"Damn right you are." He releases my hair. Both hands back on my hips. Using them for leverage. Fucking into me harder. Deeper. "My omega. My property. Mine to use whenever I want."
The pain starts to blur. Shifts into something else. Something overwhelming. My body adjusting. Accepting. Even as it hurts, even as I'm crying, there's something building.
"Feel that?" His hand wraps around my throat. Squeezes just enough to make breathing difficult. "Feel your bodyresponding? Even though you're crying, you're getting hard. Your hole is clenching around me. Begging for more."
He's right.God help me, he's right.
My cock is leaking. Throbbing. Every brutal thrust hitting something inside that makes sparks shoot up my spine.
"This is what you are," he growls against my ear. "An omega. Made to take cock. Made to be bred. Made to belong to an alpha."
His rhythm gets faster. Harder. Chasing his own release without care for mine.
"You're going to come on my cock," he orders. "Going to come while I use you. While I claim what's mine."
His hand moves to my cock. Strokes roughly. No finesse. Just friction and pressure and demand.
The combination is too much. The pain. The pleasure. The humiliation. The overwhelming sensation of being filled, used, taken.
"Zero—I can't—"
"You will." His hand moves faster. His cock hitting that spot inside me over and over. "Come. Now."
The orgasm crashes through me. Violent. Devastating. I come hard, spilling over his hand, my body clenching around him so tight it must hurt.
He grunts. Slams in one final time. Buries himself deep and comes. Hot. Pulsing. Marking me from the inside.
But then he pulls out with a hiss. Rough. No care for the way it makes me gasp.
I feel his come start to leak out immediately. Running down my thighs. Mixing with slick and the traces of blood from being torn open.
He steps back. I hear him fixing his clothes. The rustle of fabric. The whisper of a zipper. The clink of a belt buckle.
I don't move. Can't move. Just stay bent over the bench, jeans around my thighs, shaking, feeling more exposed than I've ever felt in my life.
My heart pounds in my chest, my raw asshole throbbing with the quick beat.
Everything hurts. My body feels wrecked. Used. Changed.
"Clean yourself up." His voice is cold now. Distant. Like nothing just happened. Like he didn't just take my virginity on a weight bench in his basement. "And stay the fuck out of the basement."
I want to say something. Want to ask why he sounds like that. Want to understand what just happened.
But my throat is too tight. My voice won't work.
Footsteps.
The music cuts off mid-song. The sudden silence is deafening.
The door at the top of the stairs opens. Closes.
And I'm alone.
Shaking. Dripping. Wrecked.
My legs won't support me when I try to stand. I have to grip the bench, use it for leverage, force my body to cooperate.
My jeans are soaked. Ruined. I pull them up anyway, hissing at the friction against oversensitive skin.
