Dangerous: Made & Broken (A British Bad Boy Romance) (6 page)

Again he moved, and I moved with him, rolling my hips up to meet his blows, even as the power of them made a dull ache mix with the pleasure. It didn’t matter—I wanted it hard, and I needed it rough. I bit his shoulder and scratched his back to make him give me everything he had.

An animalistic snarl ripped from Blaine’s throat, and the next second, I learned exactly what it meant to be truly and thoroughly
fucked.

He grabbed my hands and pinned them above my head. And then he unleashed every ounce of that barely-contained fury I’d seen in his eyes all day.

Blaine’s thick cock pounded into me, forcing my pussy wide all the way to the depths of my being. The thick rim of his head rubbed the full length of my tight sheath, pummeling my G-spot over and over and over. His hips slapped against my arse, beating the brutal rhythm into my flesh as well as my pussy. He moved like a demon possessed, forcing me to take every inch with no mercy and no respite.

It was exactly what I needed.

The dull ache in me turned to pain at his roughness, but I relished it all the more. And underneath him, I finally let go.

I screamed until my throat was sore, I thrashed and bucked and cried. All the fear, all the anger and despair—I released it all while the man who was now my husband despite both our wishes fucked me like I’d never even imagined possible.

When I finally crested, he came with me.

Pleasure so strong it felt like it would splinter my pelvis ripped through my abdomen from my pussy and spread into every cell of my body, leaving me numb and completely unable to move. I was faintly aware of Blaine’s gasp of pleasure and the warm rush of his semen deep inside, but not even when he kissed my jawline a few times before brushing his mouth against mine did I manage to wrestle my mind free of its endorphin high. Everything was calmness and bliss, and for the first time in as long as I could remember, I was truly at peace.

* * * *

Chapter 7

Blaine

Ow.
Fucking hell, ow!

I groaned in protest of the sharp pain piercing my skull from the inside the moment I cracked open my eyes.

Even the faint light that filtered in through the curtains was too bright, and I quickly shut them again. Judging by the taste in my mouth, I’d overdone it on the whiskey. By a lot.

A jumbled mess of images stumbled through my brain, as if to helpfully remind me of every single glass I’d downed. I frowned when a fuzzy memory of Liam attempting to stop me from ordering another glass at the bar surfaced. How very uncharacteristic.

He’d said something about… my wife needing me.

The shock of realization when the rest of yesterday’s horrors came crashing back to my recollection made me open my eyes wide—a move I instantly regretted.

“Fuck.” I hurriedly squeezed them shut once more, but only after the light of day had penetrated into what felt like the stem of my suffering brain.

I had a
wife.

Slowly, I became aware of the heavy press of a warm body against mine.

Oh. Right. We fucked, didn’t we?

Despite my pain, I couldn’t hold back a lazy smile over that particular part of last night’s events. Turned out the little prude was quite the wildcat after all. If memory served, I was pretty sure I’d be sporting some scratches today.

Carefully I cracked my eyelids again, bracing for the pain this time. It took a while, but once my eyes had adjusted, I could see without wanting to dig out my own brain with a spoon.

She was laying halfway on my shoulder, with one leg and an arm thrown across my body and her chestnut hair spread around her head like a sheet of darkened blood. She was also drooling.

Mira. Or Aignéis, or whatever the fuck she was called.

I hadn’t noticed an Irish accent on her when I’d seen her the first time, nor last night, even though it was thick in both her father and two brothers. I hadn’t heard her mother speak, but assumed it was the same. The Clerys were Irish through and through—yet apart from the pale skin and auburn hair, my new wife showed no sign of her heritage.

Wife.
Fuck.

I’d planned to pretty much ignore the girl unlucky enough to be chosen for my bride, but seeing
her
standing there in that damned church floored me.

If I’d known there was even the smallest chance I’d ever run into her again, I would never in a million years have gone to a psychologist—no matter how desperate I was. And I’d been pretty fucking desperate.

I sighed, making Mira’s long hair move and tickle against my arm on the blow out. If anyone ever knew I’d been so weak I’d sought out help from a bloody shrink, I was done for. There was no room for weakness in this world, nor anyone who couldn’t cope with the dark parts of the job. And yet I’d cracked. I’d given in to the demons in my head and showed my soft underbelly—showed it to
her
.

Which made her more dangerous than any of my family’s multitude of enemies.

I stared down at her face. She looked innocent in her sleep. Vulnerable, even. Completely at odds with the copious amounts of attitude I’d seen from her so far.

She
hated
me, probably even more so than I hated her part in this arrangement, but as she lay by my side, it was hard to remember that she was a threat.

I probably shouldn’t have shagged her, but I’d wanted to from the first time I laid eyes on her round arse when I first walked into her office. Still did, if my stiff cock was to be believed. Which it was.

I reached over and let my hand slide down her shoulder to her soft chemise. It was a flattering violet color, but I was more interested in the way it hugged her ample cleavage when she lay on her side. I traced a thumb across one breast and smirked when her nipple perked under my caress. Seemed her body was as fond of me as mine was of her.

She didn’t look like the usual type of girl I fucked. I tended to gravitate toward tall, slender model types, mainly because they were the ones who hung around the clubs I went to.

Mira was short and deliciously full-figured, and my cock had ached to be buried between her generous thighs from first sight. All the sex I’d had before seemed so plain and dull in comparison, like rice crackers next to a feast of abundance. And once I was finally inside of her…

My cock throbbed eagerly at the memory. Who knew a rough hate-fuck would end up the best sex of my damned life?

I drew a teasing circle around her tight nipple and saw the small bud harden into a full peak.

Should have taken the time to explore her luscious little body some more, but the desperate need to be inside of her hadn’t left time for such luxuries.

I glanced at Mira’s sleeping face. Maybe she’d be up for seconds. Nothing beat lazy morning sex as a hangover cure, and we could always go back to hating each other after an orgasm or two. Or three.

I slipped my hand down her side and up underneath her chemise, eager to feel more of her warm skin. When I brushed across her soft stomach, something slightly rough and raised on her skin made me pause. It felt like scar tissue. My fingertips danced across it for a few moments, but the small burst of curiosity at the unexpected appearance of scars on her abdomen was quickly smothered by my cock’s desperate pulsing. Demanding fucker.

I pushed further up until my questing hand reached her soft breast. It felt even better without fabric covering it. I squeezed the plump flesh gently.

Mira murmured sleepily in response, and I quirked my head to see if she was waking up.

Her eyes were still firmly shut, and her face relaxed. No such luck.

Hmm.

Carefully, I rolled her off my shoulder—wiping her drool off my skin with a grimace—so I could maneuver better. She grumbled in obvious protest at the loss of contact, but still didn’t wake.

Mira was a heavy sleeper, apparently. At least after half a bottle of whiskey.

I dragged the loose neckline of her cleavage down far enough to let both breasts spill over the edge of the fabric, and hummed appreciatively at the sight before latching one to one of the peachy pink little nubs.

Mira mumbled in her sleep again. It sounded more like a moan this time, and it made an aching spasm travel down the length of my cock. Yeah, morning sex was so on.

I leaned over so I could rest on one elbow, letting my other hand travel down her body until it got to the heat between her thighs. I stroked one finger through her cleft while pulling gently at her nipple, and was rewarded when she spread her thighs with a sleepy sigh.

Damn, I needed to fuck her again. So much for exploring her body more carefully—one tit fondle and I was desperate to get inside her wet little snatch. What the hell kind of heroin did she hide in there?

I let my fingers find her clit, stroking it gently until she started to squirm, her breathing no longer deep and peaceful. Then I delved a finger inside of silken folds and was rewarded with the drenched embrace of her cunt.

She soaked so easily for me, it was a wonder she’d managed to put up so much of a fight before finally caving. I smirked at the knowledge that the prim and proper psychologist who had thrown me out of her office for asking for a fuck was as attracted to my body as any other red-blooded female I’d come across since hitting puberty. Perhaps even more so, if her pussy’s slick welcome was any indicator.

I slipped another finger into her while keeping my thumb busy on her clit, and this time, her response was a full-throated moan. Seemed like she was coming to. I pumped her slowly, aching to bury my tongue between her thighs, but ego made me hold back. I wanted to see her face fall apart when I sucked on her clit, and she’d have to be fully awake for that to happen. Maybe after the first round.

I curved both fingers in her tight heat just so, hitting the spongy flesh nestled behind her pelvic bone firmly.

“Blaine.”

I popped my mouth off her nipple to look at her at the breathy sound of my name, but her eyes were still closed even though a frown marred her face. I rubbed against her G-spot while watching her, and nearly came at the fine tremor playing across her pretty features as she breathed shakily. Slowly, her body began to move under mine, the rhythm of my hand transferring to her hips as I brought her closer and closer.

Nope, couldn’t keep watching her face or I’d end up fucking her before she woke up fully. My cock was hurting from the need to be inside of her, and watching her slowly come undone made it unbearable. Instead, I busied my mouth at her breasts again, licking and sucking at her pert nipples in time with my fingers’ thrusting.

Her moans and whimpers spurred me on until her pussy clamped up tight, squeezing my fingers to a halt for two long seconds before erupting in a series of fluttering spasms. Her body seized underneath mine, and she gasped her pleasure out as I lifted my head just in time to see her eyes pop open.

“What
the fuck
are you doing?”

I gotta be honest, that wasn’t exactly the response I’d expected. Nevertheless, I gave her flustered and panting face a smirk and thrilled my fingers over her undoubtedly hypersensitive G-spot. “Getting you off.”

Mira jerked underneath me and grabbed at my wrist to still my teasing movements. “Get off me!”

“I would rather get off
in
yo—
uff!”
I hadn’t been observant enough, and paid for my cheek when she dug a knee into my gut and pushed.

For a relatively small bird, she had a lot of leg power.

I rolled off her, pressing a hand to my now pretty sore abs, and narrowly avoided getting kicked in the dick by her flailing legs as she scrambled up to the headboard of the bed, duvet wrapped around her like a virgin hiding from some tentacled hentai beast. Her hazel eyes were large and unfocused, but the anger in them was unmistakable.

Great. Seemed like we were gonna go right back to hating each other before I’d gotten as much as a thank-you wank. I rubbed at my sore stomach and gave her an irritated glare. “What the hell was that for?”

“
What was that for…?”
Despite her obvious trouble with seeing me clearly without her glasses, she managed to look both astonished and absolutely furious at the same time. I might have been impressed, if my flagging cock didn’t mean I now had enough blood left in my brain to properly feel my hangover again.

“That was for
molesting
me, you absolute twat!” Apparently, she’d had enough of not being able to focus all that anger at my face, because she reached out for her glasses on the nightstand, and managed to knock over the near-empty bottle of whiskey she’d placed there the night before in her efforts.

“Molesting you? You just came all over my hand! While moaning my name, I might add. Jesus fucking Christ, what about a ‘thank-you’ instead of kneeing me in the gut?”

“A ‘
thank-you’
?” Her voice turned shrill, and I winced as it went right through my brain. She leveled a glare at me through the black-rimmed glasses that could have turned a more easily intimidated man into stone. “Right! Then
thank you
for taking advantage at me while I was drunk and emotionally fucked up after the worst week of my life. Which, I might add, is a pretty goddamn bad week. And while I’m at it, thank you so much for marrying me against my will and ruining my life! Now kindly get the fuck out of my bed!”