CHAPTER 23
JEREMY THOUGHT HE knew the sides to her. The complex, twisted sides of this woman. The woman who tentatively responds to his kiss, as if she is afraid of breaking if pushed too far. The woman whose eyes light with fire, and who carries a dark thread of insanity, one that should make him run but only draws him closer. One who should cling to him, given the amount of her solitude, but instead is strong, independent, even dismissive at times when he expects her to be needy. Jeremy thought he knew the sides to her, but he was wrong.
This girl on the screen is all woman. Her legs spread, beautiful body unashamedly before him, she has not one trace of insecurity, does not need to be coddled or respected. She wants one thing, one thing that is thick and hard beneath his palm, straining for attention so hard it hurts, begging for release. Deanna stares through the screen with eyes that burn, complex and confident, and challenges him for more. He stands, facing the computer, and wishes like hell that he had his own cam, not just this headpiece, a way for her to not just hear but see the level of his need. He takes off the kid gloves.
“I want to take you on your back, with your legs wrapped around my waist, your heels digging into me as I hold down your wrists and thrust inside of that body. I want to fuck you deep. Slow, hard thrusts that have your muscles squeezing my cock. I want you to feel every bit of me as I move. I want to watch your tits bounce as I speed up, as I lose control and fuck you without thought. I want to release your hands and have you dig into my back. Pull you to me and feel your soft breasts against my chest as I pound into you.” His breath runs out, his cock releasing a clear stream of prearousal, his hand fisting up and down the shaft, watching as this beautiful woman plunges her fingers inside, her body contracting and moving, rolling in time with her fucks. He growls, feeling a surge of ownership overtake him, an animalistic urge millions of years old pushing him. He wants every bit of this woman. He wants to protect her, reassure her, hold her in his hands and make her his with his cock. “Fuck, Dee. You are too perfect, too right for me. I want you in ways that are bad for me. I want to pick you up and fuck you against every surface in your apartment. I want you to fall apart in my hands and come with my cock inside you, fucking you through it. I want to be yours. I want to be the best and the only man you ever take. I want you wrapped around my cock as I come inside of you. And I want to kiss your mouth and take your breath and fill you with every bit of myself.”
She stiffens, her back arches, her fingers a blur of pink moisture on his screen, and she moans, a bit of her hand shown gripping the sheets, her body lifting a bit off the bed, the beautiful sounds of her orgasm breaking any last hold Jeremy has left.
He can’t stop, his hand gripping the shaft tightly, and he whispers her name, his body freezing as his head drops back and his orgasm arrives.
CHAPTER 24
A MAN NEEDS a release from time to time. Needs to feel the full brute force of his power. Needs to untap all his potential and see the result. In Marcus’s younger days, it was done in a fight, leaning over a younger opponent. Punching then kicking, till the boy was a broken mess of a coward. Life changes as you grow up. As everyone else keeps growing and you stay the same, a five-foot-seven midget. Forced to look up. A man’s head shouldn’t turn up. Not a real man. And his fists could no longer win respect—not against a larger man. So Marcus found new weapons. Clawed his way to new heights. Gained power. Money. Money can create all manner of intimidation. And in that intimidation, he regained his footing. His confidence. But he still needed confirmation. That was where the girls had come in. The girls had given him the feeling of power and masculinity he missed from his youth.
On November 11, three years prior, he had finished in four hours. Turned away from the girl, zipping his pants as he walked to the cottage’s round table, gathering his keys and wallet and returning them to his pocket. He examined the front of his pants for blood. Nothing. Lifting the white dress shirt from the far chair, he shrugged into it.
Silence in the space. He glanced back. The whimpering had been good while it lasted, her gasps and screams silenced, first by his belt, then by his cock. But total silence was a problem. He walked to the bed, pulling up her head, her eyes closed, the muscles of her face slack. He swung the back of his hand and slapped her, the snap of her face satisfying, the brief start of her eyes reassuring. Still breathing. Good. He wasn’t an animal for Christ’s sake. Killing was for animals. He was a man of control.
He left her tied, his eyes sweeping appreciably over her outstretched arms, the marks of his fingers visible in the bruising. Her legs, still spread open, the twitch of his cock affirming his virility.