“Arsen, I swear to god?—”
The words die in my throat.
I bolt upright, a strangled sound escaping me as my side screams in protest. I don’t care. Priest stands in the doorway, shirtless. The bandage on his side is dark with fresh blood. The light from the hall catches his face, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe…his eyes aren’t human. They’re voids, black and endless.
“Get the hell out.”
He shuts the door. Locks it. And crosses the room like a force of nature. By the time I open my mouth again, I’m slammed back onto the mattress. The air punches out of my lungs.
I thrash beneath him, landing a hit to his shoulder, maybe his cheek—doesn’t matter. He doesn’t budge. His body cages mine, bleeding and burning hot. His large hand finds my wrists, and pins them above my head in one brutal grip. His other hand violently yanks down my leggings and underwear.
I try to scream, but his hand clamps over my mouth, cutting off the sound. He shifts, his knees forcing my legs apart, and I feel him, hard and hot, pressing against my entrance. My blood turns to ice.
His eyes lock with mine. The blue is completely gone, consumed by black.
“I’ll hate you forever,” I choke against his palm.
“Good. Then you’ll never forget me.”
He slams into me, so hard the headboard cracks against the wall. A strangled cry tears from my throat, muffled by his grip.My body arches off the bed, his name on my lips—no!His name is a curse, a prayer, a goddamn ruin.
He’s a machine as he pistons into me. Each thrust is punishment. There’s no build-up, no rhythm, just brutal force.
Every painful thrust jolting me beneath his crushing weight. The sound of our bodies colliding echoes in my ears, drowning out my own thoughts
My mind shatters.
There’s no room for anything else.
Just him. The weight of him. The scent of his sweat. The burn of his cock splitting me open again and again.
My body betrays me. Like it always fucking does.
No. No. NO!
My hips roll, trying to ease the brutal friction. “Ah—” The sound rips from my throat as his grip tightens, and he drives into me again, hard enough to shatter what little resistance my body has left.
I hate him. God, I hate him.
And yet every thrust steals another breath, another piece of that hatred. I’m so torn between wanting him to stop and wanting more of the pain. I’ve never felt more broken.
The room is filled with the sounds of the headboard hitting the wall, my reluctant moans, and his harsh grunts. He shoves my knees higher, spreading me wider, and I cry out as the new angle sends a searing heat through my core. I can’t do anything but take it. My back arches, my body instinctively responding to the punishing rhythm, chasing something I don’t want to understand. The friction, the pressure, the overwhelming fullness—it’s a storm I can’t escape.
The pain is the only thing that feels real.
My hands, pinned above my head, are starting to go numb from his grip. I try to scream again when he violently shreds my underwear the rest of the way off and shoves them in my mouth.
“Shut your fucking mouth,” he snarls, his face mere inches from mine. Saliva floods my mouth, and I gag, trying to push it out with my tongue.
Roughly yanking my hair back, he lifts his weight just enough to flip me on my stomach. He grabs my hips, dragging my ass up to meet him, his knees forcing my legs apart again.
No amount of thrashing or fighting does anything but exhaust me. He’s an immovable force. He lines himself up and slams into me from behind. The angle is brutal. It’s too deep, too fast, too much. My fingers dig into the sheets, tearing at the fabric, my body jerking forward with every punishing thrust.
Tears leak from the corners of my eyes. I bite down hard on the cotton in my mouth, trying to anchor myself, to find a sliver of control in this storm.
But he takes it all.
Reaching around my neck with his forearm, he pulls me up against his chest. My back bows at an unnatural angle. My airway constricts. Not completely, but just enough to make my head swim, to make every breath a desperate, ragged gasp. His other hand slides between my legs. Two fingers find my clit, circling, pressing, rubbing in time with his brutal strokes.
