I lean over her, my chest pressed against her back, my lips brushing her ear. "You're not going to tell me, are you?" I whisper, my breath hot against her skin. "You're going to keep your secrets. You're going to hold out on me."
She just shakes her head, a silent, stubborn refusal.
"Fine," I snarl. "Have it your way."
I straighten up, my grip on her hips tightening. I start to move again, a relentless, punishing rhythm that’s designed to break her. I reach around, my fingers finding her clit, rubbing it in tight, punishing circles. She cries out, her body arching, her back bowing.
I can feel her getting closer, her walls fluttering around me, her breath hitching in little gasps. Her nails dig into the sheets, her knuckles white. She's fighting it, fighting her own body's response, but she's losing.
"Don't you dare come," I warn, my voice a low growl. "Not until I say so."
She whimpers, a raw, broken sound. "I can't…"
"Yes, you can," I grit out, my fingers working her clit faster, harder. "You will. You'll hold it for me, or I swear to god, I'll stop. I'll leave you here, aching and empty. Do you want that?"
She shakes her head, her face buried in the blankets, her sobs muffled by the fabric.
"Then be a good girl and hold it," I command, my thrusts becoming more erratic, more forceful.
I'm pushing her to her limits, testing her control, her obedience. I want to see how far I can take her, how much she can handle before she shatters. I want to see her break, but she's stronger than I thought. Her body trembles, her muscles are tense with the effort of holding back her release, but she's holding on. She's not giving in.
I'm impressed, and that pisses me off. I don't want to be impressed, I want her to be a puppet, a plaything for my pleasure. I want her to be weak. But she's not. She's fighting me, not with words but with the sheer strength of her will, and it's making me fucking crazy.
I feel a fresh wave of rage, a raw, untamed fury that I can't control. I pull out of her, the loss of contact a sudden, brutal shock. She cries out, a raw, frustrated sound that’s music to my ears.
"On your back," I order, my voice flat, devoid of emotion.
She scrambles to obey, her movements clumsy, her body trembling. She's on her back now, her legs spread wide, her chest heaving. I'm between her thighs in an instant, my cock nudging at her entrance. I don't enter her. Not yet. I lean over her, my hands on either side of her head, caging her in. My gaze bores into hers, a silent, unspoken threat.
"You're going to tell me," I snarl, my voice a low growl. "Or I'm going to fuck you until you can't remember your own name. Until all you know is my cock inside you. Until all you can say is my name."
Her defiance is a living thing in her eyes, a spark of rebellion that refuses to be extinguished. She's enjoying this. She's getting off on the power struggle, on the sheer, brutal intensity of it.
"Fuck you," she whispers, her lips curling into a defiant smirk.
A dark, savage satisfaction twists my lips. "Wrong answer."
In one swift, fluid motion I drive into her hard and deep, burying myself to the hilt in one brutal, unforgiving thrust. Her cry is a raw, ragged sound that's swallowed by the room. I set a punishing pace, my hips snapping against hers, the sound of flesh on flesh filling the room.
"This cunt is mine," I growl, my hands moving from her hips to her tits, squeezing them, pinching the nipples until she whimpers. "Made to be fucked by me. To take my cock."
Her hands fly to my back, her fingers finding purchase. She drags her nails down the hard planes of muscle, not gently but with a savage, desperate force. I roar, a sound of pure, unadulterated pain and pleasure. The sting of her nails is a welcome distraction, a sharp, stinging counterpoint to the maddening pleasure of her tight, slick heat.
"You little wildcat," I snarl, my eyes blazing. "You want to play rough? Let's play rough."
My hand flies to her throat again but this time, there is no gentle squeeze. My fingers wrap around her neck, a tight, constricting band that makes her head swim. The world narrows to the feel of her slick heat around me, the pressure on her windpipe, the look in her eyes. She’s not playing anymore. This is real.
"Is this what you wanted?" I snarl, my voice a raw, ragged sound. "To feel me claim every inch of you? To be at my mercy?"
She can't answer. She can only moan, a weak, breathy sound. The lack of air, combined with the relentless pounding of my cock is a dizzying, intoxicating cocktail of sensation. Her body isno longer her own. It is a vessel for my pleasure, a canvas for my rage.
"You're mine," I growl, my thrusts growing erratic, more forceful. "This pussy is mine. This throat is mine. You are mine."
My rhythm is punishing, each thrust a deliberate, brutal claim. I'm watching her, watching the way her body responds to me, the way her back arches, the way her fingers dig into my skin. She's fighting it, fighting her own body's response, but she's losing.
I can feel her getting closer, her walls fluttering around me, her breath hitching in little gasps. Her nails dig into my back, the sharp, stinging pain a welcome distraction from the maddening pleasure. She's trying to hold back, trying to deny me this final piece of her, this ultimate surrender.
But I won't let her.
