“That is true, and I would let you—if it were true,” he continued, eyes locked on mine. “You don’t hate me. You react to me. You resist me. You try to create distance where there shouldn’t be any.”
I swallowed, my pulse still racing from the bite. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”
“I do,” he said simply.
His fingers wrapped around my throat, his thumb pressing against my pulse like he was checking whether it still belonged to him.
“If you hate me, why are you here?” He leaned in closer. “If you hate me, why the guilt? You’ve been walking around all day like a kicked puppy, avoiding my eyes, chewing on your bottom lip every time I look at you. Guilty little bird.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
Without warning, he snatched the thin silk of my panties and ripped them clean off in one brutal tug. The fabric tore with a sound that made my stomach flip. Cool air hit my bare skin a second before his hand did—two thick fingers sliding roughly through my folds, spreading the slickness that had no business being there.
“If you hate me, why is your pussy so wet?”
“Okay, I’m wet. Now what? I’m going to keep telling you I hate you when I feel like it. I’ve already apologized. What do you want me to do? Stab myself? You want to stab me, Malachai?”
“I want you to apologize,” he said, his voice flat and low. “In a way I actually give a fuck about. Your words don’t mean shit because you don’t even know how to use them to tell the truth. You use them to hide. Use your body to tell me the truth instead.”
“Malachai—”
He pushed two fingers inside me without warning, deep and sudden. My back arched hard.
“Try again.”
“I’m sorry,” I gasped, hips twitching against his hand.
“Not good enough.” He curled his fingers, stroking that spot that made my toes curl while his palm ground against my clit. “You hated me for three years over the wrong shit. You ran. You let other men look at what’s mine. Say it like you mean it.”
He withdrew his fingers, leaving me clenching around nothing. Then he shoved my thighs wider, lined up, and slammed into me in one thrust. If I hadn’t been so wet, he might have ripped something. I cried out, nails digging into his shoulders.
“I’m sorry—” The words broke on a moan as he started fucking me with hard, deep, punishing strokes that made the bed creak. “I’m sorry I blamed you for Dame. I’m sorry I ran.”
His hand tightened slightly around my throat, just enough to make my head swim.
“More.”
“I’m sorry I stabbed you,” I whimpered, legs locking around his waist. “I’m sorry I left you bleeding on the floor—”
He groaned, low and dark, hips snapping harder. The wet slap of skin filled the room.
“Keep going, little bird.”
“I’m sorry I let other men see me dance,” I breathed, my voice shaking. “I’m sorry I made you wait three years. I’m sorry—” I would have said anything at that moment.
He suddenly pulled out, flipped me onto my stomach like I weighed nothing, and yanked my hips up. He shoved back inside me from behind in one vicious stroke, deeper than before. His chest pressed against my back, his hand snaking around to grip my throat again from behind.
“Tell me who you belong to,” he demanded, his voice still terrifyingly calm even as he fucked me like he was trying to break me.
I clenched my jaw, refusing to give it to him that easily. “Fuck you.”
The sharp crack of his palm against my ass echoed through the room. Hard. Stinging. He didn’t slow his thrusts for a second.
“I said, tell me.”
Another hard slap landed on the same spot, making me cry out.
“You—”Slap.“—belong—”Slap.“—to me.”
