Serpent King's Bride: A Dark Mafia Romance Trilogy

“Stop.” My hand shot up, halting her words. “I don’t want to hear it.” I didn’t want to hear how she had broken her own codes, her own laws, because what did it change? That she could betray her badge?

That she could fall in love with someone like me?

Abby sighed, a deep sound full of something I couldn’t decipher. With a shake of her head, she turned away from me and started pulling out ingredients from the fridge. Eggs, milk, bread…she was making French toast.

Just like that, as if we were any normal couple on any normal morning.

I slid off the stool, feeling the urge to escape the too-tight space, the too-heavy silence. As I made my way toward the stairs, her voice stopped me.

“Are you just going to walk away?” Abby asked, her tone edged with hurt.

I hesitated, my foot hovering above the next step.

Turning back toward her, I saw Abby still at the stove, her shoulders rigid beneath the fabric of her shirt. She was staring down at the skillet with an intensity that seemed to burn as hot as the flame beneath it. Her hands clenched tight around the spatula, knuckles white—a clear sign she was pissed. And for a moment, the image of her standing there, so fierce yet so vulnerable, knocked the breath out of me.

But then the molten anger in my chest flared up again, driving me forward. I strode over too fast for her to react and caught a thick lock of her hair in my fist. Before she could even turn to face me, I pulled—hard—and bent her over the island.

Just like the night I’d assaulted her that first time at 118 California.

I yanked down her pants, my hand going instantly to her wet, hot pussy. She was drenched, turned on by the way we argued, the way I used her. Guilt and arousal waged war in my burning chest as I stroked her, and Abby rocked back against me, a silent plea written in every tense line of her body.

“Please,” she breathed, and it wasn’t clear whether it was a plea for more or a plea for it all to stop.

But her body told its own story, one of need and raw desire. I couldn’t believe she still wanted me, not after everything that had passed between us. Yet as I pulled my slick fingers from her, the evidence was undeniable. With a growl, I brought my hand up to my lips and tasted her, savoring the sweetness that was uniquely Abby. She gasped, a sound that shot straight to my groin.

“God, Nathan,” she whispered, her voice a mix of desperation and something else I couldn’t—or wouldn’t—name.

My cock throbbed with an urgency that matched the pounding of my heart. I freed myself from my sweats slapping my hard length against her, teasing the both of us with the promise of what could come.

Leaning forward, our bodies not quite connecting, I let my words brush against the shell of her ear.

“Only a true slut would like this,” I hissed, venom in every word. “Only a cock-hungry whore would let her rapist use her this way…let a monster fuck her. You’re a freak, Abby. My perfect, psychotic toy.”

“Nathan…stop,” she gasped, but she kept moving like that, kept writhing, moaning.

“I’m not going to stop, and you know that,” I growled. I teased her, sliding my cock between her thighs, over her folds. “Because I’m a monster, Abby…and only a fucking idiot would fall in love with a monster like me.”

“Nathan, wait, we should talk—“

I ignored her pleas to stop, her requests for conversation.

I couldn’t handle it.

Not right now.

In one swift, hard thrust, I buried myself inside her. Her knees buckled by I held her up by the waist, ramming myself into her, feeling the way her pussy fluttered wildly around me. She scratched her nails against the marble countertops, still begging…begging me to stop.

I needed to do this.

I needed to control her, to show her she couldn’t play me.

I needed to be a monster because only monsters survived in this world.

I set a punishing pace, her hips knocking against the countertop, my fingers squeezing bruises into her flesh. She was still telling me to stop, but it all turned into white noise in my head as I looked down at her prone form, used her, made her understand what she deserved. She wouldn’t look at me, but I could see tears spilling down to the countertop.

I’d made her cry a lot lately.

I couldn’t…this was her fault, wasn’t it?