“You hit me.” My voice comes out low and rough, barely recognizable even to myself.
“Get off me.”
“No.”
I lean in closer until my mouth is right next to her ear, until I can smell the winter mint on her skin mixed with fear and something that makes my cock twitch in my pants because even now, even terrified, her body is responding to mine.
“You’re shaking.” I press my hips forward just enough that she can feel how hard I am. “And you’re wet. I can smell it on you.”
“I’m not—”
“Don’t lie to me.” I pull back just enough to look at her face, at the tears still drying on her cheeks and the fury still blazing in her eyes and the flush spreading down her throat. “You hate me right now. You hate what I did. And you’re still soaking through your panties.”
“You’re a monster.”
“Yes.” I grip her jaw in one hand, forcing her to look at me while my other hand slides down to wrap around her throat. “I’m exactly what you called me. A butcher. A liar. The worst thing that ever happened to you.”
I lean in and drag my tongue up the tear track on her cheek.
“And you’re still going to come on my cock tonight, solnyshko. You’re going to scream my name while I’m inside you and hate yourself for it afterward.”
“I won’t—”
I kiss her before she can finish the lie.
It’s not gentle, and it’s not tender. This is teeth and tongue and twenty years of control finally snapping, and when she bites my lip hard, drawing blood, I just growl into her mouth and kiss her harder.
She’s hitting my chest with her fists, still fighting me, but her mouth is opening under mine, and her tongue is tangling with mine, and when I shove my thigh between her legs, she grinds down on it involuntarily before she catches herself.
“Your body is already betraying you.” I pull back just enough to speak against her lips, my hand still on her throat, my thigh pressed against her cunt through her dress. “I can feel how wet you are right through the silk. Does it piss you off that you want the monster this much?”
“I don’t want you.”
“Liar.” I find the zipper at the back of her dress and yank it down, and the grey silk pools around her feet. Black bra. Black panties. Heels still on.
“You’re beautiful when you hate me.” I reach out and hook my fingers into the center of her bra, right between her tits. “Almost as beautiful as you are when you’re coming.”
I rip the bra off her, and she gasps, her hands coming up to cover herself instinctively, but I grab her wrists and pin them against the wall above her head before she can.
“Don’t hide from me.” I’m staring at her tits, at her nipples already peaked and hard, at the way her chest is flushing pink. “I’ve seen every inch of you.”
“This isn’t—” Her voice breaks when I lean down and take one nipple into my mouth, sucking hard, making her cry out. “Roman, we can’t just—this doesn’t fix anything—”
“I’m not trying to fix anything.” I switch to the other nipple and bite down, and the sound she makes goes straight to my cock. “I’m taking what’s mine.”
My vision goes red as I’m biting her nipples.
“On your knees.”
The command leaves my throat rough, a low growl that vibrates in the silent room. She glares at me with those storm-grey eyes, and for a split second, I actually hope she fights me. I want her to say no so I can put my hands on her and force her down, so I can feel her struggle against the inevitable.
But she doesn’t.
Her knees hit the plush carpet with a soft thud, right in the middle of the shattered wood of my mother’s violin. She sinks, her gaze locked on mine.
“Open my belt.”
Her hands are trembling as she reaches for the buckle, and I know it’s not fear—it’s rage.
