Midnight Mass (Camren)

CHAPTER 8

"My little lamb," I murmured, finally able to give in and touch her. I slid one hand around her neck, finding that stray tendril in back and curling it idly around one finger as I spoke. "The things I want to do to you..."

Her lush red lips parted. "If you do those things to me, you'll have to fight for them."

"Is that what you really want?" I asked, moving her silky hair between my fingertips. "Or is this your way of asking me to leave?"

"No," she said firmly. "I want you to fight me for it. I want to fuck you, and I want it to be rough. I just also wanted you to know that I'm so furious with you right now, and it makes me want to leave scratches all over your body."

I almost groaned at that. Every word she spoke made my cock throb painfully, and I was torn between jumping feet first into this hatefuck or dropping to my knees and begging her to put my dick out of its misery.

She cleared up that dilemma for me when she palmed my erection through my tuxedo pants, squeezing hard. "I want you to hurt when you come for me," she hissed.

"And I want to fucking tear you apart," I growled.

Her eyes flashed. "I'd like to see you try."

My hand was wrapped around her throat in an instant, pushing her back into the cold glass of the mirror. My other hand found her wrist and moved it above her head, but before I could properly pin it against the glass, she slapped me across the face—hard—the crack resounding through the small studio like a gunshot.

I staggered back—more surprised than hurt, and harder than ever—and she slipped from my grasp, ducking under my arm and bolting for the door. With the lacy skirt of her dress bunched in one hand and her gold heels shining in the moonlight, she looked like a princess out of a fairytale. This wasn't a fairytale, though, and even if it were, I certainly wasn't playing the role of prince tonight.

I caught up to her in a few long strides, grabbing her arm and spinning her around to face me. Her foot shot out, connecting with my shin, the bright flash of pain loosening my grip enough that she could try to pull away—try being the operative word. I reached for her waist and wrapped an arm around it, pulling her tight against me and pressing my erection into her stomach.

"You feel that?"

She squirmed against me, trying to wriggle free.

"That's for you, lamb," I told her, pinning her tighter against me, making her feel every inch of my hardness through our clothes. "It's all for you."

And then I kissed her, my mouth crashing against hers, and she moaned into my mouth, forgetting herself and opening her lips to me, letting my tongue flicker against hers. Everything about her was so soft right now—her mouth, her stomach against my steel-hard cock, the upper arm I still held tight in my grip.

So soft—

Four lines of pain, blazing and sharp, razored down my neck. I felt anger and lust and that uniquely visceral thrill that came from feeling as if I'd paid a penance, as if I'd endured a just punishment; I pulled back to see Camila's eyes wide and feral in the light, her hand still raised.

Our gazes met. Blood welled hot out of one of the scratches, spilling over and down into my tuxedo shirt.

And then she tried to run again.

I managed to hold on to her enough that she only made it a step or two, and then the momentum took us both. We fell into a tangled pile of lace and legs and arms, and I struggled to regain a hold on her, but she was too fast, up on her hands and knees trying to crawl away, and I crawled after her, stretching out to wrap a strong hand around her ankle.