He laughs—a dark, mocking sound that vibrates through my chest. “I know everything about you. I’ve watched you for far longer than you know. I know the way your breath hitches when you think someone’s following you. I know how you leave the light on, like it’ll keep the nightmares out. I know how you touch yourself under the blankets, biting your lip to keep quiet. Thinking about being caught. Being taken.”
Heat floods my face, and I look away, hating how his words burrow under my skin. “You’re sick,” I whisper.
He gets up slowly, moving like a predator, and my pulse quickens, every instinct screaming to run. But I don’t. I can’t. He kneels in front of me, one hand braced on the wall beside my head, the other lifting my chin until I have no choice but to look at him.
His face is so close I can feel his breath on my lips. “Say it again,” he murmurs. “Call me sick. Call me a monster. But don’t lie to yourself about how much you liked it.”
I swallow hard, my throat tight. “You don’t get to decide what I feel.”
His grip tightens just enough to make my jaw ache. “I don’t have to decide. Your body told me everything. You wanted me to take you. You wanted me to push you past that line. You’ve felt nothing like that before, have you?”
A tear slips down my cheek, and I hate myself for it. He wipes it away with his thumb, almost gently, and it makes me feel even more trapped. “Stop,” I whisper, but it comes out weak, cracked.
He doesn’t move, doesn’t let me look away. “No. You don’t get to pretend now. You gave yourself to me. You let me in. You’re mine, Raven. You’ve always been mine.”
A shudder runs through me, and I press my hands against his chest, trying to push him back, but he doesn’t budge. Instead, he leans in, lips grazing the corner of my mouth, barely a touch, but it sets my nerves on fire.
“You hate that you liked it,” he murmurs, tracing his nose along my jaw. “But I could feel how tight you were, how desperate. You needed me to push you. You needed me to make you feel something.”
My lips part, but no sound comes out. He presses his mouth to mine—soft at first, almost tender, and it’s the gentleness that breaks me. I kiss him back before I realise what I’m doing, fingers curling into his shirt.
He groans against my mouth, and it’s like a switch flips. He grabs my wrists, pinning them to the wall above my head, kissing me harder, teeth scraping my lower lip. I gasp, and he takes advantage, slipping his tongue past my lips, tasting me, claiming me all over again.
I shouldn’t respond. I shouldn’t melt into him. But my body betrays me, arching toward him, craving the heat of his skin against mine.
He pulls back just enough to look into my eyes, smirk wicked and sharp. “There it is,” he whispers. “That sweet, broken look. You don’t know whether to hate me or beg for more.”
I want to deny it, but I can’t. My body is already reacting, hips pressing up against his thigh, seeking friction. He grinds against me, letting me feel how hard he still is, and I can’t stop the moan that slips out.
His hands tighten around my wrists, and he leans in, his lips brushing mine as he speaks. “Tell me to stop. Tell me you don’t want it. One word, and I’ll walk out that door.”
My heart pounds, and I want to scream at him to go, to leave me alone. But the words won’t come. Instead, I bite my lip, refusing to meet his gaze, and he chuckles—a low, dark sound that vibrates through my whole body.
“That’s what I thought,” he purrs, releasing my wrists only to slip his hands under my thighs, lifting me effortlessly. I wrap my legs around his waist without thinking, his mouth trailing down my neck, teeth scraping over the sensitive skin.
He carries me to the bed, laying me down like I’m fragile, but his grip on my hips is anything but gentle. I hate how much I crave it—the bruising pressure, the way he pins me to the mattress like I’m his possession.
His mouth finds mine again, and I can’t help the way I arch into him, wanting more, hating that I want it. His hands roam over my body, pushing my legs apart, settling between them, grinding his hips into mine.
“You’re mine, Raven,” he growls against my lips. “And I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”
I try to fight the sob building in my chest, but when his fingers slide between my thighs, teasing, I can’t stop the needy whimper that spills out.
He presses his forehead to mine, eyes dark and predatory. “Say it. Admit it. Tell me you’re mine.”
My lips tremble, and I know I’m too far gone to lie. “I’m yours,” I whisper, and the words taste like surrender.
His smile is pure sin. “Good girl.”
And then he’s kissing me again, rough and demanding, and I know that I’ve lost. Because no matter how much I tell myself I hate him, my body betrays the truth.
I don’t want to escape.
I want to be caught.
I can’t tell where my fear ends and my need begins. His weight on top of me, the way he holds me down, it’s suffocating,overwhelming. But it’s the way his eyes lock onto mine, daring me to deny him, that makes me shudder.
His hands roam over my bare skin, rough and possessive, mapping every inch like he’s memorising me. I try to push at his chest, but he catches my wrists again, pinning them above my head. His grip is firm, just on the edge of pain.
