I slam her wrists over her head, pinning her harder, my cock pressing hot and thick against her ruined thighs. “And you’re mine.”
Her chest heaves, her eyes blaze, and I see it—the fury, the shame, the need. She hates me. God, she hates me. But her body arches like she’s starving, like she’s one more touch from shattering again.
I slam my hips into hers, grinding slowly, deliberately, making her whimper. “Keep your mouth running, Brooklyn,” I rasp against her lips, “because every word you spit at me just makes me want to fuck you until you can’t speak at all.”
Her breath hitches, her eyes flash—and then she spits in my face.
The world goes white-hot. My smile spreads, feral, as I drag my thumb over the slick on my cheek and shove it between her lips. “Good girl,” I whisper, voice low, shaking with hunger. “You just signed your own death sentence.”
Her muffled cry wraps around my skin, and I know she feels it too—that this isn’t over, that I’m not stopping, that I’ll tear the entire world apart before I let her walk away from me.
Explosive, inevitable.
The beginning of the end.
Her spit still slicks my cheek when I slam her back into the wall again, harder, the frame rattling like it might split. My hand clamps over her throat, pinning her there as I grind against her trembling body.
“You think you can humiliate me?” My voice is gravel, guttural, shaking with the feral thrill tearing through me. “You think I’m the one who should be ashamed? Look at you—panting, shaking, dripping—for the man you swore you didn’t want.”
Her nails rake my arm, trying to pry me off, but all it does is stoke the fire. I squeeze tighter, watching her eyes go wide, lips parting for a desperate gasp I don’t give her. Then I lean in, dragging my tongue over her spit still shining on my cheek before crashing my mouth to hers, swallowing her fight, her fury, her fucking soul.
She moans—angry, broken—and I drop my hand from her throat to her hips, lifting her like she weighs nothing. Her legs fly around my waist, and I slam her down onto my cock, no warning, no mercy.
She screams into my mouth, a sound that tears me in half, and I bite it down, grinding her deeper, harder, until she’s clawing at me like she doesn’t know if she wants me to stop or keep going until I kill her.
“That’s it,” I snarl, teeth snapping against her ear, “give me your rage, princess. Hate me while you fucking take it.”
She’s cursing, sobbing, gasping, and every filthy word makes me pound into her harder, faster, until the sound of our bodies slamming together drowns out thought. She’s trembling, unravelling, and I feel her breaking—right there, right under me.
“Say it,” I demand, rutting into her like an animal, “say you hate me.”
“I—fucking—hate you!” she chokes out, clawing my back raw.
“Good,” I growl, biting her shoulder until I taste blood. “Hate me while I ruin you.”
And then I break her—completely, brutally, until she’s screaming my name, until her hate collapses into sobs that make my cock throb with savage triumph. I don’t stop, not until she’slimp against me, not until her nails are nothing but streaks of fire across my skin.
When I finally still, chest heaving, I drag her face up to mine, forcing her glassy eyes to meet mine. My wicked, feral smile was ripped from the devil’s face.
“You’ll never get rid of me, Brooklyn. Not in this life. Not in the next.”
You can’t do this
The music outside the hallway is still pounding, bass rattling the walls, laughter and glass clinking like the whole club is spinning in its own paradise—except here, in this narrow corridor, I’m pressed against peeling wallpaper with my thighs trembling, lungs clawing for air he refuses to give me.
His scent is still on me. His bite still burns on my shoulder. My body won’t stop shaking — not from fear, not from shame, but from the way he split me open and carved himself into places I can’t scrub clean.
And yet he’s silent now. Silent, like none of it meant a damn thing. Like I’m just another mistake he should’ve never touched.
“Is this all I am to you?” My voice cracks, a whisper swallowed by the thud of the music. “Something to take when you’re bored?”
His jaw tightens, but he won’t look at me. Won’t give me even that.
“You told me you didn’t want this,” I push, nails curling into the wall behind me just to keep standing. “You told me I meant nothing.”
Finally, his gaze slices to mine, dark and violent, and for a second I almost flinch. Almost. But I hold it, because if I don’t, I’ll drown in the silence between us.
“You think I wanted this?” His voice is raw, guttural, like it’s scraping him open just to speak. “You think I don’t fucking hate myself for touching you?”
