He takes a breath. For a moment, I almost think he'll say something real. But then he smiles, slow and wicked. "What do I want? Mm. So many things, princess," he says.
"You broke me in, remember?" I spit, anger rekindling. "You had your fun. Get out."
He steps inside, closing the door behind him. "What's wrong, Brielle?" His tone is mocking, but there's something under it, a kind of hunger that makes me shiver. "Afraid I'll unfreeze your heart and find my way into your soul if you're forced to spend the night sharing a bed with me?"
I shake my head, backing away until I hit the wall. But that's precisely what I'm afraid will happen. If I sleep in his arms, I'll want more than I'm allowed to have. I'll forget who and what he is, and I'll convince myself that he actually cares. He'll break me, and I'll be the one who handed him the keys to his victory.
"You're delusional if you think you matter that much," I say, but my voice cracks. "I just don't want you trying to fuck me without a condom again. I don't want your demon babies."
"Demon babies?" He laughs, and it feels like he's peeling my skin back with the sound. "You'd fucking kill to have my kids, Brielle. We both know it."
"Delusional," I mutter again.
"You want me here," he says, closing the distance. "You've always wanted me here. Just like you want my kids."
Before I can answer, his hands are in my hair, dragging me forward. He kisses me like he wants to erase everything that's ever happened to us. Like he wants to start over and destroy me properly this time.
I bite his lip hard enough to draw blood, but he just groans, kissing me deeper. I think he likes the taste of my violence, the reminder that he can't have anything he doesn't take from me by force.
He spins me, slamming me against the wall, my cheek pressed to the drywall. His hand slides up my back, tangling in my hair, the other pinning my wrists above my head.
"You're mine," he says, his breath hot against my ear. "Say it."
"Hell no. I'm not yours."
I twist, but he's stronger. He pins me, his body flush to mine, and rips open my robe. Before I can even protest, he's shoving my panties down, one hand plunging between my legs.
I gasp, not because it hurts but because I'm so fucking wet for him it's humiliating. The roughness, the total lack of mercy, is exactly what I crave and exactly what I wish I didn't.
He's relentless, rubbing fast, hard circles against my clit until I'm squirming. His other hand drops from my wrists, sliding down to my throat…squeezing just enough to make my vision blur at the edges.
He brings his lips to my ear. "You're a slut for pain," he says, like it's a compliment. "You're a slut for me."
I want to scream at him, to tell him that he's wrong, but I can't. My body has already betrayed me. I rock back against his hand, desperate for more.
He smacks my ass, the sound echoing in the bedroom. "Good girl," he growls, pushing a finger inside me. Then two, then three. The stretch is brutal but perfect.
I moan without even meaning to do it.
He pulls his fingers out and shoves them into my mouth like he wants to muffle the sound of my pleasure. "Suck," he commands.
I glare at him, but I do it. I suck my own taste off his fingers, loving it. The bastard just smiles like he's won something vital.
He pulls his fingers from my mouth after a moment and kisses me hard, pinning my wrists above my head again, this time one-handed. The hand that was just in my mouth slides down, teasing my pussy for a second, and then slides between the cheeks of my ass.
I freeze. "Don't you fucking dare—"
He doesn't hesitate. He bends, spitting on my asshole before two fingers press against me, hard and merciless. I clench, trying to fight him, but he waits out the resistance, grinding in slow,cruel circles until my body gives way. It burns, a white-hot ring of fire, but I can't stop the guttural moan that rips from my throat as he sinks both fingers in to the last knuckle.
"Fuck you," I snarl.
He laughs in response, the sound low and lethal.
"I told you I'd teach you obedience," he breathes in my ear, working his fingers in and out of me. The stretch is brutal, but the pain is already melting into a sick, helpless pleasure. I hate him for knowing this about me. For knowing every single way to break me open.
He pulls my hips back, arching my spine, and with his other hand, circles my clit with rough, relentless pressure. I can't do anything but take it, my whole body igniting.
"You think you hate this," he pants, "but you're soaked just from the idea of me using you however I want. You like knowing that I could stuff you full of myself, in any hole I please, and you'd beg for more like the perfect little cumslut you are. Isn't that right?"
