Then, smack, his hand connects with my ass, the sting blooming across my skin before he soothes it with a soft, sinful caress.
“Don’t you ever remove my hand when I’m trying to touch you,” he growls. “And Peach, don’t you ever let another man touch what’s mine.”
Another smack. Another soothing stroke.
“Tell me you understand,” he demands. “Say it. Say it, Blair.”
“I hate you,” I whisper, breathless.
He laughs darkly. “No, you don’t.”
And then he’s tearing down my already ruined thong. I watch as he puts it in his pocket. His hand grabs my chin, turning my head so he can devour me again, rough and demanding, like he’s punishing me for existing, for being in his life, for making him want this. His hands are everywhere, pulling, sliding under silk, gripping my hips like they belong to him.
Then his fingers slide between my thighs, and I gasp.
He groans. “You’re soaked, Peach. This for me?” His voice is wicked, taunting. “Or that fucker?”
But I know he doesn’t want an answer, because his fingers slide into me, two at once, stretching me, owning me.
“Oh fuck,” I cry out.
“Goddamn it…” he growls, adding a third. “So wet. So tight. So fucking perfect. Always so fucking perfect.”
His mouth is everywhere, biting my shoulder, my back, my earlobe. Branding me.
“You’re mine,” he says against my skin. “Say it.”
“No,” I pant, defiant even now.
He laughs again, the dark, dangerous sound curling in my gut. “Then I guess I’ll just have to fuck the truth out of you.”
I hear the zipper. Then he’s freeing himself, and I swear I forget how to breathe.
And when he drives into me with one brutal, punishing thrust, my entire world shatters. He’s angry and desperate.
“Fuck, Calvin!”
“Louder,” he snaps, hips slamming into mine. “Let the whole damn ball know who’s fucking you. Who owns you!”
His hand wraps around my throat, not choking but claiming as he pounds into me, again and again, each thrust a demand, a warning being burned into my soul.
The cold marble wall at my front is nothing compared to the fire between us.
He drives into me again, relentless.
“You’re mine,” he snarls.
I shake my head, eyes squeezing shut, refusing to give him what he wants.
“Say it.” His voice cracks with fury.
“No,” I gasp, biting down on my lip to keep the sob at bay.
Smack. His hand lands on my ass again, echoing through the marble room.
“Say. It.”
My silence is a war cry. My defiance a wound he can’t stop picking at.
