The Acquisition has ruled my life, ruled my every waking moment since Sinclair Vinemont first showed up at my house offering an infernal bargain to save my father’s life. Now I know the stakes. The charade is at an end, and Sinclair has far more to lose than I ever did. But this knowledge hasn’t strengthened me. Instead, each revelation breaks me down until nothing is left but my fight and my rage. As I struggle to survive, only one question remains. How far will I go to save those I love and burn the Acquisition to the ground?
“I have more nerve than that. I want to fuck you, and I have half a mind to strip you right now, flip you on your stomach, and punish you until you scream. So, answer my question. Has he touched you?”
“You wouldn’t dare!” Heat rushed through me at his threat. Because I was fucked up. Because I wanted him to want me. Because he was all I could think about—his face, his body, his scent, his twisted mind.
“Wouldn’t I?” He got to his knees and pulled me up before throwing me over his shoulder.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I beat at his back as he got to his feet and headed away from the house and toward the oaks that lined the driveway.
He ran his hand up my thigh and pressed hard against my pussy. “Hot and wet, just like I thought.”
“Put me down.”
“I will.” He strode into the shade of the oaks and pushed me up against one of them. The oak’s wide trunk hid us from the house.
I pressed my palm against his chest. “I’m not—”
He kissed me, pinning me between his chest and the tree. His hands roved me, and before long, he had one up my shirt, palming my breast through my bra. I dug my nails into his chest, but he only leaned in harder, as if he wanted my violence.
He ripped up my bra, exposing both breasts, and groaned into my mouth as he squeezed them. My knees went weak at his touch. Every thought of anger or hatred burned away as he consumed me as surely as fire does black powder. Breaking our kiss, he whipped me around to face the tree.
“Pull your pants down or I’ll do it myself.”
I glanced over my shoulder as he unfastened his belt. He ripped the elastic from my hair and tossed it aside.
“Do it, Stella.” He growled and slapped my ass.
I fumbled with my button and unzipped my pants. He did the rest, ripping them down my legs to my knees.
Celia Aaron is the self-publishing pseudonym of a published romance and erotica author. She loves to write stories with hot heroes and heroines that are twisty and often dark. Thanks for reading.
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