Ruin & Rule (Pure Corruption MC #1)(29)
Author: Pepper Winters

The room thickened with tension.

Arthur took a step toward the bed, then another. His boots were silent on the thick carpet and he’d taken off his leather cut, so all he wore was his black T-shirt and jeans.

“Listen closely, Forgetful Girl.” His nostrils flared as he said, “Three days ago I did not make love to you. I fucked you. I told you I wanted nothing more than a release. And that’s what I got. I don’t have to explain myself to you and what I do in my life is of no concern. I had things to take care of—Club business that will never be discussed with you or any other woman in my world.”

My heart fisted and I swallowed hard.

“You always knew your future and I could punish you for eavesdropping on a personal conversation. In fact, you’ve pissed me off so much, I think that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

I went ice-cold. “What?”

He closed the distance to the bed, pressing his knees against the mattress. In a horribly fast move, he grabbed my hips, flipped me onto my back, and wrapped his strong fingers around my ankles. In an effortless pull, he positioned my body onto the edge of the bed.

He smirked. “Wearing a skirt. That’s rather convenient.”

I struggled, digging my hands into the quilt, trying to get away. “Don’t touch me.”

His right hand disappeared up my skirt, stroking the satin between my legs.

My eyes almost rolled back at the sudden pleasure of his touch.

“You want me to touch you. Admit it.”

“I want you to tell me who you are.”

He shook his head, his fingers working against my clit. “I don’t know you.”

“Tell me how she died.”

The second the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to take them back—not just for my safety but because of the brokenness inside Kill’s eyes.

His fingers pinched my clit cruelly. “I told you never to talk about her.”

Courage shot through me and I asked, “Did she burn? Did she die in a fire?”

Did she somehow make it out of a burning house where no one saw, and was given a new identity because she remembered nothing? Because if she did, then look at my scars!

With a vicious jerk, he ripped off my satin G-string and shoved the floaty pink skirt up around my hips. “You keep talking and you’re going to get hurt.”

He fumbled with his belt, ripping it open and unclasping his fly. His cock strained against the thin material of his black boxer-briefs.

I couldn’t move as he pulled a condom from his pocket and shoved both boxers and jeans to his knees. Something else fell from his hand, thudding gently to the carpet.

I tried to see what it was, but Kill gave me no room to move.

He didn’t care that he stood naked before me with his mermaid tattoo and her hair caressing around his cock. He didn’t care that the Libra star sign tattooed in the waves seemed to glow and tease me with memories. And he didn’t care that a tear—so full of confusion, need, and madness—trickled down my cheek.

His hands shook as he rolled the condom down his length, sheathing his large erection. My body warmed and melted, twisting my desire to run.

“How do you know she’s gone, Killian?” I whispered. “Why are you so sure she’s dead, when I know things I can’t explain?”

He froze, his hand fisting the base of his cock. I didn’t expect an answer. I never expected the truth, but was granted with one sentence. “She died due to complications in surgery. She never woke up. It’s undisputable and true and every time I fucking look at you, you remind me of that fact. Are you happy now?”

I tilted my hips, inviting him to take me. “No, I’m not happy that you’re hurting.”

His gaze flashed with pain; his eyebrow rose, almost as if he was suspicious of my permission.

I nodded gently, biting my lip as he ducked his knees and positioned himself at my entrance. There was no need for foreplay; my body was drenched, wanting to connect after three days of terrible loneliness.

“What surgery?” I whispered as my mouth fell open from being filled so slowly.

He gritted his teeth, sinking completely inside me. “Enough talking.”

My body tensed then relaxed as his long length stretched me. I couldn’t let it go. “Did you see her at least? Please… I need to know.”

His eyes glowed with agony so deep, it completely overshadowed his lust. Sighing hard, he thrust, but his heart wasn’t in it—it was lost to him, ruined by a dead girl. “I saw the photos. I read the police report. I told you I stood on her fucking grave. She’s gone.”

My back bowed as he drove fiercely into me, embracing his anger.

My heart thudded thick and needful. I wanted to forget about the morbid conversation and embrace the sensation of him inside me, but I couldn’t let it go. I had to chase. Had to hound. It was the only way I’d find the truth. “You sound as if you didn’t get to say good-bye. Why did you have to read police reports? Weren’t you together until the end?”

His face went black. Fingernails pierced my hips. “I was in fucking prison.”

Silence filled my head. White noise and confusion. “What… what for?”

He laughed, sounding manic. His hips pistoned, driving me higher and higher toward the strangest orgasm. One entwined in finding out the truth all while our bodies devoured each other.

“I was betrayed.” Bowing over me, he growled, “But it doesn’t hide my sins. I was incarcerated for murder, sweetheart. How does that makes you feel?” His green eyes flashed as he savagely thrust into me.

My pussy throbbed and bruised. I couldn’t stop my hand rising and cupping his cheek, stroking his rough face. “You’re still paying for your sins.”

He slapped my hand away. “Don’t touch me.”

He increased his tempo, quickly leaving the realm of speech and focusing on the finale. I wasn’t ready to break the link between us. Not yet.

Ask him.

Ask him the question.

Jealousy burned in my heart that this man, currently driving into me, still loved another. But hope glowed, too. I pinned all my hope from the last few days on one answer.

One answer only he could give me but I worried he never would.

Crying out as he planted his hands on either side of my body and driving fast and ruthless, I panted, “Tell me her name. What was the name of the girl you loved?”

The world ceased moving. Everything screeched to a stop.

Kill’s cock twitched inside as he just stood there like an iceberg. He grabbed my throat, hissing, “Never ask me that again. You’re not worthy of her name.”

Then his hand moved from my throat to my eyes, planting heavily over my vision. The world went dark but every instinct shot into hyperawareness.

His hips thrust harder, his cock bringing such heat and pleasure.

“I can’t stand you looking at me with her eyes. I can’t stand looking at you, period, while I’m fucking you.” His voice broke, but he smothered his agony with a growl. His pace increased, leaving sex behind and pounding straight into punishment.

I couldn’t see. His hand was hot and heavy.

I couldn’t breathe. His pace was too fast and deep.

I couldn’t fight. The pleasure was too intense and strong.

And I couldn’t stop my response to his anger pulsing between my legs.

I came.

Hard, long—spiraling down and down, darker and darker, losing myself to the muddy, desolate world of Arthur Killian.

With a roar, he spurted inside, filling me, ruining me, taking everything that I ever was.

Time passed.

I didn’t know how much—could’ve been five minutes or an hour—but Kill roused me from my sex-haze slumber as he tripped over the book on the carpet. He was fully dressed and in control again as he bent to pick it up.

Propping myself on my elbows, I didn’t care my skirt was bunched and showing my very used and exposed pussy. All I cared about was the black-shrouded vision of the man who carried so much turmoil inside.

I’m not afraid of him.

The sudden realization that I couldn’t fear someone who struggled more than me was empowering.

He turned to face me, waving the book. He cocked an eyebrow. “You were working on your IQ?”

I smiled, remembering a particularly hard mathematical question. I could’ve stared at it for the rest of my life, or been given the best calculator in the world, and still never understood how to solve it.

I didn’t even attempt to work it out. After all, he wasn’t there to fix my mistakes and erase my incorrect answers.

I scooted higher, tugging down my skirt. “I’m no good at math.”

“The answer is nine hundred and eighty-four squared.”

My mouth hung open. “You’ve memorized the answers?”

He scowled. “You think I cheated?”

I beckoned him to come closer, glancing at the page-long equation with font so small I practically needed a magnifying glass. “You took two seconds to figure it out.” I looked up into his confident gaze. “Have you done the problem before, and either remembered it or—”

His lips twisted. “Or what? I’m a genius?” He raised an eyebrow. I couldn’t sense if he was mocking me or seriously pissed off at my disbelief.