Blood to Dust (16 page)

“Then we’ll climb out of trouble together. Let’s kick trouble in the ass, Beat. Crawl out of the gutter, point the gun at Godfrey, Sebastian and Camden and kill all of our problems at once. Let’s claim our lives back.”

His pulse drums beneath my fingers, wild and hungry and tempted, and I lean closer to his face
.

“Kiss me, Beat.”

“You’re insane,” he croaks. He’s not wrong.

My body is sore, aching with want for a man I haven’t seen. Never in my life have I felt like this. Sex with Camden before we broke up was. . .nice. Everything else—painfully numbing. But this. . .it doesn’t even have a name.

“We’ll make a pact to kill those bastards for what they did to us. Instead of shaking on it, we’ll kiss on it. It’ll be our little blood oath, Beat.”

“Pea.”

“Beat. . .”

Beat. . .

Beat. . .

Boom.

He slings me against the wall and his lips crash on mine in a hard, closemouthed, drugging kiss as he pulls me flush against his steel body. I gasp for air, parting my lips, but before I manage to draw in oxygen, he bites my lower lip and drags it into his mouth until the flesh cracks, the healing injury Seb had caused breaking open as he sucks on my blood. Horror twirls with a heady thrill inside me, and I drag my fingers through the hair of my faceless captor, pulling at his perfect locks. He takes my chin in his hand, my lip still in his mouth, sucking hard, drinking away my pain.

Excitement helixes through me, the adrenaline pumping in my veins making my whole body buzz with unfamiliar electricity I’d never felt under a person’s touch. Maybe I’m going insane.

Maybe it’s a place worth going.

“Blood oath,” he growls into my mouth with a charged breath, dragging me up from the floor like the caveman that he is so that we’re both standing up. He pins me to the wall. This gorgeous, raw, broken, sensitive monster of a boy-man hates it when men slap me, but make no mistakes—he loves to hurt me. “Make me bleed, Prescott.”

And I do. I make him bleed. I bite the tip of his tongue, pulling slowly, taking his rough tongue in my mouth and sucking it with a long, husky moan that tickles my chest, tingles my stomach and ends up blowing up between my legs. The intensity of his touch is so intoxicating, it’s almost like he licked me up and down. We’ve already sprinted over so many barriers, and I have one more to tip him over the edge.

Sex.

He needs to take from me, like the rest of them. It’d be the ultimate betrayal against Godfrey.

“Blood oath,” I repeat with abandon, our lips ghosting one another, never leaving, never saying goodbye. Greedy. Ravenous.
Desperate.
“We’re in this together, Beat, baby. Fuck me.”

Yes. Fuck me. Against orders. Against logic. Against the fucking wall.

His tongue circles around mine frantically, his mouth drops to my neck, dragging downwards. He licks the sensitive spot behind my ear and moves down to bite my breast through the fabric of my dress, leaving goosebumps so powerful I’m quivering like a brittle leaf. He leaves a trail of that sticky blood he drew from my lips with every brush of his tongue. I feel my wetness dripping down my right inner thigh, crawling to my knee, my body begging for some action.

“Aren’t you fucked up after what they did to you?” he growls. “Aren’t you scared of sex?”

I grab one of his wrists and guide his hand to my inner thigh, moving it up and down my soaked flesh. “Can I fake this, Beat? Can you fake lust?”

“Why you?” A groan that sounds a lot like a beg makes his chest tremble while he pins me to the wall, lifting me so my legs are wrapped around his waist, his swollen, angry erection trapping me between his huge arms. Now he’s the one grinding against me, and his willpower to resist me is running on fumes. Every little thrust of his hips hammers another pin on his self-control casket.

“I can have any pussy in the world. . .and the only one that I want is as toxic as poison ivy.”

“Beat.” I place my mouth on his salty skin. I have no idea what I’m licking with the blindfold on. It’s even more of a turn-on. “You can have me. We could have it all. I’ve got the money. We can fuck and run away, start over and leave this mess.”

I guess Nate is too drunk to even comprehend what I just suggested, because he snarls and tugs at the fabric of my gray dress, wanting to strip me naked but too drunk to know how.

“He’ll kill me if I fuck you.” He grabs me by the ass and lifts me upwards, nuzzling his perfect, straight nose into my throat and sucking. Sex is a powerful drive, and for a young man recently out of prison? It just might throw him off a cliff. “But maybe I deserve death. And maybe. . .” His teeth find my earlobe, tugging. “Maybe I don’t even care anymore.”

“Fuck me,” I whisper into his mouth again, both of us shuddering with looming release.

His hands leave my body and disappointment slams into me, but only for a second, because then I hear him patting his back pocket and producing what might be his wallet. I hear him yanking out a condom and ripping the wrapper open.

“No foreplay,” he grunts.

“No problem.” I lick his skin again. He could probably drill a missile into me and I’d be fine with it. Yes, he is business, but oh, how I enjoy working my charm on him.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been with someone.” I hear the sticky rubber as he rolls the condom on and butterflies take over my chest. Am I happy because I’m close to securing my freedom, because I’m about to have sex with an obviously out-of-this-world mysterious ex-felon with a banging body or because I’ve played this scene in my head more times than I’d like to admit ever since I fell into his captivity?

You guessed it. All three.

“Are you telling me this because you’re going to come fast?”

His hands find my waist again and spin me, throwing my body hard against the concrete with a thud. He yanks my underwear down to my knees, pulls my dress over my ass and smacks it lightly. “That too. But mostly, because it’s going to be brutal.”

He takes my ass cheeks in his hands, pulls me up so that my behind is against his erection and plows into me in one go.

Shit. He is huge. And I don’t mean good-huge, either. No. He is this-should-come-with-a-warning-label huge. I cry out in pain, my nails digging into the wall for comfort, but nothing can dull the agony of having him inside me. Nate’s so thick, my thighs spread open automatically even in this position. And he’s so long, he hits my G-spot without even trying, which is good, because he
isn’t
trying to please me.

And I’m pretty certain having sex with him is the equivalent of experiencing natural birth.

“Jesus,” I moan, not exactly sure if it’s from pleasure or pain. Instead of pumping into me, his fingers dig into the flesh of my ass, moving me in the rhythm of his frantic trance. Brutally. Repeatedly. Urgently.

“Shut the fuck up, Pea.” He disregards me as his cock hits my G-spot hard again, making my mouth water with an impending orgasm. It’s not pretty. It’s not even sultry. His moves are rusty, feral, manic. He is fucking me like he is trying to kill me, each thrust like a knife that sends my forehead banging against the wall. His desperate growls release something that’s been buried deep inside him. It’s angry sex, but it’s not me he’s angry at. No. I’m just a hole he spills the rage he’s collected over the years into.

He fucks me because he wants to ruin what belongs to Godfrey Archer and his son, and I let him, for the exact same reason.

His hand slams my ass, and I arch my back in response, my head thrown to the wall with a bang. It’s like he poured hot water all over me. He doesn’t rub or kiss it better, and after the first shot of pain. . .bliss. Pure bliss.

“Do it again.”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do.”

But he spanks me again, and I wail his name.

“Beat,” I say with a shudder, chanting like a prayer to the sex god behind me, knowing that I should keep my mouth shut, but also that I can’t stop. He slams so deep into me, my voice box produces groans and sobs unintentionally.

“Yes. . .oh. . .oh. . .
Nate
.”

No.
No
.
No
.

His body stiffens behind me and goosebumps bloom on his skin down to his fingertips. He’s still inside me, his breathing ragged.

I’m not sure what scares me more, the fact that he hasn’t spoken in a few seconds, the fact that he’s still inside me, expanding my body like someone shoved a chair into me, or the fact that my pussy swells around him, hot and even more turned on by my fear. I gulp.

“Ink?” he asks dryly. I nod, partly telling the truth.

“God fucking dammit,” he hisses, still hard as stone. “How long have you known?”

I squeeze my swollen eyelids together.

“A while.”

“Prescott,” he warns.

“A week.”

Body frozen with fear, I feel his hand as he brushes my hair away and kisses the nape of my neck, his other hand still holding my ass up in the air so that I’m on my tiptoes. He releases a long pained breath. I swallow hard as his silence fills every inch of the room.

“Are you going to kill me or fuck me?” My lips tremble.

He fists my hair, bringing my ear to his hot mouth. “First, the latter,” he whispers sinisterly.
He’s killed before
. “And then, I’ll decide who deserves to be killed for this.”

He’s at it again. Grabbing my ass in a way that’d surely leave a nasty mark, he slams his hips into my flesh back and forth. I keep my mouth shut by biting into my lower lip hard, but even that doesn’t stop the moans from escaping.

I’m working up a solid orgasm, my legs shaking all over, but Nate doesn’t even warn me. He drives into me one last time and empties inside me, groaning against my sweaty back for what seems to be a full minute. I feel his condom expanding with hot cum. It feels like he broke my body and sliced my legs open with a cleaver.

And I love it.

He releases my hips and I slide down the wall until my feet hit the floor. I shimmy my dress down, my wetness sticking my thighs together. What the hell just happened? Technically, it was sex. But physically and mentally, it felt like butchery. Nate takes a step back. He went against Godfrey’s order and fucked me with everything he’s got and then some. His empty balls are in my cute little palm now.

Everyone knows Godfrey has a lie detector in his office. One sit-down with Nate and the needle will be dancing like a hippie at Woodstock. I’m sure we’re thinking the same thing—everything’s changed now that he stuck his dick in me.

“Shit,” he mutters behind me as the new reality settles over the room. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Even though my back is still to him, I can feel him pacing the room. I’m trying not to dwell on it, because my plans are so much bigger than being semi-rejected by a weird man-boy with a cock the size of a rocket ship. Still, it stings.

But I know his name.

And he fucked something that belongs to Godfrey.

He is screwed.

“Listen, Nate. . .” Before I get the chance to turn around and launch at him with another pep talk, the door slams shut, the walls around me rattling with the impact. I wait a few seconds before taking off my blindfold and looking around.

He left.

I kick the food and beer he brought for me, picking up the Guy Fawkes mask he forgot to take with him before he stormed away and stare at it, willing it to come alive and fight with me.

I can’t believe him. I can’t believe
me
. I shouldn’t care that he ran off. Just be thrilled that he’s played into my plan, and that I can now manipulate him even more.

Nate Vela will be back. I know he will. A whole party couldn’t distract him. He came for me. He came
in
me. He has no interest in whatever the outside world has to offer. From the moment he gets to his house every day, his life revolves around me.

The way he fucked me today? It proved one thing: this man needs me just as I need him.

Bad
.

I need to step out of this mess before she assassinates me in a way a whole army of crazy Nazis tried and hadn’t succeeded. She’s going to ruin me. . .and I’m going to let her.

No. This stops here.

I don’t know this girl. I sure as fuck don’t need this girl. This girl, other than being the proud owner of a magic, sleek pussy I tend to respond to like it belongs to Aphrodite herself, is nothing to me.
Nothing
. She’ll pull the trigger on me without even batting an eye. She’ll fuck her way to freedom even if it were under the bodies of other men. Like Irv, or Stan Hathaway, or even fucking Camden Archer himself. She’ll stop at nothing to get her life back, and I can’t blame her.

But I can end this.

It’s her problem, not mine. Her tragedy, not mine. I’ve got my own fucking sad story to torture the ears of the average folk with. And that shit about a kid? I may be tanked, but I saw her face twitching when she answered.

Where are you hiding your spawn, little Pea, and who the fuck takes care of them?

Stumbling out of the basement, still thoroughly drunk, I take a wide step over a naked girl on the floor who is masturbating using an empty beer bottle in front of a cheering crowd. Jesus fuck, what kind of people does Irv hang out with these days?