I break the kiss only to drag my mouth back to her throat, sucking hard over the mark I left.
“This isn’t about him,” I say against her pulse. “This is about you raising those fucking walls like you forgot you’re suppose to stay. Don’t. Fucking. Do that.”
Her laugh is breathless, bitter. “You don’t own my cooperation, Maksim.”
“I own everything else.” My hand between her legs slips under the fabric now, fingers finding her so fucking wet. She jerks, curses, low andvicious, but her hips roll forward anyway. Betrayal of her own body. My favorite betrayal.
She grabs my wrist. Doesn’t pull it away. Just holds on. Hard. “If you’re going to fuck me angry, at least be honest about it.”
I meet her eyes. Dark. Challenging. Still fighting even pinned like this.
“I’m always honest when I’m inside you,” I tell her. Voice wrecked. “And you’re always mine when you come.”
She doesn’t answer with words. She answers by dragging my mouth back to hers—fierce, hungry, giving as good as she gets.
The violence doesn’t leave. It just finds its place between us, where it belongs.
She shoves me again—harder this time, both palms slamming into my chest like she wants to put me through the wall.
I give her the step, willingly.
Because the fire in her eyes is better than the silence in the car. Better than the careful way she’s moved around me since we left that house, like one wrong touch might split me open.
“There,” she says, breathing hard. “That’s better.”
I stare at her, those eyes sharp. Chin up.
Not scared.
Neverfucking scared enough.
“Take off your clothes,” she says, voice low. “Get on the bed.”
A laugh tears out of me, dark and real.
She wants to order me around now. Wants to push back because she can feel the rage on me and refuses to let it pin her flat under it.
That alone makes my cock throb.
I stalk forward until she has to tip her head back to keep looking at me.
“You giving commands now, Beda?”
Her eyes narrow, lips curling in that stubborn way that always hooks me deeper.
“If you want to bury that cock inside me and fuck the rage out of your system,” she says, words deliberate and filthy, dripping with challenge, “then maybe learn to take an order for once. Or I walk into that shower alone.”
“Careful.”
“Or what?”
Her voice cuts clean through me.
A challenge.
Always a challenge.
She steps in closer, close enough that the heat of her skin hits mine, and lowers her voice. “If you want to work whatever the hell that is out of your system inside me, then do what I said.”
