His tone shifts.
“No,” he mutters, more to himself now. “Not a whore. They get to choose.”
His cock slips deeper, painfully slow.
“Ah, I know.” He pauses, a smirk on his face. “You don’t want to choose. You want to be claimed.”
How does he know?
He pulls back. Thrusts hard enough to knock the air from my lungs.
“You fantasize about being a slave, don’t you?”
My eyes squeeze shut.
My body clenches around him in answer.
He groans—guttural, wrecked.
“Jesus. That’s it.”
Another thrust. Deeper. Rougher.
“You want to be the prize,” he snarls. “The spoils of war. Dragged in chains to the champion’s bed.”
I sob out something that’s almost his name.
He moves faster now, cock driving into me with brutal certainty.
“You want him to take your mouth. To fuck it until you can’t breathe. Until you forget you ever had a name.”
His hand fists in my hair, yanks my head back as he slams in again. “Say it.”
“No.” The word is tiny. Defiant. Fragile.
He stills inside me.
“Oh, Eliza…” His voice is molten steel, low and lethal. “That’s not how this works.”
He pulls back slow. Drags out every inch.
“I command. You obey.”
Another thrust—deep and sharp. I gasp.
“Now tell me.” His mouth is at my ear, breath hot, filthy. “Admit your deepest, darkest fantasy to me.”
I shake my head.
Tears sting my eyes. My teeth sink into my bottom lip so hard I taste blood.
Shame burns up my spine like wildfire.
I can’t.
He pushes deeper, then stops. Holds.
His fingers press harder into my hip. Unforgiving. Unrelenting.
