Primal Pursuit

I force my lips together, my piss-poor attempt at disobeying, and laughter rumbles from his throat, as if I amuse him.

He grabs my nose and holds it so I have no choice but to open my mouth if I want to breathe. My safe wordlingers close, but I stay quiet, determined to play this game as hard as he does.

He slams his cock hard against my lips, forcing it farther and farther until it reaches the back of my throat. I gag and sputter, feeling every inch of him as he thrusts in and out of me. With each movement, a growl of pleasure escapes his lips and ignites something primal within me. Every inhibition I had is extinguished as his taste on my tongue intoxicates me. Heat spreads, pumping molten desire into every fiber of my being until I’m gripping his thighs, craving more.

“Fuck, yes,” he mutters followed by a low growl, and he grabs my head, sliding my mouth all the way over his cock, forcing me to take him deep, then keeps me there a beat until I’m gasping for air.

Suddenly, he pulls out of my mouth as he slides the blindfold off. I’m blinking rapidly as my eyes adjust, moonlight casting shadows across his face—beautiful, daunting, disarming shadows, highlighting the lust and desire that flickers in his eyes like emeralds. He’s not a man. He’s a predator. One who just had a taste of something he likes—something he needs to get his fill of.

Me.

“Word,” he growls, his teeth gritted in a feral snarl. Without giving me time to respond he pushes me on my back, jerking my legs apart with bruising force, and I moan out loud when he fills the gap between my thighs, pressing his heavy body against mine. His breath is hot against my skin as he surges forward in a frenzied haze, thrusting himself into me.

I grunt and moan as he stretches me, hitting so deep it’sa dull ache. With that ache comes need and a delicious pleasure, and I want more of it. I need more.

He looks into my eyes and starts to fuck me. Hard.

It’s not easy. It’s not pretty.

It’s primal. Untamed.

Wild and savage.

It’s everything I fucking want.

His grunts, and my moans compose a filthy melody, the dirty lyrics clinging to our sweaty bodies.

The heat builds inside me as I lift my hips, trying to accommodate his cruel thrusts. He has taken away my will and made my body his own. Every fiber of my being revolts against this, yet the pleasure is undeniable.

I hate him even more now. For making me want him. But I can’t stop it. I’m too far gone, on the verge of coming again.

I turn my head, and my gaze flickers over to the scissors on the floor. Big, black handles and sharp, long cutters.

I have to try.

With one last effort, I force my limbs into motion, snatching them up and gripping them tightly. But now everything hinges on what I choose to do next.

I push the open blade against his throat, and he stops, mid-thrust, breathless, and looks at me.

“Really, Rabbit?”

“Fuck you, you asshole.”

He flips us so I’m on top straddling him, and he’s inside me as he grabs my wrist, forcing the tip of one blade against his jugular. “If you’re going to fucking kill me, do it right. Jam that into me.”

I hold the point at his throat, panting, my mind and body at war. My thoughts are filled with nothing but hate for him, but my body…God, my body is alive, electric currents crashing through me, one after the other.

My fingers curl around the blade, my knuckles white with rage. I’m ready to end him when he lifts his hips, pushing himself deeper inside me.

“Kill me, or fuck me, Rabbit. Just don’t waste my fucking time.”

Again, he thrusts, hitting the deepest part of my core, and I bite my tongue, tasting my coppery blood. It tastes of desperation and rage and defeat. It tastes of hate and lust, and right now I’m high on it.

I roll my hips, his cock moving inside me while my gaze is etched on his. Keeping the scissors against his throat, I grip it tighter as I ride him harder, faster, squeezing his cock. My hand shakes as I push the blade deeper into his skin.

I want him dead.

I want his blood seeping from him. Spurting. I want?—