Free Crazed: A Blood Money Novel by Edie Harris Page A

mouth.
    But this wondrous aggression was just rushed foreplay, and she didn’t mind one bit as he levered his body over hers, lined up the head of his cock with her entrance and thrust home.
    He swore.
    She chanted his name. Her fingertips scrabbled for a hold on his head, but that damn hair of his was too short, so she dug her nails into his shoulder blades and scraped. Yes, she wanted to draw blood. Yes, she wanted to leave marks.
    Yes, she wanted to punish .
    Both hands gripping the wooden headboard for leverage, he set a pounding pace, hips pumping into her with loud, rhythmic slaps, flesh on flesh, sweat against sweat. The bed lurched with every movement of his large body until the frame began to bang on the baseboard. His chest was a veritable wall above her, glistening with perspiration and flexing for her pleasure, working hard to push her to the edge she could sense him testing, already, so soon.
    She wanted to push him over the edge, more than she wanted to breathe. So she poked, just a little, using her minuscule still-present consciousness to calculate what, precisely, would accomplish his fall. Because she needed him to fall. She needed him to shatter . “Fuck me harder. You know you can.” Leaning up, she licked at the salty trail of sweat dripping in the shallow valley between his pectorals. “You know how hard I can take it.”
    He groaned, another one of those pained-animal noises, and panted. “So hard, isn’t that right, baby? You like my cock when it hurts us both a little.” Rolling his hips, he used that cock to find a certain spot inside her and applied pressure.
    Whimpering, she raked her nails down the length of his back, on either side of his spine, and bit the bulging muscle over his rib cage offering sculpted contour on his beautiful body. The muscle gave beneath her teeth, enough to take the branded imprint she offered, and he shouted her name— too loud , warned that tiny corner of her brain, too loud with her name —as she licked her way to one flat brown nipple, sucking hard.
    “Don’t forget the other one. Please,” he begged hoarsely. “Please suck the other one.”
    She obliged, and he moaned, swearing in English, in Spanish, in some other language she didn’t recognize but thought might be Middle Eastern from the cadence of it. Then her ability to think at all disappeared as he released the headboard with one hand and ripped the elastic from the end of her braid. Her hair suddenly free, he wrapped the thick, curling strands around his fist until he reached the base of her skull. Spearing his fingers through the mass, he cupped her head in that one giant hand and held her to receive his kiss.
    He took her mouth as though her lips were his property, or would become so given the proper persuasion. His tongue thrust in a naughty mimic of the treatment his cock was currently administering, and so well, too.
    Her limbs went loose and liquid, a sure sign her orgasm lurked in the periphery, so she clung to him, open and finally surrendering, proud of the battle she’d waged. He’d earned her body, as he always did, and now she needed to succumb to the ownership he promised with every droplet of sweat that dripped from him to her, wet and hot and a true proof of life.
    He tore his mouth from hers and stared straight into her eyes. “I don’t have enough fucking hands to touch you with, baby.” His jaw firmed. “But I’m going to goddamn try.” Releasing the headboard once and for all, he landed that hand between her breasts and trailed splayed fingers down the front of her body to tweak her clit, a particular petting that never failed to send her spiraling.
    As her inner muscles fluttered in warning, he grunted and used his grip on her hair to yank her head back, revealing her throat to his licking, tasting mouth. He didn’t mark her as she had him, but she felt scarred all the same, old wounds bursting open as ecstasy spilled over every inch of her body.
    Catharsis in every