She whimpers. “Please…please, I—I need to come.”
My eyes close on the sound of her voice quivering, cracking under the weight of her own desire. That surrender in her tone, the way she falls apart just to get a taste of release, it feeds something unholy in me.
Everything she owns is already mine. And soon, she will be too.
With a low snarl, I shove her face into the leather and slam into her again, losing myself as rage, desire, and months of bottled-up obsession pour through every hard thrust.
She made me like this. She twisted something inside me. And now I’ll break her with it.
When she finally comes, it’s with my name torn from her throat like a curse, her body convulsing as she comes so hard she soaks the floor beneath her.
And I keep going. Driving into her again and again until she’s shaking, sobbing, drained of everything but the memory of me, the feeling of my cock, the bruises I left, and the truth she can’t escape.
She’ll hate herself for how much she wanted it. And I’ll make sure she never forgets who made her this way.
FIONA
The air hangs heavy with the stench of sex and my own shame. It clings to my skin like a second layer, wrapping around me tighter than the cuffs he’s just now unlocking.
I can feel it in every breath I take. The filth. The humiliation I try to swallow down.
My legs barely hold me as the restraints fall away, muscles twitching in ways I don’t want to examine too closely.
Used. Open. Branded by his touch.
And I let it happen. Again.
I can’t look at him. I can’t even look at myself. Not like this: flushed and sticky and ruined in a way that’s as emotional as it is physical.
What the hell is wrong with me?
My fingers rub at the red welts on my wrists, trying to remember the version of myself who didn’t melt when he touched me or crawl into the fire just to feel something.
Behind me, Aleksei moves without a word, reaching for his pants and getting dressed like this is just another day for him. Like none of it meant a damn thing.
And maybe it didn’t. Not to him.
But it meant something to me. Because I don’t just sleep around, especially not with men I attempt to put in prison.
I’m really winning at life lately.
I turn away, not wanting to look at him anymore, reaching for my dress instead and fumbling with the fabric. My stupid, traitorous hands shake as I sweep it over my body. I don’t like being rattled this way.
Why the hell do I keep coming back for more?
Because he gives you the best orgasms.
Am I seriously that easy?
His footsteps approach before I feel him behind me, the heat of his body brushing my spine.
“Need help?” He tugs the zipper up slowly.
His voice is low, smooth, and impossible to ignore. It still lights me up from the inside out. My nipples tighten. My jaw locks. I despise the way my body still answers to him like it’s his fucking possession.
He continues zipping the dress, his hand brushing the nape of my neck before trailing down to my thigh, and I flinch.
But he doesn’t stop. His fingers catch the hem of my dress, tugging it down with infuriating care like I’m some delicate artifact instead of the mess he made me.
