Shadowed (Team Zero #4) by Rina Kent

She attacks me in a Kamikaze kind of way, but her posture is professional. Her kick aims at my diaphragm. I’m momentarily distracted by her sublime posture and the flashing of black lace knickers. Her kick knocks the breath out my lungs.

My erection strains against my jeans until it’s fucking painful. I always loved some struggle.

Thinking she’s at a momentum, Zoe lunges at me with a punch. I cage it in a fist and wrestle her to the ground. Her back hits the floor and I’m over her soft, tiny curves. She squirms and tries to roll on top. The struggle goes on for long minutes. Neither of us wants to let go, and I find myself holding back to not crush her.

Maybe Omega isn’t in complete control after all.

“You’re crazy!” She attempts to wiggle free from underneath me, but I yank both her wrists and slam them on the ground above her head.

I grin and speak through heavy breaths. “So are you, beautiful.”

“I’m going to kill you,” she grits out.

I lean in and lick the blood trickling down her translucent skin until I taste metal. “You can try.”

Her breathing deepens and her pulse jumps beneath my tongue. The clenching of her thighs is enough evidence that she can’t hide her reaction to how much she secretly likes this.

I press my erection to the bottom of her stomach. She freezes and her lips part. Nothing can erase the deep lust in her eyes.

“Keep it up, Zoe. The harder you struggle, the more you’ll have to take care of this.”

“You’re sick.” She pants between groans. “Completely fucking sick.”

She attempts to close her thighs. I yank them apart and rest my knee near her sex. My movements freeze and I stare at her reddening face and quick intake of air. Even though it’s through the jeans, I can smell her arousal and it hits straight to my dick.

I grin. “Looks like someone else is so fucking sick.”

She writhes sideways.

I pin her down by tightening my hold on her wrists. I yank her dress up her waist and trail my eyes over her smooth, pale, and delicate skin. My mind goes rampant with the million ways I can mark her and bind her to me. I cup her through her soaked knickers. She moans, eyes rolling to the back of her head.

My voice comes out hoarse and raspy. “Stop acting high and mighty and admit that you’re as filthy as me.”

The fire in her green eyes almost incinerates me. “Never.”

The fucking…

I rub her moisture over the cloth with intentional slowness and press my thumb against her clit until she releases needy sounds.

“Shadow…”

“You will admit it?”

“N-no…”

“Hmmm.” I pretend to be unfazed while my dick begs to stake claim inside her – especially since she’s soaked and ready. However, she needs to stop the stubbornness.

I’m going to break her defiance and then her fucking pity. I’ll ruin everything.

I keep teasing her clit with slow measured rubs. It’s fucking torture for both of us, but I don’t stop. Not when my cock nears exploding out of my jeans. Not when her back arches and she keeps calling my name in a plea.

Her entire body is flushed and under my fucking mercy.

My forefinger slips beneath her undies. The moment my skin touches hers, she moans so loud, I almost blow in my trousers like a bloody teenager.

Her lids screw shut. I stop but don’t remove my hand. “Look at me. You don’t get to hide, beautiful.”

She does open her eyes, but they’re filled with lust and raw defiance. I recognise her need to fight before she even moves. It’s a mirror of my own sick fantasies.

I let her kick me because it turns me fucking on like I’m sure it has the same effect on her.

Her head hits mine. Pain throbs in my forehead, and I’m sure it hurts her a lot worse. She winces and shoves me away, and we roll so I’m on my back. I grab a handful of her hips. She yanks on my hair. I pull her down so my lips are inches away from hers while she straddles my stomach. I breathe her in. Her fight. Her glares. That pure fucking lust.

“I’m going to fuck that bitchiness out of you, beautiful.” I try to flip her down.

She squirms free and to her feet. A gleam shines in her eyes. “I’d like to see you try, arsehole.”

I hop up and clutch her uppercut. I place my hands on her shoulders and shove her down on her knees. “Let’s start with that mouth.”

She attempts to stand, but I effortlessly pin her down with a hand while the other fumbles with my belt.

I’m done playing.

“Don’t!” She shouts, and when her eyes meet mine, they’re no longer shining with defiance, lust or even fear.

She’s under a panic attack like the other time.

“Not on my knees!” Her hysterical shout breaks into a barely audible whisper as if she’s pleading with me. “Not on my knees…”

I let go of my trousers. She’s panicking because of the position? My vision turns black when her eyes rim with tears. Fucking hell. She was wrestling me like a champion seconds ago but now, she looks like a broken doll.

I bloody hate that.

Omega’s haze is substituted by something a lot worse. Rage. All I think about is that I need to cut open whoever caused her to be like this. I need their screams, their dead gazes, and their blood.