You Are Mine To Desecrate

Okay, how about a little warning first. If you were looking for or expecting a nice princess treatment or probably soft kisses. Yes, you might see them but... I beg you in the name of the God you serve to please turn back now.You might survive this first pages but I can't guarantee the rest. I wouldn't be held accountable for whatever horror you'll see or read in any page of this book. Well, if you are here to experience with me what if feels to dream about your enemy claiming you, kissing you in places you'd never imagine he will and your dreams finally turns out to be real. Flip these pages and read them without shame. Welcome to my world.. Ava's POV The moonlight poured in through my bedroom window—too silver, too soft. The way the sheets felt like silk even though I knew they weren’t. The way my skin tingled like someone had touched me, but no one was there. Except he was. Alexandra Thompson. Towering above me, his eyes dark and mysterious. Smirking like he already owned the space between my thighs. What the f**k did I just say? How did he know where I lived? He stood at the foot of my bed, dressed in black slacks and a dress shirt with the top buttons undone, revealing the sharp line of his throat and just a hint of chest. His sleeves were rolled up, veins exposed. Dangerous and tempting. “Hello, red head” his voice deep and lazy. I tried to speak, but nothing came out. My throat was dry. My body too aware. He climbed onto the bed like he belonged there, crawling toward me slowly, eyes locked to mine. “You act like you hate me during the day,” he murmured, his fingers grazing my ankle, “but at night…” He dragged his hand up the inside of my calf, higher, until he reached the top of my thigh. “At night, you call for me.” I didn’t. I wouldn’t. But God… maybe I did. “Tell me you don’t want this,” he whispered, his mouth brushing my ear, “and I’ll disappear.” I didn’t say a word. Because I couldn’t lie. His hand slipped beneath the hem of my nightgown, fingers brushing the heat between my thighs. I was bare. Wet. "f**k,” he groaned. “You’re soaked.” He kissed me then—hard, possessive, like he was trying to brand himself onto my lips. My arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer. I could feel his c**k, thick and hard, straining against his slacks as he ground against me. “I hate you,” I breathed against his mouth. He smiled darkly. “Good. Hate me harder.” He shoved my nightgown up over my hips, pulling it over my head in one swift motion, baring me completely. My n*****s hardened under the cold air—and his hungry gaze. "I think your p***y likes me,” he slid two fingers along my slit. “She’s begging for me.” He knelt between my legs and pushed them apart with ease. “Let me see how much you want your enemy.” I whimpered as he leaned down, tongue flicking over my c**t. The jolt of pleasure shot through me like lightning. My back arched off the bed, hands gripping the sheets. His mouth worked me with expertise, slowly at first, teasing, licking lazy circles around my c**t until I was trembling. Then he buried his tongue inside me, groaning like I was the most addictive thing he’d ever tasted. My back arched. My breath hitched. My body traitorous, needy, aching—melted beneath the weight of his possessive touch. He tasted like fire and arrogance. Every stroke of his tongue dragged a moan out of me, deeper, hungrier. “Say my name,” he whispered against my collarbone, his voice low, thick with command. “Xander!!!—” I gasped, hating how easily it slipped. His hand slid between my thighs and I swear, I was seconds away from losing my goddamn mind— “f**k, baby,” he muttered, lips slick with me. “You taste like sin.” I felt it building—hot, heavy, desperate. I tried to hold back. He sucked my c**t between his lips and I shattered. The orgasm rolled through me like a tidal wave, my thighs clenching around his head, hips bucking. I moaned his name without shame, without fear. Alex licked me through every spasm, then crawled back up my body. His pants were gone now. He was naked, hard, ready—and f**k, he looked like a god made to ruin me. “You want more?” he asked, rubbing the head of his c**k against my slit. “Tell me.” I should’ve screamed no. But I moaned, “Please, Xander… f**k me.” His lips curled into that smug grin I hated. Then he thrust into me in one deep, brutal stroke. I cried out, the stretch perfect, the heat of him filling me completely. He didn’t move at first—just let me feel every inch of him, his c**k pulsing inside me, heavy and thick. “Feel that?” he growled in my ear. “That’s mine.” Then he moved hard and relentless. The bed creaked beneath us. My body rocked with every thrust. His hand slid beneath my lower back, arching me up into him, changing the angle so he hit something deep inside that made my eyes roll back. “f**k, Xander, yes—” “You gonna c*m again?” he growled, driving harder. “You want to c*m on my c**k like a needy little dream slut?” “Yes...please...don’t stop—” His thumb found my c**t again, rubbing tight circles, and I was gone. I screamed as I came again, my walls clenching around him, dragging him deeper, tighter. He groaned. “I’m gonna fill you up. You want it, don’t you? Want me to c*m inside this pretty p***y?” “Do it,” I whispered, delirious, drowning. “f**k me full.” His pace became erratic, rougher, desperate. Then with a growl, he buried himself to the hilt and came, hot and thick, pulsing deep inside me. When my alarm shrieked. I bolted upright with a gasp, drenched in sweat, hair plastered to my forehead like I’d run a goddamn marathon. I was dreaming. I was f*****g dreaming. But not the kind of dream that made you wake up refreshed and smiling. No. This one had heat.Sin. And Alexander f*****g Thompson. I was shaking. My sheets were soaked. Between my thighs—wet. Aching and feeling empty. I sat up in bed, heart still pounding, sweat cooling on my skin. And as much as I wanted to scream, cry, or forget… All I could do was curse his name. “f**k you, Alexander. s**t!” I yanked the covers off and stormed to the bathroom like it was the alarm’s fault. Or his fault. Definitely his fault. “Alexander Thompson, you son of a —” I muttered, glaring at my reflection as if it were him. My cheeks were flushed, my lips still swollen from a kiss that never happened. "Why the hell are you in my dreams? Is it not enough that you are already in my miserable life?" He wasn’t even here and still he found a way to crawl under my skin. Infiltrate my subconscious. Make me wet and miserable and furious all at once. I brushed my teeth like I wanted to break the toothbrush. “I need a lobotomy,” I grumbled, spitting the foam into the sink. By the time I made it to my closet, I was halfway through planning Alexander's funeral in my head. "Leather belt around the neck... satin sheets over the face... oh no, officer, I swear he just... slipped." It didn’t help that I kept seeing him every time I closed my eyes. That smirk. That maddening calm. That sinful mouth. I threw on a navy power suit, sleek and sharp, with a plunging neckline I only ever wore when I wanted to intimidate the board or hide the fact that I hadn't slept all night. By the time I was out the door, my heels echoed like thunder and my iced coffee was trembling in its cup.