wished I could’ve met her under different circumstances where I could let her see the pieces of me she’d like. Maybe that would be manipulative, but the hope for something normal—like admiration, or dare I say love, from someone like her, was compelling.

“Does the truth hurt?”

“You’re so bold now, but where did being a naïve cunt get you?”

“Fuck you!”

Good. I wanted to anger her.

“No, fuck you.” I slipped a hand behind her neck and raised her head so I spoke into her ear. “And I can at any moment. Don’t think because I allow your little game that I’m getting soft.”

“God forbid.”

Still snarky. Still courageous in the midst of my anger. “God doesn’t censor my actions. He doesn’t even associate with me.”

I released her and stood up. She’d eaten enough not to starve and had pissed me off enough for me to need some time to simmer the fuck down.

She shook her head and sneered. “You’re so determined to convince me you’re a monster that it only makes me sure you’re a fake. Who hired you to do this? Huh? Do they know you don’t have the balls to carry through?”

I squeezed my eyes shut, maybe blacked out for a moment, and suddenly, I was on her, my tongue down her throat, and my hands yanking the top of her dress down. She bit my tongue. I tasted the coppery indication of blood but couldn’t care less as I moved to her neck, purposely leaving angry bite marks along her collar.

“You want to see me follow through? Huh?”

“I hate you! Get off me, you asshole!” She shook and twisted her body, trying to throw me off.

I sucked her nipple into my mouth as she carried on. Nipped them and abused them until they turned from pink to a mean red. She was angry. She fought with words, built her defense on her sass. She fucking pushed and pushed me. Every single day she pushed me.

I couldn’t figure out her angle. Fear. It’s what I’d expected from her. The month I’d watched indicated she’d be a docile brat, but what I got was a bold antagonist. And the shit made my dick hard as hell. I couldn’t control the bouts of rage and lust she created inside me. At times like this, when I was angry and horny, I wanted to fuck her like an animal and feed off her submission. I wanted to take her strong will and fucking break it with my strength and immorality. But something held me back, repressed my total unleashing on her.

I cupped her through her panties, massaging her clit and making her squirm under my touch. She bit down on her bottom lip to keep from crying out as I shoved the panties aside and slid a finger into her wet cunt. She was the fucking sexiest thing I’d ever seen in my life. Despite the tangles in her hair, her wrinkled dress, and the screwed up expression on her face, she was beautiful.

“King, please.” Her lips trembled and she tugged on her bonds. I loosened my belt and lowered my zipper. She mewled and tried to buck me off her, but I barely budged. “I’m sorry, okay? I was wrong. You control everything. You’re a fucking beast. What do you want me to say?”

And so quickly, she yielded when faced with the real possibility that she was wrong about me. “Nothing. Don’t say shit to me.”

I moved over her, straddled her ribs as I pulled on my aching cock. Over a month of wanting her and six days of fighting the need to take her swelled up in my gut. I palmed her breast and thumbed her nipple with my free hand. She’d completely clammed up, her tirade over as she sensed how serious I’d become.