He pulled away and slid his hand between us, his fingers finding my clit from behind. He stroked me slowly, teasing me, until I moaned and writhed against him.
His thumb slid inside of me, and his breathing picked up. "You're so fucking tight." He thrust it in and out, his fingers mimicking the movement on my clit, and I bucked my hips as tension coiled low in my stomach, pressure building inside of me. Fuck, I was going to come. I didn't want to, but I couldn't stop myself.
Tristan suddenly pulled his hand away, and I heard the sound of his zipper a moment before his erection sprang free and hit my ass. He grabbed my hips and pulled me close again, the thick head of his cock pressing against my entrance. "Beg me," he growled. "Tell me you want me."
I shook my head, trying to hold on to my last shred of dignity. "No."
Kicking my feet farther apart, his fingers found my clit again, and he stroked me in fast circles. I was so, so wet. And it felt so fucking good.
"Beg me," he growled again.
I closed my eyes and bit down, trying to steady myself. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had broken me.
But I couldn't hold out any longer. I was on the edge, and I needed him to push me over. "Please," I whispered, my voice shaking. "Fuck me."
Without another word, he pushed inside me, his thick cock filling me completely. I cried out and dropped my head forward so my hair hid my shame, my entire body trembling with pleasure and the need to come. He pulled out and thrust again, harder this time, and I cried out again, my nails digging into the bars of the cell.
"Harder," I hissed, my voice barely above a whisper. "Fuck me harder."
But he heard me. With a growl, he pounded into me with renewed force, his hips slapping against my ass with each brutal stroke. The pain and pleasure of our violent lovemaking left me gasping and panting, my body responding to his every command until I came so hard, my knees gave way and only his hands on my hips kept me upright.
He groaned and thrust hard one last time, his cock pulsing inside me as he collapsed over my back, his breathing ragged and his heart pounding in time with mine.
Tears filled my eyes. I'd just had angry, almost violent sex with my captor, and I'd loved every fucking minute of it.
Still inside of me, I shivered as his lips pressed against my sensitive skin. "You're mine," he whispered.
I opened my mouth, but I couldn't bring myself to deny it.
Gently now, he lifted his weight from me and pulled out. Goosebumps rose on my skin as the cool air dried the sweat from my skin. I stepped closer to the bars and straightened, noticingfor the first time how my wrists screamed with pain. Blood dripped from them onto the hard floor, and his cum ran down my inner thighs.
Tristan cursed softly and left the cell, locking me in again before he undid the belt from around my wrists. "Jesus, Luna."
When his dark eyes met mine, I was overwhelmed with emotion as a raw truth slammed into me. I was falling for my captor, and I didn't know what to do.
Hot tears overflowed and slid down my cheeks.
Tristan reached through the bars and took my face between his bloody hands, wiping them away with his thumbs. Then he kissed me again, his lips soft and gentle like I was something precious. Breakable. "You're mine," he repeated, his deep voice barely audible, before he kissed me again.
I closed my eyes and let myself sink into the kiss, trying to ignore the voice in the back of my head that screamed I was getting in too deep. But I didn't know how to get out.
And hell, maybe I didn't want to. What was waiting for me if I did? Gino? Was he even looking for me? Did he care that I was gone? "Is Gino looking for me?" I asked when he ended the kiss.
He still held my face in his hands, our faces only inches apart.
"Yes."
Icy fear cooled my blood. I remembered the gun my father held to my head, and yeah, maybe being here wasn't so bad for the time being. It would be nice to get out of this fucking cell, though.
Tristan released me, and I pulled my shirt back on, wincing as the fabric brushed against my raw wrists. When I lifted my head again, Tristan was walking from the room, his shirt hanging from his hand. "Where are you going?"
He didn't answer.
I sighed and went into the bathroom and started the shower. The soap and water burned my wrists like hell as I washed them, and the water ran pink and red. When I got out, I wrapped the towel around myself and looked for some bandages or something, but there was nothing. So, I used toilet paper.
Dressed in baggy black sweats and a T-shirt, I went back out into the cell. The girl on the walls mocked me. I missed that girl. She was far from innocent, but she got to sleep in a real bed and even got to go outside and to parties sometimes.
After what felt like an eternity, the door opened, and he came back into the room. He was dressed comfortably again, and he was holding a first aid kit in one hand and a bottle of something in the other. The blood was gone from his hands and face and his hair was wet.
