Priest and his Anarchist Read Online Amo Jones

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Crime, Dark, Erotic, Mafia, Virgin Tags Authors: Amo Jones Advertisement1

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My body takes his size as if he was made for me and me only. He pushes hard, fast, and relentless, holding himself up by the palm of his hands. I reach for him, but he whacks away my hand. Bruises bite into my thighs as he flips me over onto my stomach. Blood fills my mouth when my teeth catch my tongue, so I refocus on the flames as he enters me from behind. The sound of his cock hitting my cervix snaps my spine straight as my nails rip from my fingers when I dig them into the carpet.

Not a word. But I chase it. Every time he grinds against my spot, I can feel myself get hotter and hotter as if I’ll implode at any minute.

Then I feel it.

The touch of a ribbon sails around my neck as my orgasm reaches its peak. My body convulses as the silk tightens, cutting all oxygen. An explosion of white lights rain down around us as my body shakes, calling for that sweet promise of euphoria.

I tap his hand. He’s gone too far—even for me, and I’m all for breath play. The world slowly grows distant, barely grasping any of my senses until everything turns dark. Bleak. There’s no point fighting it.

Everything’s out.

Good night, world.

Chapter Sixteen

luna

this is not a love story. it’s a tragedy.

The decay of nature stains my French-manicured nails as earth leaves its damp fragrance through my hair.

It rained last night? How much did I have to drink? Ugh. I hate alcohol.

My legs swing over the side of my bed, but the movement causes a sharp ache to surge through my head. My hangover has created its own heartbeat inside my brain.

“Fucking River.”

I stumble straight to the shower, not bothering to wait until it’s heated before stepping inside. Drips of water leave clean trails over the soiled parts of my body, and I turn to wash my face when something stabs my right side. Blinding pain flashes before me as I fall against a wall, holding myself up with one hand. Bruises and pain only mean one thing to me.

Fragility.

I twitch through my shower until it smells like a florist and crawl out. Cotton warms my skin as I wrap my towel around my body, snatching my toothbrush from the holder. With the muddy-brown tint now washed from my hair and my skin free of soil, I study myself in the mirror.

So much has changed.

“What is it?” I asked the Fathers, looking between the three men who I’d put so much trust in over the years, one in particular because he had spent a great deal of his time saving me from demons he didn’t even know existed. Or maybe he did know. He never made me feel like he did.

“We need you to fall.”

I go through the motions of blow-drying my hair before plucking the first outfit I can find in the disarray of boxes. I need to unpack. Since being here, it’s been like one thing after another. Suddenly, I wake with mud under my fingers and a hangover from Hades.

My phone vibrates on the bedside table, and I pause. Like shards of glass, a shiver runs down my spine. I must have managed to plug it in on my journey to bed last night.

River’s name flashes over the screen before a number I don’t recognize pops up with it. Swiping it unlocked, I tap on River’s message first.

That was risky.

Finding the next number, I open it.

Stella’s number—save it! So you don’t have a repeat of last night.

Metal sparkles as I slide open the first drawer of my bedside table. Leather straps encase the sharp edges of my throwing stars. Another reminder of him. Everything is always such a damn reminder of him.

Slamming the drawer closed with my hip, I lower myself onto the bed and twist the strap around my thigh, tightening the buckle. There’ve been times when I’d considered where I was going and whether I was making the right choices, but this isn’t one of those times.

I tap out a message to River.

I know.

She replies instantly after the text bubbles disappear.

Are you coming tonight?

What is tonight? There are always different events going on. I wonder if it is only because of the ritual and being so new.

I’ll try.

She leaves me on read, and it’s not until I’m under the parking garage that another text comes through.

You’re too pretty to die.

It’s like River to break tension with a joke.

Swinging my helmet under my arm, I quickly type out my reply.

And you’re too smart to call me pretty.

I fasten my helmet and tuck my hair beneath the collar of my leather jacket. Sleek black paint reflects off the overhead lights, and as soon as I’m straddling my bike, I feel at home. The purr of her starting sends a surge of adrenaline through my body.


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