“This changes nothing,” she pants against my mouth, but her hands are already at my belt.
“Liar.” I grab the hem of her thermal, dragging it up and over her head in one violent motion. Black lace underneath. Of course.
She retaliates by shoving my shirt off my shoulders, her mouth finding my tattoo. Her tongue traces it like she's claiming ownership, and something primal snaps inside me.
I lift her off the ground, her legs wrapping around my waist on instinct. Three steps to the bed. I drop her onto the mattress hard enough that she bounces, chest heaving, eyes wild.
“You want to pretend this means nothing?” I tower over her, working my belt free. “Fine. But your body knows better.”
She props herself on her elbows, defiant even now. “You think you know me?”
“I know you're wet.” My hand slides up her thigh, fingers finding damp lace. “I know you've been thinking about this since last night. I know you came here because you needed this as much as I do.”
Her back arches when I press against her through the fabric. “Fuck you.”
“That's the plan.”
I grab her hips, flipping her onto her stomach. She tries to push up but I press between her shoulder blades, keeping her down.
“This what you want?” My voice comes out destroyed. “To hate me while I'm inside you? To pretend it's just bodies and nothing else?”
She turns her head, meeting my eyes over her shoulder. “Yes.”
The lie sits between us, obvious and necessary. We both know what this is—desperation wearing the mask of anger, need dressed up as hate. But if this is how she needs it, if this is the only way she'll let me have her, then I'll take it.
My hand tangles in her hair, pulling until her back bows. “Then hate me all you want, Venom. But we both know the truth.”
“And what's that?” she moans, grinding against my dick.
I smirk, slapping her across the ass. “That you're mine.”
I hook my fingers into her lace, tearing it down her thighs. She kicks them off, and I'm already positioning myself, the head of my cock pressing against her entrance.
“Tell me you want this.” My voice is gravel.
“I hate you.” But she pushes back against me, and that's answer enough.
I sink into her in one brutal thrust, and her cry splits the air. She's tight, wet, and perfect, and for a moment I can't move, can't breathe, can't do anything but feel her clenching around me.
“Fuck.” The word rips out of me.
I pull back and drive forward again, establishing a rhythm that's hard but deliberate. Each thrust is controlled, measured, designed to make her feel every inch.
The sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, punctuated by her gasps and my ragged breathing. I adjust the angle, and she makes this broken sound that goes straight to my spine.
“There?” I grind against that spot, watching her shoulders shake. “That what you need?”
“Yes.” The admission sounds torn from her throat. “Yes, fuck, yes—”
I feel her building, the way her body tightens around me, drawing me deeper. My hand slides around her hip, finding her clit, and she detonates.
Her orgasm rips through her, back arching violently as she cries out. I don't stop, working her through it until she's trembling, oversensitive, begging in broken syllables that might be my name.
Only then do I flip her onto her back.
She blinks up at me, dazed and wrecked, lips swollen from my teeth. I settle between her thighs, sliding back inside in one slow glide that makes us both shudder.
This time it's different.
