“Does he touch you like this?” He growled against my ear. “Does he make you wet just by looking at you?”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. My breath came in ragged gasps as his mouth traveled down my neck. His teeth scraped against my skin hard enough to mark me. That was intentional. Lord marking his territory.
“Answer me,” he demanded, his fingers digging into my hips hard enough to bruise me.
“No,” I gasped as his hand found its way back under my skirt.
A triumphant smile curved his lips. “I know.”
He spun me around. My cheek pressed against the cool wall as he unzipped my skirt. He yanked it down and let it pool at my ankles. His hands were rough on my skin. He was claiming me rather than caressing me. I should’ve put some effort into stopping him. I should have found my dignity, my self-respect, or the anger I had stored up. Instead, I arched into his touch like a starving woman at Thanksgiving dinner.
“I could make you come right here,” Lord whispered. His breath was hot against my ear as his fingers slipped inside my ripped panties. “You’re always so wet for me.”
He was right. My body responded to him as if it had been programmed to, like the weeks apart had never happened. Like I hadn’t left him. Like he hadn’t betrayed me with that Lolita bitch.
Lolita. The name broke through the haze of desire. I tried to turn, to face him, to regain some control.
“Don’t,” he warned, holding me in place against the wall. “Don’t make me hurt you.”
Fuck! He already hurt me! Over and over and over again.
He turned me around to face him again. His blue eyes blazed with an intensity that stole my breath. Tears burned behind my eyelids. They spilled out despite my efforts to hold them back.
“You’re crying,” he observed the tears that I couldn’t hold back.
Something maniacal flashed in his eyes. He lifted me effortlessly, carrying me to the dining table in the center of the room. The cold marble shocked my overheated skin as he laid me down. He had me stripped down to my bra and torn panties.
I couldn’t look at him. I turned my head to the lights of the Vegas Strip glittering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Lord stood between my legs, removing his suit jacket and tie with deliberate slowness. I didn’t want to look at him. I didn’t want to see his fucking face. But after a minute, I looked up at him. His blonde hair fell across his forehead as he unbuttoned his shirt to reveal the muscled torso I’d spent countless nights pressed against.
“You’re going to remember my cock every time he looks at you.” He warned, hooking his fingers into my panties and tearing them all the way off with one sharp movement.
The sound of ripping fabric was followed by the metallic slide of his belt buckle. My heart hammered in my chest.
“Tell me you want me.” He demanded.
When I didn’t respond, he pulled my bra down below my breasts and then slapped the shit out of my titty. The pain lifted my body off the table.
“Say it.” Lord gripped my thighs. His deep voice was deadly soft but absolutely unyielding. “Say it.”
My lips parted as a sob caught in my throat, but not from pain. From the white-hot ache of humiliation and want. “I want you,” I whispered.
“I didn’t hear you.”
Lord taunted me. He spread my legs wider, pressing the length of his huge cock against me. I hadn’t even seen him remove his pants. He was hard already, obscenely so, and the heat of him seared through what little dignity I had left.
“I want you.” I repeated, louder this time. My entire body was burning with shame.
“That’s better.” He yanked me forward by my hips, so my ass was hanging off the edge of the table. The cold marble bit into my shoulder blades, grounding me in reality as he lined himself up to enter me. He never broke eye contact. He didn’t give me time to get ready. He just pushed into me with one slow, brutal thrust.
I cried out, not from pain, but from the shock of being filled so completely, so suddenly. My nails scraped against the table. I searched for something to hold on to as he started to move inside me. There was nothing gentle about this. Each stroke was a penance. He was teaching me a lesson for leaving him. He was forcing me to remember who I belonged to.
“Is this what you need to act like you've got some sense?”
The question threw me for a loop. He sounded like a Black man. I opened my eyes just to make sure it was Lord crackingmy pussy open instead of Dejarvis. His thrusts were making the table move. It was no small feat and a testament to how strong he was.
“Did my cousin ever fuck you like this?”
“No,” I gasped, tears streaming down my cheeks as pleasure warred with humiliation. I hated the answer. I hated that it was true.
