I don’t answer. My silence is enough. My nails curl in his shirt, dragging him back down to me.
He lifts me in one fluid motion, my legs wrapping around his waist, the wall at my back holding me steady. The sheer strength of him terrifies and thrills me. His mouth moves down my throat, biting, sucking hard enough to leave marks. I throw my head back, gasping, clawing at his hair.
He carries me to the bed and throws me down, not gently, but not cruelly either. I bounce once on the mattress, glaring at him through heavy lashes, chest heaving. He strips his shirt offin one swift pull, muscles carved in shadow, scars scattered like warnings across his skin. My breath catches despite myself.
I don’t wait for him. I shove the straps of the ruined silk dress down my shoulders, baring my breasts, daring him to look. He does. His gaze darkens, his jaw tight, and then he’s on me, mouth closing around my nipple, tongue teasing, teeth scraping. My back arches into him, a moan ripping free despite the shame burning hot in my chest.
“Fuck you,” I whisper, but the words dissolve when his hand slides down, shoving my skirt up, fingers finding me wet and ready.
He groans against my skin. “Gladly.”
I want to deny it, to spit the lie in his face, but my body betrays me. His fingers stroke me through soaked lace, drawing circles that make my hips jerk against his hand. My breath shatters, my nails dig into his shoulders.
He pushes the lace aside and slides a finger inside me, then another, stretching me, curling until I’m gasping. He kisses me again, swallowing every sound I make as his hand works faster, harder, fucking me with his fingers until I’m trembling beneath him.
The orgasm rips through me sudden and sharp, my body clenching tight around him, my cry muffled against his mouth. He doesn’t stop. He drives me higher, milking every shudder, every gasp, until I collapse back against the mattress, shaking.
He pulls his fingers free and licks them, eyes locked on mine. The sight makes heat flood me all over again.
“Take the rest off,” he orders, voice gravel.
I hesitate, pride warring with desire. Then I rip the dress down, dragging the torn silk over my hips and legs, kicking it tothe floor. His eyes roam over me, slow, claiming, and I want to slap him for it, want to kiss him harder for it.
He strips the rest of his clothes in one sharp motion. My eyes widen at the sight of him: thick, hard, already leaking. The sheer size of him makes my stomach twist, but the ache between my legs only grows sharper.
He crawls over me, caging me beneath him, pressing the blunt head of his cock against my entrance. He pauses, eyes on mine, waiting.
“Fuck menow,” I whisper, pulling him closer.
He thrusts into me hard, burying himself deep. My scream rips through the room, nails carving down his back. He groans low, head dropping to my shoulder, his body shuddering at the feel of me wrapped tight around him.
He pulls back, slams into me again, harder. The bed creaks beneath us, the air thick with gasps, groans, the slap of skin against skin. He sets a brutal pace, fucking me deep, relentless, his hips pounding into mine. I claw at him, bite him, mark him, matching every thrust with one of my own.
Pleasure and pain blur until I can’t tell them apart. My body burns, every nerve alive, every sound I make torn between moan and sob.
“You’re mine,” he growls against my ear, thrusting harder.
“Never,” I gasp, even as I cling to him, even as my body begs for more.
His thumb finds my clit, rubbing fast, sharp, dragging me over the edge again. I scream, convulsing around him, my orgasm crashing hard enough to steal my breath. He follows with a guttural groan, slamming deep one last time as he spills inside me, his whole body trembling above mine.
We collapse together, tangled in sheets, sweat slicking our skin. His chest heaves against mine, his breath hot on my throat. My nails are still buried in his skin, his marks burn across mine.
The silence after is deafening.
I stare at the ceiling, rage and shame and hunger twisting in my chest. I tell myself this has to be the last time, that I won’t let him break me again.
I said that last time too.
The weight of him lingers long after he rolls off me, long after I tug the sheets over my bare skin as though thin fabric can shield me from what just happened. My body is still humming, nerves raw, thighs trembling, but my mind is a battlefield. The room is filled with the scent of sweat and sex, the sound of our ragged breaths, and underneath it all a silence so heavy it presses down on my chest.
I stare at the ceiling, willing myself to feel nothing. To be stone. To pretend that what we just did was a weapon, not a surrender. Yet my body betrays me. Every throb, every ache reminds me how badly I wanted it, how fiercely I let myself drown in him.
Beside me, he props himself up on an elbow, eyes tracing me in the dark. I can feel the weight of his gaze, even though I refuse to meet it. His hand hovers near my hip, not quite touching. I hate that a part of me wishes he would.
Finally, he speaks, voice rough, low. “You knew this would happen.”
My laugh is sharp, bitter. “You think you’re that irresistible?”
