Flashing him a cowed look, a fake one, I climbed out of the pool. Scratch that. I glided. The gliding part came naturally in the glittering pool with its infinity edge, a steeped plane like a crystal white beach of concrete. The pool was the one nod to overt luxury here. That and the hot tub inside. Otherwise, the house was small and rustic, built with local timber and filled with handcrafted rugs. He’d brought me here for a getaway and I hadn’t yet been able to leave. It was too beautiful, too safe. Someday soon we’d travel again, but I always wanted to return here.
Lush foliage blocked us from view. Island security took care of the rest. He hadn’t owned a whole island. He owned part of one. He shared it with an ex-Hollywood director and some sort of oil baron from the Middle East, both of whom were more concerned about aerial snapshots being taken than we were.
Royalty. That’s how Mia had described his parents’ lifestyle. Glittering parties with la familia. And though Carlos had money, he’d always preferred things understated. He purchased things he’d never been able to get as a child. Privacy. Safety.
Comfort.
I understood about that. I climbed the cedar porch steps to reach him. He waited for me with hooded eyes, his body taut. Droplets slid down my skin, caressing me. His gaze dipped to my breasts. He wasn’t unaffected by me. I could tell by the way his hands clenched. And from the impressive tenting of his pants.
I remembered the grainy black and white photograph from the Bureau. The way he’d stared at the camera. The way he’d stared at me. He looked at me the same way now, in challenge, with wanting.
“Strip, love.” His voice was low, guttural.
Flashing him a look beneath my lashes, I reached down and pulled the damp fabric off. My breasts bounced lightly in the sunlight.
“No more swimsuits. No more anything. When you’re swimming, I want to see those pretty breasts in the water. I want to see them get tan in the sun. Understand?”
My nipples tightened beneath his hungry gaze, under the lash of his words. I nodded, unable to speak.
“Turn around.”
As soon as I faced away, he grabbed me. He maneuvered my body so I faced the pool, and he put my hands on the railing. Hold on, he told me with a squeeze of my wrists. He kicked my legs apart while his broad hands pulled my hips up. In seconds, I was positioned for him. So ready for him.
He might have spanked me then, in pretend punishment for my transgressions, but he was further gone than I realized. The blunt head of his cock nudging me was my only warning. Then he thrust inside, to the hilt, a sudden stretch that had me on my tiptoes, crying out.
His growl filled the air and vibrated his chest behind me. “Does it hurt? It’s your fault for being that way. So beautiful I have to take you.” He slapped the soft underside of my ass, and I clenched around him. “And so fucking tight.”
He pulled back and pushed back in, so hard and fast I felt invaded. I ached with him, so full and so tender. He told me how he felt with every punishing thrust, how angry he was and how dark. How hard it was to love to me, but he did it anyway. He couldn’t have helped it. We were trapped together in these bonds of our own making.
With a rough pull, he tilted my hips up. His cock hit a certain point inside that made me moan. My mouth opened around the sound, helpless and hungry. I could do nothing in this position except take it. I could only wait for him to speed up, to move inside me faster and harder, to reach around and pinch my clit so I came around him, wet and hot.
His body stiffened. His hands tightened on my hips. A rough, guttural sound rumbled behind me as he came. His cock pulsed against my walls, and my sex tightened around him in response. We communed that way, while he rocked through the last of his climax.
The slow slide of his cock pulling out was enough to make me whimper. He turned me around and pushed me onto the deck. On my knees, I knew what to do. He’d trained me well. I leaned forward and mouthed his half-erect cock, licking it clean.
“How do you taste, love? Sweet, aren’t you?”
I closed my eyes as a flush heated my cheeks. He still knew how to embarrass me, and he wielded that knowledge like a weapon. I was forever slayed around him, bleeding and raw. I wouldn’t have thought it possible just six months ago, when I’d been wrapped up in so many layers. He’d carefully ripped down each one.
I licked every trace of our come from his cock and regretfully covered him up. With gentle hands, he gathered my wet hair and used it as a leash to guide me into the shade. He sat down in the rough Adirondack chair while I knelt on the plush cushion in front of him. I rested my cheek against his knee, curled up at his feet.
His dark gaze warmed me, because I knew I’d returned his gift of peace. Other people wouldn’t understand. They’d only see the control he used with me, the violence he wreaked. But that was only the outside, the drawbridge and cannons of a fortress heavily guarded. I’d been inside. I knew the truth.
He took me roughly because it was the only way he could. He spoke to me cruelly because he knew I liked it best. And he held my hips so tightly, he left those finger-shaped bruises on my skin, because he couldn’t bear to let me go.
THE END
Thank you!
Thank you for reading Don’t Let Go! I very much appreciate anything you can do to spread the word including leaving a review or telling a friend who enjoys dark books.
Yours,
Skye Warren