He doesn't wait for me to comply. Just grabs my arm and hauls me through the balcony doors, across the living room, down the hall. I stumble trying to keep up with his pace, and he doesn't slow down, just tightens his grip until I'm gasping.
We end up in his bedroom. I've never been in here before. It's sparse, like everything else in the apartment. A bed with dark sheets. A dresser. Nothing on the walls.
He throws me onto the bed.
I land on my back, bouncing once, and before I can sit up he's on top of me. His weight pins me to the mattress, his knees on either side of my hips, his hands pressing my wrists into the pillow above my head.
"Last chance," he says. His face is inches from mine, and his eyes are wild, pupils blown so wide I can barely see the gray. "Tell me to stop and I will."
"If you stop now, I'll never forgive you. Consider this your penance."
His mouth crashes into mine.
This kiss is brutal. All teeth and tongue and fury, like he's trying to devour me. I kiss back just as hard, biting his lip, tasting copper when the skin splits. He groans into my mouth and grinds his hips down, his cock dragging against mine through too many layers of clothing.
"Too many clothes," I gasp.
He doesn't respond with words. Just sits back on his heels, grabs the collar of my shirt, and rips.
The fabric tears like paper. Buttons scatter across the bed, pinging off the headboard, and then his hands are on my bare chest, palms hot against my skin. He drags his nails down my torso, leaving red lines in their wake, and I arch into the pain like I'm starving for it.
"Fuck," I breathe. "Do that again."
He does. Harder this time. I feel skin break, feel the sting of shallow scratches, and my cock throbs so hard I see stars.
"You like pain." It's not a question.
"I like feeling something."
His expression flickers. Vulnerability underneath the hunger. Then it's gone, replaced by that cold intensity, and he'syanking at my pants, pulling them down my legs along with my boxers until I'm naked beneath him.
He looks at me. Really looks, his gaze traveling over every inch of exposed skin. I should feel vulnerable. Exposed. Instead I feel powerful, watching the way his breathing goes ragged, watching his cock strain against his pants.
"Your turn," I say.
"No." He grabs my hip, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. "You don't give orders."
"Maybe you need to be a bit more dominant, Daddy J."
The smile he gives me is terrifying. Beautiful.
He flips me over like I weigh nothing, pressing my face into the pillow, one hand on the back of my neck holding me down. I hear his belt unbuckle, hear the rustle of fabric, and then I feel him. Hot and hard and thick against my ass.
"I don't have—" I start.
"I got it." His voice is strained. "Don't move."
I hear him reach, hear a drawer open and close, and then cold liquid drips between my cheeks. I jolt at the sensation, and his hand tightens on my neck. The rip of a wrapper as he slides a condom on.
"I said don't move."
"Fuck you."
"Wrong way around." His finger circles my hole, spreading the lube, and I bite the pillow to keep from moaning. "Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?"
"Constantly. It's part of my charm."
He pushes one finger inside me without warning.
