Chapter Eight

Sebastian

Jesus Christ. As Jackson slams into me, grinding himself against my ass, I'm violently bucked forward, almost collapsing to my chest on the bed under his sheer grunt and weight. It's hot as all hell. I can't remember the last time I was with a real, muscular babe like Jack. More often, I'm with women, or other well-dressed, suave men. The sort who wear suits and drink expensive spirits. The kind who own private jets and penthouses. And while they're my bread and butter—my loyal patrons and valued business donors—they're nothing like this. They're nothing like my brutal, inked Viking god, Jackson.

Even as he degrades me, I revel in it. The thought of being his thirsty little cock-whore only serves to make our union even more sinful and me painfully harder. Again and again, he thunders into me, his delicious Prince Albert piercing heightening the ecstasy to mind-boggling levels. Jackson's control and dominance is absolute, from the strength he punishes me with, to the way he grips me with his unforgiving hands. And that voice! God, that alone could almost make me come. His deep, husky gravel has me dribbling all over the sheets like a bloody teenage simp, just begging to be his slave.

Whether he's praising me or degrading me, it's equally as hot. As long as I'm his, and his attention is mine, I'm in bliss. Sharp, stinging pain sings across my scalp, jolting me from my fuck-crazed reverie.

With a fistful of hair, Jackson reefs back, causing my back to arch and bow. "Do you like that, slave?" he asks, pulling me all the way up until he can nip at my ear. "Do you want more?"

Head titled back, my cock at full mast, I moan. "Yes, Master. Thank you. Fuck me, harder. Make it hurt ." A heartbeat later and my nipples scream with blinding agony. Pain like fire pinches them between merciless metal jaws as Jackson tugs on the dangling chain connecting them.

I bite my lip, but it doesn't stop the genuine whimper that betrays my desire and penchant for pain. I really am a masochist. Pain thrills me in ways nothing else can.

"You sound so sweet when you whimper like that for me, my pet," he growls in my ear, before shoving me to my stomach on the bed. He roughly forces my legs together with his knees and plows deep, the tension of my clenched ass cheeks adding to his pleasure—and mine.

Garbled noises shred from my lips as he spears my innermost sanctum with renewed fervor. He's not the biggest cock I've had up me, but it's thick, pierced, and he uses it well. There's no point being hung like a fucking horse if you can't fuck to save your life. Sex is about so much more than the simple act of sawing in and out of a hole. It's about connection and power play, and for some, love.

And God, Jackson knows how to fuck. He ruts me like a demon freed from the pits of Hell. His thirst to break me open, forcing my body to succumb to his will and violence, grows by the minute. And Christ forgive me, but I'd let this man fuck the very ventricles of my heart if I could just watch the spectacle as a damn ghost! There could be nothing more beautifully erotic than being utterly destroyed by this exquisite beast. Except, maybe … for being destroyed and treasured by him.

"Where have you gone, pet?" whispers Jackson in my ear.

His delicious weight crushes the breath from my lungs, and I gasp. "I don't know," I breathe.

"Don't lie to me," he snarls, wrapping the crook of his arm around my throat, stifling my breath.

It becomes harder and harder to breathe. Autoerotic asphyxiation. Fuck, yes!

"Give me an answer, slave, or it's going to be light's out for you. And you don't want to know what I'd do to you if I had free reign over this ass."

"Tempting," I rasp, ever the brat.

"Sebastian," he says, running his hot tongue up the back of my ear as he continues to pump me, crushing me with his weight.

"I want you to break me," I cry out, wincing as the metal nipple clamps crush painfully between me and the mattress.

"Well, that can be arranged," Jack breathes. "But it's more than that, isn't it?"

I try to shake my head but can scarcely move in his brutal headlock. If he wanted to kill me right now, I'd have no hope of escape. I'm completely at his mercy. "I want you to want me, too." Darkness encroaches on my vision, and my mind swoons inside my skull, the edges of reality slipping away from me with every passing second.

Jackson eases off my throat, then, and with a deep breath the world starts to come back, the brightness overcoming the oblivion that would consume me alive.

"Are you with me, pet?" In the next instant I feel Jackson pull out and he flips me over.

Blinking against the lurid red glow of the room, my bearings slowly return, and I find myself staring up into his brilliant blue eyes. "I'm here," I whisper. I reach up tentatively to touch his dirty-blond beard with my still-cuffed hands.

"What are you on, Sebastian? Seriously."

I stare, still vague. What does he mean?

Rubbing his erect cock against mine, he catches my lips with his in a passionate, all-encompassing, and breathless kiss. His tongue plunders my mouth, seeking, probing, caressing, until I'm not sure whether I'm awake or passed out—lost to some beautiful dream.

"Wow," I say, dazed when he steals his lips away.

"I want you, Sebastian," says Jackson, continuing to frot me toward ecstasy. "I always have, from the moment I first saw you. When you opened The Red Bastille."

A moan slips from me and I close my eyes as my second orgasm of the night builds to excruciating heights. "But would you really want to be my lover?" I ask, my breath hissing past my teeth.