“You’re trembling,” he whispers, dragging his lips down my neck, biting just hard enough to make me gasp. “Still fighting, even though you already gave up.”
I shake my head, trying to turn away, but he forces me to look at him, his hand cradling my jaw. “Look at me,” he demands, and his voice is so low, so controlled, it makes my pulse skip. “I want to see your face when I make you admit it.”
“Admit what?” I choke out, but the question comes out broken, desperate.
He leans down, brushing his lips over mine, teasing and taunting. “That you like it when I’m rough. That you need me to take control. That no one’s ever made you feel like this before.”
My heart slams against my ribs. I try to twist my wrists free, but he just smirks, grinding his hips against mine, making me gasp. “You’re soaked again,” he taunts. “Even after everything. You still want more.”
I hate that he’s right. I hate the way his voice slides over my skin like silk, how my body reacts even as my mind screams that this is wrong.
His hands trace down my sides, fingers digging into my hips, pulling me closer, making me feel every hard inch of him pressed against me. “Say it,” he whispers against my mouth. “Say you need me.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, shaking my head, but he bites down on my shoulder, hard enough to make me cry out. “Don’t lie to me,” he growls. “You’re mine, Raven. Say it.”
I can’t stop the sob that breaks free, but it’s not just fear anymore—it’s frustration, confusion, and the twisted ache he’s woken up inside me. “I hate you,” I whisper, but it’s so weak, so hollow.
He drags his lips back up to my ear, his breath hot and ragged. “Liar. You hate that I make you feel good. You hate that I know how to break you apart and put you back together. But you don’t hate me. You hate that you need me.”
His hands slide under the waistband of my sweatpants, tugging them down just enough to expose me. I can’t help the way I arch into him, desperate for contact, my body betraying me.
His fingers tease along my inner thighs, spreading me open, and I bite down on my lip to keep from moaning. “Don’t hold back,” he whispers. “I want to hear how much you want it.”
His fingers slide over me, slick and warm, and I can’t stop the whimper that slips free. He chuckles darkly, dragging his lips down my neck, his teeth grazing my pulse. “That’s it. Let go. You don’t have to pretend anymore.”
I hate him. I hate that he’s right. I hate that I can’t stop grinding against his hand, desperate and aching.
He pushes a finger inside, slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving mine. “Feel that? That’s how much your body craves me. You couldn’t stop even if you wanted to.”
Another finger slides in, stretching me, and I gasp, thighs squeezing around his hand. He laughs softly, kissing me again, deeper this time, his tongue tasting every broken sound I make.
“You’re so tight,” he mutters against my lips. “It’s like no one has ever touched you properly.” Has anyone ever made you scream, Raven? Or am I the first one to really get under your skin?”
My breath hitches, and I try to shake my head, but he thrusts harder, fingers curling inside me, and I can’t hold backthe moan that rips free. “Thought so,” he smirks. “You’ve never had someone make you beg, have you? You always try to be in control, yet it’s pathetic how easily you fall apart. “
He presses his thumb against my clit, rubbing slow circles, and my entire body tenses, desperate and needy. He kisses me again, rough and claiming, like he’s sealing his ownership with every bite and bruise.
“Say it,” he demands again, teeth scraping my lower lip. “Say you’re mine.”
My vision blurs, and I’m so close, teetering on the edge, and I can’t stop the words from spilling out. “I’m yours,” I choke out, hating how weak I sound.
He rewards me by thrusting harder, faster, his hand moving in perfect rhythm, and I’m helpless against it, my body winding tighter and tighter until it snaps, pleasure crashing through me so violently I sob against his mouth.
I shuddered as I tried to catch my breath. He pulls back, wiping his wet fingers on my thigh, and I can barely move, too wrecked to think.
He leans down, pressing one last, brutal kiss to my mouth, his grip on my chin possessive. “You’re mine now, Little Spider,” he whispers, voice like dark silk. “You’ll never escape me. I’ll make sure you never want to.”
He sits back on the bed, eyes never leaving mine, like he’s daring me to deny it, to pretend I didn’t just let him ruin me. I can’t move. I can’t breathe.
Deep down, I know he’s right because no matter how much I tell myself I hate him, my body craves every cruel touch, every whispered threat, every dark promise.
I’m his.
And there’s no escaping that now.
The room is suffocating, the air thick with the scent of sweat and something darker—something that feels like surrender. Mybody is still quaking, the aftermath of his touch pulsing through me, and I hate how he’s watching me—like he’s already won.
He leans back against the headboard, dragging me into his lap effortlessly, his hands gripping my thighs, spreading them wide to straddle him. I try to push away, but his fingers dig in, bruising, holding me right where he wants me.
