“You think I don’t feel it?” he growls. “The way your pussy clamps down every time I mention being used? That’s not fear, Eliza. It’s desire. Need. It’s fucking raw and honest, and hot as sin.”
A broken sound tears from my throat.
“Give it to me,” he says, dragging out with brutal slowness. “Or I’ll keep you here on the edge all fucking night.”
Another thrust. Just enough to threaten my sanity.
“I’ll ruin your mind before I let you come again.”
My body trembles. My breath shudders out.
He waits.
Cock buried deep.
Breath ragged against my skin.
“Tell me what you want.” His command comes hard, cutting through the last of my resistance.
I break.
“Fine,” I gasp. “I want to be his slave.”
He doesn’t move.
Doesn’t breathe.
Then—he growls.
Low. Filthy. Animal. Primitive.
It rips out of him like instinct.
His mouth finds the shell of my ear, his voice a dark whisper soaked in sin.
“You want to know my filthiest, most secret, darkest fantasy?”
I don’t answer.
I don’t have to.
“I want to be the fucking conqueror,” he breathes. “The one who wins the war. Who fucks his slaves. Takes them whenever, however, and as many times as he wants.”
He thrusts deep, slow, grinding into me like he’s driving the words home.
“And I don’t know who the hell he is, the one you were fantasizing about all these years…” His hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back just enough for his voice to hit bare skin. “…but you belong to me now.”
A dark, satisfied chuckle vibrates against my neck.
Hot breath. Pure claim.
“Looks like we were made for each other, sweetheart.”
He starts to move. Hard. Relentless. Each thrust a brand.
“I’m going to ruin you, Eliza,” he growls. “Ruin you so fucking deep you’ll forget what freedom ever felt like.”
He drives in again, brutal and raw, then leans closer, his voice a whip across my spine.
