HAZEL
The moment I heard the limo pull away from the pack grounds, I let myself relax. Every muscle that had been wound tight all day finally loosened. I stood at my bedroom window and watched until the car disappeared down the road, taking Fia and her pathetic existence away from Silver Creek forever.
Good riddance.
The scratching at my door came maybe thirty seconds later. I didn't need to look to know who it was. Milo never could wait. Always desperate. Always eager to please. It made him easy to manipulate, which was really the only useful thing about him.
"Come in," I called out.
He entered like he owned the place, which was almost funny. Almost. One day he'd realize that nothing about him warranted that kind of confidence. For now, I'd let him keep his delusions. They made him more cooperative.
Milo crossed the room in a few quick strides and pulled me against him. He kissed the top of my head, breathing in like I was something precious. Something worth keeping around. His hands moved down my back, tracing the curve of my spine through the thin fabric of my dress.
"We did it," he whispered against my hair. "She's gone. We actually did it."
I made a small sound of agreement and let him hold me. This was part of the performance. Part of the dance I had choreographed so carefully. If I pulled away now, if I showed even a hint of what I was really thinking, he might start asking questions. Might start thinking too hard about things better left alone.
"I wouldn't be alive without you," I whispered. The words came easy, soft, believable. They always did when I needed them to. My voice broke just enough to sound real. "You saved me."
His hand came up to my face, thumb catching the edge of a tear that didn't matter. His touch lingered like I was something fragile, something worth saving. I let him look at me that way. It made what came next easier.
"I couldn't lose you," he said, his voice low, full of ache.
Perfect.
When his mouth met mine, I didn't pull away. I leaned into it, let him think it was love, let him think I was trembling because I needed him. His kiss was desperate, almost painful, and I swallowed it like penance. My hands slid under his shirt, palms over his chest, tracing muscle and heat while my mind stayed cold, calculating. He lifted the shirt off, tossed it aside, and I smiled against his lips, small and grateful. It was the kind of smile that made men blind.
I watched the way his muscles flexed when he was undressed. He was beautiful in that simple, uncomplicated way that sentinels often were. Strong. Physical. Useful. For a while, anyway.
Goddess, I loved his body. I always had, even when I told myself I didn't. The ridges of muscle, the way he tensed when he breathed deep. His tattoos, black ink scattered across his skin like someone had tried to write a map of every sin he'd ever committed. I ran my palms over his chest, tracing them all, mouth dragging along his collarbone as I stepped back toward the bed and pulled him with me.
We crashed down into the sheets, mouths tangling again, hands everywhere. He didn't ask before gripping the back of my hair and pulling it tight, tilting my head so he could kiss down my throat. I moaned for him, legs already spreading to let him settle between them, hips grinding up as he bit at the soft skin of my neck.
"Milo—fuck, I need it," I said, breath hot and shaky, my hands already tugging at his lace panties, desperate.
"You'll get it," he growled into my ear, and then his hand wrapped around my throat.
My breath caught. I could still breathe, but just barely, and that was the point. His fingers were strong, sure, pressing in enough to make me feel caged, controlled. My thighs clenched around his hips as my pussy throbbed under the heat of it, need dripping through me like honey gone too hot.
He grinned when he saw my eyes roll back.
"Yeah, that's right," he muttered, tightening just a little more. "You like being choked, huh?"
"Y-yeah," I gasped, voice barely there, but fuck did I mean it.
He released my throat just long enough to slide down between my legs. His hands grabbed my thighs, forced them wider, and he didn't waste time with teasing. His tongue dove into me, hot and thick and greedy. I bucked up into his mouth with a cry, toes curling, hips chasing every lap of his tongue.
"Ahhn—fuckfuck, Milo—"
He sucked at my clit until my vision blurred, his hands holding me still like he knew I'd try to squirm away from how good it was. I was dripping down his chin, whimpering, grabbing at his hair, grinding on his tongue like I was going to lose my mind.
But I didn't come. He pulled away just before it hit.
"Turn over," he said, voice low, gravel under fire.
I obeyed instantly, climbing onto my hands and knees, ass raised. I looked back at him over my shoulder, breath hitching when I saw him stroke himself. His cock was thick, veiny, flushed dark at the tip. I could never look at him without feeling this tight ache in my gut, this dizzy heat that made my mouth water.
"Let me taste it," I begged, voice rough with need.
He didn't even hesitate. Walked right up to the side of the bed, grabbed a handful of my hair, and guided me down to him. My lips parted around the head of his cock, tongue swirling, spit sliding down my chin before I even had him halfway in.
"Mmmph—fuck, you're so big," I slurred around him, drool dripping from my mouth.
He groaned deep, pushed further. I gagged, choked, tears stinging my eyes, but I didn't stop. I couldn't. I needed him buried in my throat. His hand twisted tighter in my hair, pulling my head back, then shoving me down again until my nose was pressed to his skin.
"Yeah, choke on it," he hissed. "Take it all, Hazel."
My throat spasmed around him, spit running down my neck, my hands fisting in the sheets for balance. He used me like a toy, fucking my face with slow, brutal strokes. Every sound I made was wet and desperate. Every moan vibrated against his cock. I was nothing but mouth and need, drooling all over myself while he used my throat like it was made for him.
When he finally pulled out, I gasped for breath, tongue hanging out, jaw sore and soaking.
"You ready?" he asked.
"Yes," I breathed. "Please, please, I need you to fuck me—"
He didn't go for my pussy.
Instead, he grabbed the lube from the drawer like he'd done a hundred times before, poured it over his fingers and shoved two deep into my ass without warning. I cried out, hips jerking, face pressing into the sheets.
"Ahhhn—fuck—goddess, yes—"
"You'll take me here tonight," he said, voice dark. "You want it rough?"
I nodded fast, shameless. "Yes, choke me, hurt me, I want it, I want you—"
He pushed in.
The stretch was insane. My ass clenched tight, trying to keep him out, but he didn't let up. He held my hips and drove in inch by inch until I could feel every ridge, every pulse of his cock inside me.
"Fuuuck—" I sobbed into the mattress.
"Goddess, you're so tight back here," he grunted, hands gripping me harder.
He pulled out, slammed back in. My whole body rocked with the force of it. He grabbed my neck again, squeezed hard while his hips pounded into me. The sound of skin slapping echoed through the room, loud and wet and filthy.
"Say it," he growled. "Tell me whose slut you are."
"Yours," I cried out. "Milo—yours—fuck me harder, please—"