Don't let him win. The phrase should have been motivating, but it felt like another command. Another script to follow. I pushed the thought away.
"I need you," I said. "I need you to make it stop."
Understanding flickered in his eyes. "The music is still in your head."
"Yes."
"Tell me what you need."
"Rough." The word escaped before I could filter it. "I need you to be rough. I need to feel something besides him."
Nathan's expression shifted—just slightly, just for a moment—and I saw something dark flicker behind his eyes. Something that looked almost like hunger. Then it was gone, replaced by the careful concern he always wore when I asked for this.
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure."
He stood, pulling me to my feet, and kissed me with a force that bordered on punishment. His hands found my hips, gripping hard enough to bruise, and I welcomed the pain. Pain was grounding. Pain was real. Pain was something Gabriel had never been able to control, no matter how many sessions he'd put me through.
"Bedroom," Nathan said against my mouth, and it wasn't a question.
He pulled me down the hallway, our footsteps heavy on the hardwood, and when we reached the bedroom he pushed me onto the mattress with a roughness that made me gasp. His towel had come loose somewhere along the way—he was naked, already hard, his body a weapon I'd learned to crave.
"Hands above your head," he commanded.
I obeyed. The position was familiar—Gabriel had used it during our sessions, restraining me while he worked—but Nathan's weight on top of me was different. Warmer. More present. Nathan wasn't clinical in his control; he was passionate, almost desperate, like he needed this as much as I did.
He pinned my wrists with one hand, his grip just shy of painful, and used the other to push my nightgown up around my waist. The fabric tore slightly—I heard it rip, and the sound sent a thrill through me that was half arousal and half something darker.
"You're mine," he said, and the words were a claim. "Not his. Mine."
"Yours," I agreed, and the word felt like a prayer.
He entered me without preamble, one hard thrust that made me cry out. There was no gentleness this time, no careful negotiation of boundaries. This was fucking, raw and primal, two animals seeking release from the ghosts that haunted them.
"Look at me," he commanded, and I did. His eyes were wild, pupils blown wide, the careful control he usually maintained stripped away by fury and desire. "Say it again."
"I'm yours."
He moved faster, each thrust driving me harder into the mattress. The headboard knocked against the wall with a rhythmic thud, and I wrapped my legs around him and held on. The lullaby was still there, somewhere in the back of my mind, but Nathan's body was louder. Nathan's body was now.
"You think he could make you feel like this?" His voice was ragged, his rhythm faltering as he neared the edge. "You think anyone else could make you feel like this?"
"No." The word came out as a sob. "Only you."
"Good girl."
The phrase hit me like a physical blow, and for a moment I was somewhere else entirely—kneeling on a pink carpet, Gabriel's voice warm with approval, my body flooding with the trained response of praise.Good girl.The words I'd been conditioned to crave, the words Nathan had learned to use, the words that made my mind go soft and pliant no matter who spoke them.
I came with a cry that might have been pleasure or might have been grief, my body convulsing around him while my mind floated somewhere far above. I could see myself from a distance—a woman on a bed, legs spread,wrists pinned, being fucked by a man who loved her. But the woman didn't feel like me. She felt like a doll. A puppet. A thing being used.
Nathan finished with a groan, collapsing against me, his weight pressing me into the mattress. For a long moment, neither of us moved. The only sound was our breathing, harsh and uneven, and the distant hum of traffic outside.
"I love you," he said against my neck. "I love you so much."
"I love you too." The words came automatically, the way they always did. I wasn't sure if I meant them.
He rolled off me, pulling the sheet over us, and within minutes his breathing had evened into sleep. I lay beside him, staring at the ceiling, my body still tingling from his touch and my mind still floating in that strange disconnected space.
