Chad's Chase (Loving All Wrong Book 2) (11 page)

After all this, I would have to kill him.

“Move,” I ordered.

“How?”

“Slow.”

He moved. Flexing his hips backwards then pushing back into me, picking up a steady rhythm. It was fucking heavenly. To have a man inside me and was actually
enjoying
it, was something I never believed possible.

Wrapping my arms around his neck, and my booted legs around his waist, I thrust up my hips and whispered, “A little faster. A little harder.”

Chad obeyed, clamped his mouth down on mine and fucked me as I directed, making me feel tingle and belly-swirls that I’ve never felt before. His cock was huge and potent inside me. Driving me up a mountain I’ve never climbed before.

So good.
So fucking good
.

As unprecedented pleasure reared up within me, I panted in short bursts of breath, “Harder, Chad. Faster. This feels…This feels…”

With a pleasing groan, Chad leaned up and unwrapped my legs from around his waist, pressing them down to my chest. “It feels what, Blood?”

“Really good.”

“Just ‘really good’?”

My hips rolled. “
Please
, come back inside.”

Once again, his smile brightened the room. Like my silver lining of light. He thrust back inside me, and as I asked for it, he gave it.

Harder.

And faster.

He was fucking me for me. Not for himself. I could tell by the way his dark, observing eyes watched me. I wanted him to enjoy it. Because this may be the first and last time we ever get to fuck.

Yet at the same time, I couldn’t stop to make sure he enjoyed it, because my joints were seizing, and my vision was transforming into nothing but a burst of stars, my mind obliterated of everything and all things.

Then my mouth tore open as broken screams flew through it, my whole body stiffening and juddering at the same time.

This was a different kind of orgasm than an orgasm stimulated through the clitoris. This was more intense. More crippling. More joint-numbing. And I enjoyed every fucking second of it.

I could feel my muscles clenching around Chad’s big cock.

“So tight…” he groaned, pumping into me over and over, keeping my legs pressed to my chest. “It’s almost hard to believe…”

I wouldn’t tell him that it was because a cock hadn’t been inside me since I was sixteen, or that toys were prohibited in my girl-to-girl fuckings.

He didn’t need to know the reason behind my tightness.

A feral noise erupted from him, and he threw his head back and came with a stiffening force. His tatted, ripped body plus the veins bulging in his neck made him look like a glorious beast bathed in red sunlight.

Drained and enervated, with a weight so great, he slumped down on top of me and pressed his face into my neck, his breathing sharp-edged.

Sated, and still on a euphoric high, I brought my hands up and raked them through his hair in a tender way I knew I shouldn’t. I kissed his shoulder in a passionate way I knew I shouldn’t. I let myself enjoy him in a selfish way I knew I shouldn’t.

I shouldn’t.

I shouldn’t.

But I couldn’t help it.

Killing him…killing him was going to be hard.

I
’d allowed myself to let the moment consume me.

I’d allowed myself to relish the feel of a man—this man—on top of me way too much.

I’d allowed myself to get too comfortable, forgetting this wasn’t me.

Way too much.

And thus, when Chad pushed up off me, took off the condom, and pulled up his pants, the warmth left me in a sudden rush, and the terrible, cold, voidness returned, cackling like a wicked old witch, whispering to my psyche, “
You fool
”.

That was it. The moment of pleasure, the moment of warmth, the moment of safety, had all been temporary. It was never meant to last, and wasn’t a feeling I’d ever get to keep. Because I wasn’t allowed to have it.

I wasn’t normal.

I wasn’t free.

I was owned and commandeered.

So, even though the last hour or so with Chad—my target—was the utmost highlight of my detestable life, I couldn’t hold onto it and let it screw with my mind. Screw with my purpose, or with my freedom.

Yeah, his cock had felt huge and filling inside me. His tongue had felt deliciously divine in my mouth. His body had felt amazingly searing over mine. But…

I still had to kill him.

For revenge.

For freedom.

After disposing of the used condom, Chad buckled his LRG leather belt, all the while staring down at me. Even in the dark, red glow, I knew, now, in this moment, he was no longer the man who’d touched me in the most tender, altruistic way.

No, he was the vacuous, hard-hearted bastard who’d wipe out the Byrds.

He was no longer the man who promised me he’d never hurt me.

The way he was looking down at me now—vulnerably naked and post-coitally spreadeagled—was nothing short of a warning. An I-dare-you. Like setting up landmines around my bloodless heart, letting me know if I so much as inhale too deeply, it would explode into tiny bits and pieces.

And I feared.

I feared him.

“Get yourself cleaned up and get back to work,” he said once he was fully dressed again. Legs in a wide stance, he slipped his hands in his pockets; a sign of peace, no hard feelings. “You got wet wipes in your purse to clean up? Or should I have Nadia bring some for you?”

“Fuck you,” I spat out, still spread open wide on the sofa banquette, unable to move for some unknown reason—or maybe I was just
unwilling
.

Dark gaze sliding over my body and back, he deadpanned, “You just did.”

“Enjoy the afterglow, boss, because
this
…”—I tore my legs open wider and rubbed my fingers down my soaking wet folds— “is never happening again.”

A few seconds passed, then he shrugged. “I have my picks.”

Unexplainable anger gas-pedaled through my veins, pumping through my arteries, and without thinking, I lurched up off the sofa banquette, catching him off guard as I slammed an uppercut under his chin.

He grunted in surprise as his teeth clacked together from the unexpected impact, and his hands flew up to grab the sides of his head in an effort to temper the pain, his eyes squeezed tight, face crunched up.

That particular hit would leave him dizzy and out of it for a few quick minutes. As many times as I’ve inflicted it on others, I’ve also received it during training, so, having experienced that pain a dozen times over, I knew what he was feeling at the moment: like someone was electrocuting his brain as he literally lost sight for a moment, seeing nothing but blackness. Not even stars.

Knowing this, I hurriedly donned my stripper costume, snatched up my purse, and stepped up to him. Eyes still tightly shut, hands still holding the sides of his head, waiting for the waves of jarring pain to pass. In this state, whatever I said to him now would be nothing but distant echoes to him. I didn’t care. I still seethed, “I’m not a
girl
, ass-shit. You’d do well to remember that.”

Like a cat with its whiskers on fire, searching for a bowl of cool milk to dip its face in, I skipped it out of there before Chad’s equilibrium returned. No way on earth was I going to be anywhere near him when he came to. Because, fuck his promise. With that stunt I just pulled, he’d probably kill me before I got the chance to kill him.

Click. Thud. Clang.

The girl stiffened, trying not to shiver or cry at the familiar sound of the metal door opening. The ‘click, thud, clang’ never meant for anything good.

Bright light streaming into the darkness of the ten-by-twelve room she’d been imprisoned in for the past twelve months never once represented hope or rescue.

It represented pain and degradation.

She hated the light.

But hated it as much as she wanted, the light came pouring in anyway, because choice was a luxury. And here, now, with no choice and no voice, she had to take what was given.

It wasn’t just The Big Man in Black who knocked her around and brought her bread and water twice a day who came in this time. Another man, who was a little bigger, and a little taller came in with him. Carrying a large, black travel bag.

Fear nibbling at her organs as she eyed the suspicious black bag, the girl abruptly sat up and shifted to the edge of her tough, narrow bed. It hurt her back sometimes, but at least she had a bed now. Twelve months ago, there’d been nothing at all in the room, so she’d slept on the floor in the darkness for five months, no blankets or pillows. Nothing soft or cushy, nothing comforting. Nothing to protect her from anything.

Nothing but the darkness.

The Big Man in Black had gotten a little kinder after a while, and told her that if she started being obedient and stopped rebelling, if she accepted her situation and the fact that help wasn’t coming, then she would receive small rewards for her good behavior.

But the girl had been stubborn. Each time she woke up from a painful knockout, she would scream and shout, pound on the steel doors, curse the guard and spit in his face, fought, until he knocked her out again.

Finally The Big Man in Black stopped bringing her bread and water. For days she’d went on without food, energy drained, which rendered her so weak and lifeless she couldn’t cry out loud, and she couldn’t pound the doors. Everything was silence and darkness, as she was being starved to death. Her life drifted further and further from her body each day. Slowly.

On the fifth day, The Big Man in Black came and found her so pressed into the ground, it was like she was a part of it, her body halfway to death, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. He’d cradled her upper half in his arms and forced hot soup down her throat.

That was the only time she’d ever gotten anything other than bread and water.

When she was revived, she’d promised to behave, if only to get more soup. Or something more than bread and water.

Soup was just a one-time treat, however, to bring her back to life. But The Big Man in Black did keep his word about giving her rewards for good behavior.

First it was the narrow bed, no sheets or pillows. More good behavior got her a fitted sheet and one pillow. Then she got a lamp. Then a blanket. Then a mini radio.

Braving it, she dared to ask for books, even being specific about wanting fantasy and dystopia. Those were her favorite books to read, her escape from the real world. Oftentimes she wish she was just a character from a book, and not a real person. Real life sucked. Like, really sucked.

Her brother’s best friend, the monster who killed her family, loved fantasy novels, too. He was the one who made her love them, because he usually read stories to her which her father forbade. It’d been their little secret.

“We are fantastical, Tweety Byrd,” the family slayer used to say to make her smile. “Rules are not for us. Escape with me. Let’s color our minds and forget what’s real.”

He used to talk like that to her because he said it made the green of her eyes glow. He was like her own personal Peter Pan. Grown, but always so young.

Fantasy reads were a special bond they shared. But they’d had to hide and read, because he’d said if anyone saw them, they would think it strange and stop him from coming there. That he was eight years older than her and shouldn’t be hanging out with someone her age.

But in their world, age did not exist. They were just two beings, two souls, two hearts that bonded.

The Big Man in Black never brought her fantasy books, though. He brought books about crime, and war and killing. Books about guns, books about fighting, books which her father would vehemently disapprove of. Nothing was fantasy, nothing would help her escape.

They would only make an eleven-year-old abnormally knowledgeable in the art of killing.

The two men walked up to her bed and towered over her. The girl knew by now to keep her head down, listen, and never to look them in the eye.