His dirty words elicit the desired response from me. I moan, thrusting my ass further into his face. His deep, throaty chuckle circles around me.
And then his mouth is on my asshole, lick and sucking as I struggle to remain on two feet.
“Tate!” I groan, unable to resist clinging to the nearest branch. He licks a line from my pussy to my asshole before plunging two fingers into the tight ring of muscles. The pain is instantaneous, and I just barely resist the urge to scream at him to stop. His other hand wraps around me to play with my clit.
“Don’t you ever fucking think that you get to leave me,” he seethes as he begins to kiss up my back, his fingers leaving my skin completely. “You don’t get to leave me. Ever. Do you fucking understand?”
Still panting heavily, struggling to regain control of my eccentric emotions, I heave out, “Fuck you, Tate.”
“That’s what I’m hoping for, baby girl.” There’s a distinct smile in his voice, one that promises both pain and pleasure. Abruptly, he wraps an arm around my chest and yanks me until I’m flush against his front. I can feel his cock prodding the entrance of my pussy lips, and I can’t help but buck against him, desperately needing him to fill me. I need that connection, the knowledge that he’s mine, now and forever.
Because I’ve always been his.
He slides into me slowly, inch by excruciating inch, but I don’t want slow. Not now. Not by him.
With a thrust of my hips, I impale myself on his cock, relishing in the pain of our hurried connection.
“Fucking hell!” he grunts, his arm dropping from my chest. It’s only gone for a moment, though, before both of his hands crawl up my shirt, push my bra out of the way, and pinch my nipples.
He begins to fuck me harshly, brutally, as if he wants me to suffer. As if he wants to punish me. I take it all—every thrust of his hips, every slap of his balls against my ass, every demanding twist of my nipples. He slaps at my breasts, the sound reverberating through the park, and I cry out at the contact.
“Fuck. You,” I hiss as he continues to rut into me like a man possessed.
Still tugging on my tits, he forces my body further to the ground, until my cheek is resting against the decaying, russet leaves. I drop my arms and knees to the ground as Tate continues to fuck me. Own me. Use me.
And I let him.
His body is practically draped over mine, this new angle allowing his cock to hit my bundle of nerves with every desperate jerk of his hips.
“Fuck.” Thrust. “You.”
His cock twitches inside of me, getting impossibly bigger, and I finally lose myself to the euphoria that has been tempting me since I first saw Tate on the path. It courses through me again and again, running rampant through my veins. Stars dance across my vision as I scream my release to the heavens—to anyone who might be fucking listening. In that moment, the entire world is witness to the mere fact that Tate owns me and I own him.
He roars his own release, his sticky cum filling me. The noise he makes—a combination between a snarl, a moan, and a cry—causes another tidal wave of pleasure to rush over me. Tears spring to my eyes as I fall apart beneath this warm body. No, I don’t just fall. I fucking shatter, losing pieces of myself to Tate in the process.
With another grunt, he pulls out of me, and I feel oddly bereft at the absence of his cock.
I don’t wait for him to clean me up. Instead, I pull my panties and leggings back up, our shared release sticking to my skin. When I turn towards him, I see his eyes dark with banked fire. The crazy asshole likes the idea of me wearing his cum on my skin like a badge of honor. He’s probably already hard again.
One glance at his shorts confirms that, yes, the kinky shit is erect.
“Tate,” I begin, but before I can finish my sentence, a gunshot rings out. I jerk backwards, pain immediately unfurling on my right shoulder, and I turn towards the bloodstain rapidly growing on my tan skin.
Tate’s eyes are wide with panic and fear as he throws himself in front of me, catching me just before I can fall.
“Tate?” This time, my voice is soft, a mere breath of words. He’s not looking at me, however, but at the same hill he just arrived from. An unfamiliar figure stands there, aiming his gun.
“Fuck!” Immediately, Tate heaves me into his arms, twisting his body so his back is to the shooter, and begins to run.
Someone is shooting at us, at me. A-fucking-gain.
And this time, I’ve been shot.
CHAPTER 19
Tate hurries through the forest, his arms wrapped around my shaky body in an iron vise. He glances over his shoulder, curses, and then picks up speed, veering off the main trail and into a densely populated thicket of trees. Branches snag at my clothing and hair, and I whimper slightly as a particularly sharp one rubs against my wound.
“Fuck!” Despite running at full speed with me in his arms, my God of Deception hasn’t even broken a sweat. His eyes, however, are crazed as they flicker to the rapidly bleeding gunshot wound on my shoulder. “Why aren’t you healing, baby?”
“I don’t fucking know,” I manage to bite out through clenched teeth. In the Realm of the Gods, I would be healed by now, especially with the pain running rampant through my body. It’s understandable, in a demented sort of way, that pain amplifies my healing capabilities.
“It’s this
