He growls into my mouth. “Tell me I fuck you better.”
I try to turn away, but he presses a kiss so hard he pins me.
“Tell me.” He works me faster, his cock grinding against my thigh. My hips buck forward for him. “Tell me you loved it.”
“Robin…” I hate the word on my lips—no protest, only a plea for more, more, and more again.
It sends him into a frenzy, kisses, teeth dragging over my neck, his hands tearing at my clothes.
“Tell me.”
“I hate you.”
“Then make me go. Show me. Show me how much you hate me, Marco.” He rips my gown open, the one I put on as a show of defiance, distance, the purple silk of it marking me as something separate from him and the dungeon, from the team, and from everything I once was. It falls cool and loose at my sides, his hands like fire running over my naked skin, his mouth tasting every inch of me.
I try to rise, and he shoves me down with a violent kiss. I press my hands into his shoulders, and he slams them back against the arm of the lounge so hard it hurts.
Then his hand clamps down on my throat and squeezes.
I could fight. I could knock him off, take all the control back—cave his head in on the side of the coffee table.
But when he releases my wrists, holding me only at the neck, I keep them high over my head where he put them, locking them together, imagining he still has them.
When he licks down the length of my body, my feet curl, imagining he’s tied me in place.
When he closes his hand around my throat, when he takes me in his mouth, he’s all I want. He’s all I’ll want ever again. I need his control. I need to give myself over to him. Just, for once in my life, to let go.
He takes me deep, and it’s the opposite to how he used me in the showers yesterday, but it’s the same. It’s his game, his rules. Only this time, it’s my pleasure he’s chasing, not my punishment.
‘That’s the last time you’ll ever get it.’
My eyes snap open, grounding me in the moment, not the red and raw wound he ripped in me a day ago.
Maybe he doesn’t want me. Maybe he’s like all the others. He’s using me to get ahead in the game.
But the sound that slips out of him, the hungry, soft sound, it’s like Robin. Robin on the floor of the gym when I combed his hair. When his head sank back against my chest. When I held him, and it felt real.
He crawls over the top of me, the weight of his body on mine like a safety net. Eyes dark, fathoms of unspoken pain and longing in their depths, he says only, “Tell me.”
The words catch on my lips, like waking from a nightmare—like not knowing what’s real and what’s imagined. I don’t know where I am anymore. It’s just me and those granite eyes.
“It’s you,” I whisper.
Relief. Relief in his eyes like I’d never have expected, like those words mean anything from me. Like I could trust him after what he said.
He kisses me, a long and loving kiss with that steel hand holding me at the throat, then he goes down again.
It’s different now. It’s possessive, and it’s full of passion—passion like I’ve never felt with another person. My body’s alight with every movement,and it’s never been like this. His body shakes, fingers digging into my thigh, drawing tighter around my neck, my dick so hard for him it’s torture. That gorgeous purr rips from his throat, vibrating all through me.
My fingers tear at the fabric of the lounge, my hips bucking up, and he squeezes my throat.
“Robin,” I rasp.
And tighter he squeezes.
“Robin…”
A cinch of his fingers, and he’s taken my air. I’m his. I’m his and he’s using me exactly as he wants. He’s taking me fast and hard, he’s devouring me, he’s forcing pleasure on me like I’ve never experienced. It builds, like the pressure in my chest, builds and builds, and ecstasy screams through me, desperate to escape, desperate for release, desperate for that one good breath.
