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I slam my legs shut like a vice, crushing his thick cock between my thighs. His pulse pounds mercilessly right against my clit, a jagged spark that sends my head spinning, my eyes rolling back in a dizzy rush of need.

His hand clamps around my neck—firm, heavy, utterly owning me—with zero mercy. “Don’t you fucking dare close your eyes on me.” His voice is raw, desperate, laced with something feral.

And then he moves.

Slow.

Relentless.

Dragging himself back and forth with the cruelest patience, refusing to sink that thick cock inside me.

“Tell me, does this feel like hate to you?” His voice grits through clenched teeth, the pressure of his hand around my throat tightening, fingers digging in like a warning that could leave marks.

“I said, tell me, Louisiana!” His harsh whisper echoes off the walls—ruthless, demanding, raw.

Instinct flares hot and sharp. I reach up, clamp my teeth down hard on his bottom lip—bite with everything I’ve got, fierce and desperate. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”

His massive body shudders beneath me, trembling—caught on that razor’s edge between control and surrender. In that moment, I see it clear: he craves submission as fiercely as he commands it.

Then he laughs—low, guttural, a sound that shakes the room—and without warning, he slams into me.

His hips crash hard, each thrust like thunder, the force shaking the air between us.

I can already feel bruises blooming beneath my skin, fiery and raw.

I clamp my legs shut, grinding against him, fighting to hold myself together even as he devours me with relentless friction.

We’re both spiraling, tightly wound and fraying at the edges.

And neither of us is going to last much longer.

“Oh, baby, listen to how fucking wet you are, this little pussy is starved for me,” he growls into the hollow of my throat, voice rough and ragged, a man on the edge.

He slows his pace to where every pass between my legs I can feel every vein as it brushes against my clit. “Now, coat my cock in your cum, and you better fucking hope it makes a big enough mess,” he growls as he resumes his punishing pace.

Instantly, I detonate against him, like a damn stick of dynamite left too close to a flame.

My body seizes, head thrown back, a gasp tearing from my lungs as wave after brutal wave crashes through me. He grinds against me through it, chasing his own release, until we’re nothing but sweat, skin, and breathless fucking ruin.

Silence rushes in like a slap, heavy and too loud. My chest heaves. My knees feel like they’ll give. And then⁠—

The realization slams into me like a God damn butt fuck with no lube.

Before I can even flinch, he pulls back first. Like he knew it was coming. Like he beat me to the fallout.

He drags a hand down his sweat-slicked face, through his hair, leaving it sticking up in messy defiance.

“Go fucking draw something, Louisiana,” he says, voice low but steady, full of that hard-earned care I never knew I needed. “Don’t shut down. Just—create. You’ve cut yourself off from it for too damn long.”

Then just like that, he turns and walks away—leaving me wrecked, my heart rattling in my chest, and my soul clawing for something I’m not sure how to hold anymore.

Chapter Seventeen

FUCK, I’M STARVING

HENRY

“You tap that damn foot any harder I’m going to expect flying monkeys to enter the place.”