"Weak?" My voice is a low growl, rough and vibrating with restrained fury. "You really want to test that theory, Kitten?"
Her pupils are blown wide, her breath coming in sharp, uneven pants. My pulse spikes in response, a rush of heat tightening in my chest. My hands flex against her hips, gripping harder, and feeling the tension in her body—coiled, ready, and waiting to strike. Her hands twitch at her sides, fingers flexing like she’s deciding whether to shove me or claw into me. But there’s something else in those wide, dark eyes of hers—something she doesn’t want to acknowledge.
Need.
The tension shatters, and we crash into each other like we’re made to destroy. My mouth slams against hers, bruising, consuming, and nothing gentle about it. The moment our lips meet, heat surges through me, and a violent rush of something too intense to name. She tastes like defiance and desire, like something forbidden that I can never quite get enough of. Her breath is hot against my skin, every gasping inhale fueling the fire that’s already burning between us. The softness of her lips contrasts with the sharpness of her bite, a perfect push and pull that leaves me dizzy with need. It's been too long since I tasted her—too long since I had this, since I had her. And fuck, I feel it everywhere. The way her lips mold against mine, the sharp sting of her bite, and the way she drinks me in like she needs this just as badly as I do. She meets me just as hard, biting, clawing, and nails dragging down my arms like she wants to tear me open and climb inside.
Good. Let her.
I yank her hips against mine, forcing her to feel me, and to take the weight of her challenge, her defiance. Every word she spat, every look she gave me, daring me to prove her wrong—it all crashes down between us. She wants to fight me, to push me past reason, and fuck if I don’t want to let her try. Her spine arches instinctively, her hands bracing against my shoulders to anchor herself. The sound she makes—a breathless, and frustrated whimper—shoots straight through me, tightening everything. My control frays, snapping one thread at a time, and I don’t fucking care.
She’s mine. She’s always been mine.No one else will ever have her like this. No one else will ever hear the sounds she makes for me. The way she breaks apart under me, the way she fights and then gives in—it's mine, and I’ll make damn sure she never forgets it.
The lab fills with the sound of chaos—glass breaking, the rough scrape of her back against the metal counter, and the way it shakes beneath us with every desperate movement. Destruction, raw and unchecked, and she thrives in it, feeds off it like she’s just as starved as I am.
The moment I pin her wrists down, her body stills—just for a second. Her lips part, eyes going wide, and breath catching in her throat. And then she exhales, shuddering, sinking into it.
She likes this.
Fuck.
I groan against her throat, dragging my teeth along the delicate skin, and biting just hard enough to make her squirm. My grip tightens, locking her in place, and forcing herto feel every inch of me pressing into her. She’s burning up, her skin fever-hot beneath my hands, and I want more. More marks. More bruises. More of her wrecked beneath me.
I kiss her again, rough and consuming, swallowing the little gasps she gives when I shift, when I push, and when I let her feel just how fucking far gone I am.
"You’re mine." I don't even realize I've said it.
But she does. She goes still, her breath stuttering, her fingers flexing against my hold.
And then she moves.
Not to pull away. Not to push me off. But to fight.
Her hands shove at my chest, nails biting into my skin even through my shirt. A desperate, defiant struggle. But I know her. She needs to push, to bite, and to fight me every step of the way before she finally gives in.
Her breath is ragged, her lips swollen, and still, she smirks—sharp, wicked. "Yours? Since when?"
I let her resist, let her twist against me, let her push until I shove her right back, and pin her hips so hard against the counter she gasps. My grip in her hair tightens, forcing her head back, baring her throat to me. She pants, lips swollen from my kiss, her body arching instinctively, and betraying her.
"Is that really all you’ve got, Kitten?" I taunt, grinding against her, letting her feel exactly what she’s done to me. "Come on—fight harder. Make me earn it."
Her nails rake down my arms, sharp and unrelenting, but it’s not enough. I don’t want soft. I don’t want compliance. I want her desperate, needy, and trembling from the force of wanting me.
So I kiss her. Hard. Desperate. A collision of mouths, of tongues, and of teeth, like we’re both drowning, and this is the only thing keeping us alive. Her moan is swallowed by me, lost in the wet, brutal heat of it.
She meets me with the same fervor, her hands in my hair, yanking, and pulling, while her thighs squeezing around my waist, locking me into place.
It’s filthy. It’s violent. It’s everything we’ve held back for too long.
I reach down, yanking her against me, my fingers gripping her thighs, spreading her open as I grind into her, dragging a needy little cry from her throat.
"You feel that?" I rasp against her lips. "That’s what you do to me. That’s what you always fucking do to me."
She doesn’t answer. She can’t. Her breath stutters, her body shuddering beneath my grip. But she still fights. Her hips lift, pressing against me, and challenging me even now.
I slam my hand against the counter beside her head, knocking over more glass, and sending shards scattering across the floor. "Let me hear you say it," I demand, my voice wrecked, low, dangerous.
She lets out a ragged breath, eyes wild, and mouth parted like she wants to deny me just to see what I’ll do. But then—
