Hitched (Ride or Die Romances)

by Lauren Biel

I ache with an uncomfortable throb I can’t ignore. My hand slips to my cock, and I bite the inside of my cheek as I wrap my fingers around the head of my dick. I circle myself with my fist as I try to be quiet and still, like I had to do when I was on the inside. I was polite about it, at least, unlike some of my roommates who jerked it loud enough to wake up the whole row. I bite back a groan. Fuck, I want her. I need her. Never in my life have I wanted to rip the clothes from a woman so completely.

“Don’t pretend to sleep, bunny,” I whisper. She tenses and tries to fake a heavy sleep as my hand reaches the waistband of her pants and travels to the front of her slacks. I unbutton them and lower the zipper. I reach into the newly splayed fabric, rubbing the soft skin of her lower stomach and the soft hairs of her pelvis. “There’s no way you don’t feel this,” I say in a hushed tone as I tug her pants down. “Being asleep doesn’t make it any less wrong, you know? Pretending to be asleep doesn’t make it any less sinful.”

I pull her pants past her ass and push my cock between her thighs. I groan at the warmth of her pussy against me. I grip my cock and guide myself into her. The muscles inside her twitch at the intrusion, and the tension rides up her entire body. She’s still trying to remain faithful. It’s a pathetic and sad attempt to fight what she wants and what I need. What we both need. She’s too fucking wet to pretend she doesn’t want it, too. “Goddamn it, rabbit,” I groan as I draw my hips back and slam them into her.

“You’re being childish,” I say through gritted teeth. I get sick of it. I refuse to play the fucked-up game she made up to avoid the reality we’re in. To avoid letting me in. I sink my fingers into the worst of her bruises, and she yelps. Finally, a fucking reaction. I roll her onto her stomach and keep my cock deep inside her as I press her face into the pillow. Her legs clench together beneath me, and the friction is enough to make me want to bust. “Lex . . .” I push my hips forward, going deeper inside her. “Good morning, bunny,” I say with a growl as I wipe the hair from her cheek. “You’re . . . hurting me,” she whispers. “I’m not even doing anything to hurt you . . . yet.” As she pants, pain weaves through every breath. She’s wet, stretching around me just right. I’m not hurting her pussy. Not like that, at least. “Get off me . . . please,” she begs.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” I ask, harsher than I intend, even though her wetness coating my cock makes me almost too hungry to stay off her. “I—” she begins, but the rest of the words are choked off. Her lip trembles, and she cuts her gaze from mine. Her body shakes, and that broken little girl is suddenly back in front of me. I sigh, wiping a hand through my hair. I gather my composure as best I can and walk to her side of the bed, a hand still clutching the white sheet around my waist. I lift her chin with the other, forcing her to look at me. “What was hurting you?” I ask again, more forcefully this time. “It wasn’t my cock, so what was it?” “The bruises,” she whispers. “On your stomach?” When I rolled her onto her stomach, I was careful with her. I tried to be, at least. She shakes her head. “There’s more?” I ask, but I know the answer already. There must be more marks on her skin than what she showed me. I force her to her feet, and she flinches when I grip her bruised wrist. “Show me,” I command. I leave no room for argument.

I grab her arms and pin them to her sides, and she releases a whimper. “Stop fighting me,” I seethe. “Please don’t,” she begs. Her eyes widen with fear, as if she thinks I’ll hate her once I see what waits beneath her clothes. Or at least think differently of her. Her hands go for my wrists again. “If you don’t keep your hands at your fucking sides, Selena, I’m going to grab my gun, put it up to your pretty little head, and force you to strip for me. Your choice.” She’s gnawing on my last nerve.

I reach for her waistband, and she grabs my wrists with undeniable fear on her face. She’s forgotten the threat I made because what I’m doing is scarier than my gun. “Leave my pants on,” she pleads. Absolutely not. “No, Selena. I’m going to see every inch of you. I need to know where you’re hurt.” Tears fall down her cheeks, an uncontrolled overflow of her emotional pain. I slide her slacks down and my mouth gapes. More bruises. The worst is a large mark that takes up the entire length of her outer left thigh. I’m guessing that’s what hurt her when I pinned her beneath my weight. My knee dug into that area, keeping her legs together as I pushed deeper inside her.

“I’m usually fine with pain,” she rationalizes as she buttons her pants with trembling fingers. “I’m used to it. But your knee pressed right into this bruise”—she touches her left thigh—“and it was too much.”

My heart breaks for her, and I don’t understand how it can when I’ve never had one. I’ve never felt sympathy for anyone or anything.

“Sweet bunny,” I whisper, “I’m going to fuck you, and then we’re going back to New York.” She looks up at me and tries to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “But . . . why?” I brush her hair from her face. It’s sticky with the salt of her tears. “Because I’m going to kill your fucking husband.” She shakes her head. “We can’t.” I fist her hair. “Which part?”

“Sweet little rabbit,” I growl, “I can answer that for you. Of course I can fuck you. I was just inside you. And since I’m a murderer, I can kill your husband for putting these bruises on you.” My fingers trace her chest, only partially concealed by her blouse. I drop a hand between her thighs and move upward, past the bruises that make her flinch. “We can’t kill him.” I lean closer to her mouth. “We aren’t going to. You aren’t doing anything. I’ll take care of everything, just like I’ll take care of you.” I kiss her, and her breath hitches as I tug down her pants.

“Don’t be embarrassed about your body. These marks don’t shame you. They shame him. Your piece of shit husband.” She flinches at the word husband, and my eyes narrow. “Goddamn it, rabbit! Stop fucking caring about him. He doesn’t care about you.” “But—” “But nothing.” I turn her around and pull her closer. I run a rough hand down the big bruise on her left thigh, and she jolts. “This isn’t from a man who cares.” She scoffs. “Abducting a woman at gunpoint is A-okay to you, though? What do you call that?” I bite the sensitive skin of her shoulder. My cock hardens against her ass. “Desperation? Your lucky day?” I say with a smirk as I kiss where I bit her, and I swear I see a hint of a smile cross her face.

I need to give her pleasure as I show her what it’s like to have a real man inside her. A man who is as angry and violent as I am, yet still wouldn’t hit her. “Lex,” she whispers. There’s a hint of longing in the word, a desire I’ve been desperate to hear. “What do you want?” I growl. “Use your words. You know I like that.” “I want you inside me.” “Inside what? In your ass? Your pussy?” “My . . . pussy.” “Good girl.” I fist her hair, grip my cock, and push inside her.

“Goddamn it, bunny,” I groan as I move my fingers along the seam of her pussy. Her clit swells beneath my touch. I rub her until she backs into me to take my cock deeper. I lift her to me, wrapping my free arm around her chest. “Your husband is so fucking stupid. You know that, right?” She hesitates for a moment before whimpering out a yes. “I’m going to fuck you in your bed at home. Make him watch. I want him to look at what he lost until his very last breath.” Her cheeks flush. “Lex . . . don’t talk about him.” I laugh. “Until he’s dead, I’ll mention him as I fuck you.”