“Pads? Tampons?” he says, tone even, and the heat in my face flares. I’ve never asked a man for this. Never stayed around one long enough to even mention it.
“Both,” I whisper.
He stops a foot away. The scent of his cologne, clean, dark, something expensive, wraps around me. The veins on his forearms flex as he crosses them, head tilted.
“Are you on the pill?”
My mouth falls open. “Excuse me?”
“Are you on the pill, Autumn?” he repeats, voice low, laced with that Irish rumble that makes my knees weak.
“It’s none of your business!” I snap, spinning to leave, but he grabs my arm, yanking me back. My back slams against his chest, his hard muscles a wall of heat behind me.
“Itismy business now,” he whispers, one hand splaying possessively over my hip, the other clamping my shoulder like a vice. His fingers dig in just enough to remind me who’s in charge. “Be a good girl and answer me. Or do I need to check myself?”
“Christ, Flynn.” The words tumble out shaken, my pulse thundering in my ears. “You don’t give up.”
“Oh, trouble,” he growls against my ear, breath scorching like branded iron, his grip ironclad to pin me still. “Wanna bet if I slide my fingers into those pretty panties, they’ll come out dripping for me? Bet you’re already soaked, thinking about how I’ll own every inch of you from now on.”
His hand dips lower, massive palm splaying over my belly, veins bulging thick and roped across his forearm as his thumb hooks the elastic of my leggings. I snatch his wrist, nails digging in. “Flynn, don’t.”
“Don’t what?” He presses harder, that huge hand a wall of heat, thumb circling slow, teasing the edge. “You slipped into my shirt to tease me, trouble. Smelling like me, wrapped in me, and you think I wouldn’t notice, or was that the point?”
My body betrays me, shaking with adrenaline, thighs clenching. I cling to his wrist like a lifeline because if I let go, he’ll feel the truth, how the fabric is slick between my legs, soaked through.
His lips graze my neck, then his teeth sink in. I wince, a sharp cry escaping as pain blooms hot, and in that split-second distraction, my grip slips. He seizes it, sliding his hand down, rough fingers brushing the damp cotton of my panties. The contact jolts through me like lightning; my knees buckle, control shattering.
No holding back now. My body arches into him, craving even as my mind screams stop. Memories flood of him stretching me that night; theburn, the bliss and the chaos of the last day melt away. Fear, anger, all of it. Just this twisted peace in surrender. I part my legs, subtle but desperate.
“Such a good girl,” he rumbles against the sting on my neck, vibrating through bone.
One thick finger traces the fabric, never breaching, circling my clit with agonising slowness. Veins pulse on the back of his hand, muscles coiling under inked skin as he works me.
“Flynn, please.” It spills out as a beg, my breath ragged.
“Beg louder.” It’s a command, not a request.
“Please—” I gasp, and he rewards me, finger speeding, pressure building.
“So fucking wet,” he whispers, then bites my shoulder, deeper this time, sucking the mark like he’s claiming territory. I melt, head lolling back against his chest, solid as carved stone, muscles flexing with every breath.
“You’re mine now, Autumn.”
The words sink in slow, but I’m lost, my hips grinding shamelessly, chasing the edge. Orgasm coils tight, so close I can taste it.
He pinches through the fabric, and I yelp, thighs snapping shut on instinct, but he slams me harder against the wall, boots kicking mine apart, trapping me open. His hips roll forward; I feel him, all of him, rock-hard, throbbing against my lower back. Girth that stole my breath before, now a promise of ruin.
“The more I hurt you, the wetter you get,” he snarls, a feral edge sharpening. Fingers fly faster; my panties are drenched, my body a trembling mess.
“I can’t wait for you to take all of it, trouble.” He grinds once, letting me feel the length straining his pants.
“I already did,” I shoot back, voice wrecked but defiant.
“Oh, baby, no, you didn’t.” He nips my earlobe, teeth grazing. “That night? I only fed you half. Half in that tight little cunt, imagine the rest splitting you wide.”
I arch, spine bowing, climax crashing closer, but he yanks his hand away, stepping back. Air rushes in; I sag against the wall, legs like jelly. I turn to glare through the haze.
He lifts those fingers glistening with me and licks them clean, slow, eyes locked, tongue swirling like he’s savouring victory. Forearms corded, veins popping under the ink, chest heaving under that shirt.
