Chapter 30

thirty

Nevaeh

I was wrong when I said there was a monster living deep within him, caged by the flesh and bone of a man. It’s not a monster. It’s a devil. And I’ve awoken him with three simple words. I. Don’t. Beg.

I can see it, the swirling dark. The curl of sin stretching from his slumber to rise to the challenge. To play.

My heart trembles, but it’s not in fear. It’s in something else. Something I know I shouldn’t love the way I do.

“A mistake, Sunshine.”

I shake my head at his warning. “I don’t think so.” I don’t know why I push him, but I do. Maybe it’s because I trust him with my life. Maybe it’s because I know in my soul, I’m safest with him. Maybe it’s because I’m having so much fun playing with him. But I taunt again on a practiced pout, “All threat no follow through.”

The shards of ice in his eyes shatter in the heat as he pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, sucking hard before he releases it on a violent scrape of teeth. My already hard nipples harden more. I have to force myself not to squeeze my thighs together as his hands move to the buckle of his belt. He unfastens it fast, sliding it from the loops of his black jeans before he shoves me down on the bed, excitement and arousal spilling from his eyes, his pores, his every breath. Planting a knee between my legs, he captures my wrists above my head, pinning them into the mattress as he crooks his neck to kiss me hard and deep. He demands entrance with his tongue that I don’t deny, my legs spreading wider as he presses his jean covered thigh to my core, dragging the rough material over my pulsing center. He devours the cry I fail to restrain, feasting on it as though it’s the sole thing to drive him on, to push him forward. Purpose.

He kisses me so deeply; I feel as though he’s stroking my very soul with his own. The barbed wire ribbons of his dark twine with my light, a dance of shadow and fire to singe the past.

My cry of protest when he pulls away would be humiliating, if it didn’t make him grin like that. Like he’s conquered the first battle.

I want to tell him there will be many more to face, but all my words are silenced as shock and the first bit of hesitation spill into me as the wrists he’d bound above my head by one big hand while he kissed me are now bound by the unbreakable leather of his belt. The other end is tied to the headboard.

“Kane,” I breathe, my chest rising and falling on heavy breaths. “I’ve never been tied up. I don’t know⁠—”

“Look who’s all talk now.” He pinches one nipple and then the other. I squirm, not getting far now that I’m tied up.

My teeth snap as I clap my mouth shut. The part of my personality that doesn’t like to back down from a challenge is here for this. Totally. The other part, the wary, hesitant part of me that likes to make her appearance at inopportune times—say, when I’ve challenged my fake husband into making me beg, making me spiral—well, that part of me is also here for this.

He chuckles deep and low, a sound that moves through me like fire and sin, scorching in its wake. I can’t help myself as I try to close my thighs together—needing to ease the pressure just a bit.

I’ve never been so unsure and so turned on.

Knowing what I’m doing, Kane’s big hands fall to my knees, and he gives me one small warning shake of his head. My body quivers. The contrast of his big veiny hands that stretch into muscled arms on my smooth, unblemished skin, is startling. It’s also sexy as hell.

What’s even sexier is the way he stands fully clothed between my thighs as I lay entirely naked and bound by his belt to the bed, at his mercy. My body tingles, alive with desire.

I want him to touch me more. I want him to touch me everywhere.

Holding his eyes with a dare, I bite my tongue to keep from begging—because I really, really want to right now.

He smirks as though he knows, his rough fingertips moving from my knee to my inner thigh, sliding up and down the smooth skin until it’s pebbled with goosebumps, and I’m so painfully aware of him, I want to cry—or beg—which I won’t do. No way.

“I can see your pussy glistening for me, Sunshine.” His dirty words are enough of a shock to my system, an unwilling moan slips free. “So pretty.”

His hand moves from my knee down that same path on my inner thigh to my throbbing sex, a finger stroking me so lightly against the sensitive flesh, it—tickles.

My hips twitch, the jerk of my body an involuntary motion seeking more of his touch. A deeper touch.

He doesn’t grant it to me as he keeps that stroke infuriatingly light, his fingertip gliding smoothly through the wet between the slit of my pussy lips. Again, I want to beg but seal my lips tightly shut as I angle my head, jutting my jaw in challenge as I act entirely unaffected even as my traitorous heart slams loud enough in my chest for him to hear.

He smiles a wicked smile that has blood surging anew in my veins, before he moves over me on the bed, his finger dipping between the crease to press that button of pleasure that promises release.

This time, I do let my moan loose. I couldn’t have bitten it back if I tried. My body is swollen with desire, and my flesh feels as though it’s been touched by fire. Kane presses a hot kiss to my belly before he pushes lower, teeth nipping at the sensitive skin of my inner thigh and calling a cry up from the deep of me as a shiver rockets down my spine, at war with the flames that consume my flesh.

The tip of his tongue begins a taunting exploration of my thigh before he makes my body his playground, reaching a hand between my legs to palm one breast, flicking and pinching the nipple before moving to the other and back again as his mouth finds that sweet spot between my legs, and he covers my pussy with his mouth, tongue stroking up and down the crease where his finger had explored not long before, taking up that maddening rhythm before he pulls my clit between his teeth and gives just enough pressure for stars to dance behind my eyes and my body to arch off the bed, heels digging into the edge of the mattress. I’m about to push away from him, because the pleasure—the pressure is nearly too much when he grips my hips in his hands to pin me in place.

That’s the moment I realize how much I need my hands. I’d have pushed them into his hair, curled my fingers in the strands and pulled. I’d have twisted fists into the sheets and held on for dear life—but I can do none of those things. I’m bound helpless by leather and man. At the mercy of his pleasure.

“Oh God—” I choke on a gasp as he twirls his tongue around the button of nerves, my body writhing.

“Not God, wife,” he growls against my core, pushing two fingers deep. “Husband.”

“Mmm.” I moan as he strokes. I’m so close. Nearly there. Any second.

“Say it.”

“What?” Am I even breathing?

“Husband.”

“Kane—” My hands clutch for the leather of the belt, needing something to ground me as the pleasure builds and threatens to erupt. I can taste the bright white light of it—the orgasm—and then it’s gone with his fingers and mouth. “No! What are you doing?”

That smirk is—I want to attack it. I even go so far as to tug on my restraint, but don’t get far.

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” he murmurs, and then with his hands on my hips, he flips me onto my belly, hiking me up until I’m tugged tight, before slapping my ass hard enough to leave a sting in the wake.

My body jerks. “Kane.”

“Husband.” Another slap, and then he rubs the sting with a rough palm.

I grit my teeth, not wanting to give him what he wants as he moves close enough, I can feel the heat of him. In odd response, I shiver.

“What are you doing?” I breathe, looking over my shoulder to see him on his knees on the bed behind me, his blue eyes focused exclusively on me.

“I’m going to take this ass tonight, Nevaeh.”

Weakness floods me, thighs quivering. “Kane—I don’t…”

“You’re going to beg me to take it.” He palms me, moving his hands to my low back as my painfully empty, denied-it’s-orgasm core, aches. “You’re going to beg me to fuck this pretty little ass so hard that you’re a mess all around me. Beg me to let you come.”

His thumbs work circles into the dimples of my low back as my breath hitches and I struggle to keep myself steady on bound hands as my thighs continue to tremble. When his hands span from my low back to my waist, and he grips me hard before tugging me back against him, a small sound escapes my lips on a rush of breath.

“Kane.”

“Husband.”

He grinds the bulge of his arousal into me, the material of his jeans is rough against my tender, sensitive flesh, and I loose a hitched moan. “Husband.”

The answering growl of pleasure that rips from the deep cavern of his chest almost makes me orgasm right there on the spot. Almost.

“Fucking love it when you call me that.” He grinds into me again and again, and a new kind of pressure builds as he loops his arm around my body to pet me between my legs as he continues to grind. I can’t help it—I spread my legs. I want more. I need more. “That’s it, baby. Spread those legs for me, feel the way I touch you.” His hands work me expertly and something thickens in his voice. “Only me.” He leans down and I suck in air as he nips my ass. “Forever, Sunshine. Mine.”

I don’t have time to reply before he thrusts his fingers deep inside me, fucking me with two digits from behind as he plays with my clit from the front with his other hand. I’m a mess of limbs and pleasure in the palm of his hands. And even though I’m full of him, and he’s pumping me to a rhythm that some might call violent, I still feel empty.

What is this?

“Kane,” I moan, and it sounds so close to a plea that I feel a flush of defeat in my cheeks. Thankfully, my husband doesn’t take it as such, because the pumping rhythm of his expert fingers inside me becomes much, much more intense. So intense, I’m clawing at the belt now, my body tightening to an all new kind of tight as muscles coil and ripple under my flesh, my core tensing around his fingers.

I’m right there, my lips parting as my body readies for the release I so need—and then he pulls out. Again.

The scream of pleasure on my lips morphs into a scream of frustration as I angle my ass back toward his retreating hand.

“What the hell are you doing?” I demand, my body falling flat to the mattress in defeat as he pushes off the bed. With my head turned toward him, my bound wrists still high above my head on the bed, I have an unimpeded view as he grips the back of his shirt and tugs it over his head, exposing man and muscle and ink.

My eyes drop to the V that dips into the band of loose, unbelted jeans. That’s when I notice the wet mark over his bulge—my wet mark.

My cheeks flame.

He marks it, a slow smirk spreading those devilish lips.

He palms his erection through his jeans—palms the wet I left there.

“Feeling a little frustrated, Sunshine?” he asks, sounding indifferent. I know he can’t possibly be by the size of his erection, but it still has my feathers in a ruffle.

I don’t give him a reply, sniffing, incensed, instead.

He laughs, the sound a lovely dark I know I’ll crave for the rest of my life.

His zipper drops.

Goosebumps scatter across my flesh.

Tiny hairs rise like pinpricks along my spine.

His jeans drop.

The emptiness inside my core expands, the pain of it hovering on excruciating.

My breaths come in faster, those needled bumps of awareness along my spine rising still as he trails a guitar calloused finger down the length and my spine arches like a cat, seeking more.

My heart is an erratic drumbeat in my chest.

I might die.

Any second could really be my last if this man doesn’t stop toying with me.

“Kane,” I rasp.

He grips a chunk of my hair, wrapping it around his fist like a rein, tugging so I’m forced to connect my eyes with Siberian frost. “Husband.”

“Husband.” The word leaves on a shuddering breath and the frost in his eyes spears outward like dagger points sure to flay me. Even if I weren’t bound, I’m not sure I’d find the will to fight.

“Say you’re mine, Nevaeh,” he commands, lining his tip with my entrance and pressing in just enough to tease me.

I’m so hungry for him, so wet, in the silence I can hear the erotic sounds of his body entering mine. He’s so big, and yet I stretch around him eagerly, spreading my legs wider as he presses his forearm along the length of my spine, forcing my chest into the bed even as he maintains that deliciously unrelenting grip on my hair.

“Don’t make me ask you again.” He delivers his warning with another inch of his hard cock.

I moan into the sheets. “Yours. I’m yours.”

“Mmm.” Another inch. I feel as though I’m beginning to burn from the inside. “Now beg for me, Sunshine.”

I bite my lip and with every ounce of strength I have, I shove my ass back hard, impaling myself on his cock.

“Fuck,” he hisses as I cry, “Ohmigawd.”

“Husband, baby. The only one you’ll ever have.” And then he starts to fuck me. Relentlessly. Ruthlessly. All fire and sin and possession wrapped into the punch of his dick as he wrecks me for any, and all others, lighting the past aflame before a cool winter forest and smoke invade every corner and crevice until he’s the only one who exists.

He fucks me until I think I might split in two and pain and pleasure twist into a knot I’ll never undo even when I shatter around him. My body is a spring coiled impossibly tight by his hand, his thrusts ruthless as he invades again and again, hitting my womb as I gasp and moan and scream. Pressure builds and expands, stuttering when I feel something cool splash against my ass, and then something is pressing into my back hole a moment after a bottle of lube I hadn’t noticed he had hit the bed. His other hand is still in my hair, but he’s pulled me up again so I’m on my hands and knees, the leather around my wrists a surprising addition to the pleasure pulsing through my body as he begins to push the toy into my back entrance, pulling it out. All the while, he hasn’t stopped the vicious thrust in and out of my pussy.

The new addition—the sudden fullness I feel—I see stars.

I’m almost there, nearly to that blissful brink, my pussy clenching around his cock as I bite into the sheets to cut off a scream when he hisses in through his teeth, tugging toy and cock from my body at once.

Empty.

Torture.

There is no other way to put it.

This time, I do scream as the pleasure is ripped out from under me, my body stuttering in shock as it grasps for something—for him—and he’s not there.

Tears spring to my eyes and I claw the sheets, the heat in my chest searing hot as it burns through my veins, clearing a path for rage.

I feel his big body come over mine, chest to my back, his lips against my shoulder as he murmurs, “Tell me again how you don’t beg, Sunshine.”

That’s the moment it clicks. What he’s doing. This give and take back before I can even accept—this torture on repeat.

“I’m going to repay this tenfold, husband,” I growl.

He chuckles. “I can’t wait, wife.”

He pushes off me, the toy landing on the bed as I feel his hands spread my cheeks—another splash of lube—and then him.

I tense. Every part of me turning to stone beneath him.

I’ve seen the man’s dick. I’ve had it in my mouth, knocking on the back of my throat, doing the same to my womb as he takes my pussy. I’ve held it in my hands, watched as he’s fucked my breasts spilling cum in a stream on my chest. So, I know how big he is—I can see right now that the toy he tossed doesn’t even begin to compare. The man is not going to fit.

Panic flares inside my chest where rage thundered a minute ago.

Kane must sense it because he says gently, “Relax, baby. Deep breaths. You can take it. You can take me. You were made for me.”

“K—Kane,” his name is a tiny shriek followed quickly by, “I don’t know.”

“If it hurts, I’ll stop,” he promises. “You are never more safe than you are with me.”

His words do something to me, calm me in a way I needed desperately. All the times he played with my ass before this moment come back to me, the pleasure. The blinding orgasms. I’d loved them all.

I can do this. More, I want to do this.

I begin to nod, to relax my body as he kneads the flesh of my ass, no longer holding my hair in his fist. Then I feel the press of his tip. At first, the stretch is unpleasant, painful, even. He continues to urge me to relax, and when I fail, the discomfort of just his tip being there at that most sensitive, most tight area begins to bear down on me. The panic starts to resume, and he wraps his hand around to my over-sensitive, abused clit. I gasp as he strokes and twirls, working need into me that wars with the panic, battling until I’m a mess.

Then he thrusts, pushing deep into me. Bright lights flicker in my vision as a moment of pain transforms into a pleasure unlike any I’ve ever experienced in my life. I feel as though I’m coming unstitched by the man who now holds me up with that iron arm banding around my waist, his impossibly hard, impossibly big cock filling me to the absolute brim.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs his praise. “That’s a good girl. My good fucking girl.”

This is how the man has slayed so many hearts. Wrecked so many women.

God, I can’t think straight because I suddenly don’t care one bit if he wrecks me, too. I moan, “Fuck me, Kane. Fuck my ass.”

The words break his restraint. Fracture it into splinters before burning those splinters to cinders that cools to dust.

That inked iron band around my waist tightens even as I let my upper body fall to the bed, weak with need and overcome by his deep possession in the seconds before he lets loose, fucking me like a devil high on lust. The sound of his hips slapping against my cheeks mingling with the wet sound of my body taking his again and again, ruthless thrust after ruthless thrust, bringing me higher and higher and higher until—oh, God—it’s coming. It’s coming.

“Beg, baby.”

I grit my teeth, slamming my ass back against his cock and reveling in the guttural grunt I drag from his lungs in response before he pins my hips with brutal hands.

“Beg, Sunshine.”

“Kane,” I whimper. “Just fuck me.”

“Beg.” He gives me one long, slow stroke. Then he stops again, rooted deep. “Beg.”

“I hate you right now.”

“You fucking love me, but I won’t make you admit that right now. Beg for my dick, baby. Beg me to make you come.”

Tears burn at my eyes as that stunted pressure vibrates inside my core. “Kane⁠—”

“Beg.”

“Please,” I whimper, thoroughly broken. “Please, please make me come. Show me I’m yours and make me come. Plea⁠—”

I don’t even get to finish the words before he’s thrusting his hips into my ass, shoving me into the bed as he finally lets that devil inside him loose. The sound of slapping flesh, pillow-muffled screams, and whimpered moans mingle with the raw, guttural groans that break from the deep of his chest.

He thrusts until that pressure builds and just to be sure he doesn’t take it away again, I keep begging, “Please. God, please, husband—please.”

His thrusts turn wild and entirely unmeasured, almost frantic as his big hand pins against my hip, holding me beneath him as my orgasm finally snaps. The eruption is so intense, so exquisite, it’s sharply agonizing. My body tightens beneath his, my ass clenching around his cock in waves that push him over the edge as I feel his cock jump inside me before hot cum fills me up wave after wave.

The orgasm seems to go on forever for both of us, wave after wave crashing into us until we’re shredded by the rocky possession of this pleasure.

I’m limp when he finally pulls his body from mine. He’s gentle when he pulls the leather from my wrists, then lifts me into his arms. My head lolls against his chest as he walks us to the suite bathroom where he fills the gigantic tub with borderline hot water—just the way I like it. Then he enters the tub with me still in his arms.

I fall asleep in the water against his chest, his hands drawing lazy circles into my belly. The echoing, “My soul was made for yours. I suspected it the first time I caught you in my arms, the scent of you invading my lungs. I knew it when I tasted your kiss. I put my ring on your finger with no intention of this ending. I was made for you, and you were made for me, Nevaeh Isabella Volkov. Until my last breath and beyond, my soul is fused to yours.”

I’m confident as I fall into the dark of complete exhaustion that the words are a manifestation of my deepest dreams.

That the man himself is a manifestation of the same. Because how can this possibly be real?