Primal Pursuit

“Or a snake,” she replies as she pivots around and comes rushing up, shoving her hands against my chest and pushing me back. “That’s what you are isn’t it? A fucking snake.”

I take her by the throat and feel her swallow, feel the hard and fast beat of her pulse. Her skin’s cool, the blood beneath hot, and I squeeze, making sure I’m touching the freshly nicked skin.

I walk her backward and slam her into the opposite wall, causing her to drop her handbag.

God, she’s beautiful.

Exquisite.

Big, blue eyes that show every emotion.

Heart-shaped lips beckon to be ravished.

And her skin—smooth, milky perfection.

Jesus, she’s breathtaking—like a poison apple, ruby-red and juicy-looking, but fucking toxic.

Her breath grates on the air as she tries to breathe in around my hold. I should let go a little, but I don’t. She can breathe once she calms the fuck down.

“What’s your safe word?”

“I don’t need one.”

“Trust me, woman. You need one.” I tighten my grip until she goes red and starts to struggle, then I loosen to my previous grip. “The words no, don’t, and stop mean nothing to me, Rabbit.”

She doesn’t ask me to let her go.

She doesn’t curse or plead, beg or promise. Which is good, because that would just pour ice on the red-hot adrenaline pumping through my veins right now. I’m hard as fuck for this woman, and it’s that dark, achy need for release I don’t feel as often as I’d want. This girl’s the perfect vessel. But we need to establish a safe word because I’m about to push her hard, bring her down the primordial. And the only way she’s going to stop me is by saying that one magic fucking word.

God, I hope she doesn’t.

I slide my hand under her faux fur coat that’s got the bite of mothballs to it, and it sort of turns me on. The grandma’s closet scent, the pin-up girl disgraced. I can’t help but stare at that red, plump mouth of hers painted the exact shade of sex. Lips the color of hate, reluctant arousal, and violence. Fucking beautiful.

Her skin is soft and warm, like silk, her eyes shimmering like diamonds in the dark. And as I touch her, I can smell the arousal on her, the need, the want. It’s all around me, infecting my blood, making me rabid for her.

I kick her foot. “Legs apart.”

She just glares. So, I kick the shoe harder, and she shifts—enough so I can slip my fingers between her thighs, over her bare pussy to her ass, where I start to tease her. “Right here. This tight hole. That’s what I’ll fuck first.”

“If I let you.”

“No one said a word about let.”

“Ass,” she hisses.

I smile dirtily. “Exactly.” I circle and tease that tight hole. “What’s your fucking safe word, Rabbit?”

She waits a beat until finally she bites out, “Savage.”

“Oh, I like that. I’m so sick of rose or apple or fucking red. Savage is to the point and describes what this is perfectly.” I slide my finger through her wet slit again. “Something savage.”

“Something wrong.”

“Hmmm,” I groan. “Keep up the dirty talk. Why savage?”

I stroke my thumb on the side of her throat where I keep up the pressure, sliding my finger back up to her ass.

Something like a moan escapes her, and it’s like the goddamn gift that keeps trucking on—especially as she rocks against my hand.