I flashed a razor-edged grin. "You can fight—you’ve shown me that. The beautiful part? Now I know you can handle pain." There it was… her breaths visibly quickened. But in the next second, her knee shot up, aiming for my hip.
This was war—marked by lust, hatred, and pure, unrelenting hunger between us. With a merciless grip, I seized her throat. My patience had run out. "You’ll need a safeword today… something more intuitive." I took her right hand in mine, thumb tracing her fingers. "Your middle finger," I explained. "Show it to me if it’s too much. Which it very likely will be."
Neither of us was willing to yield—her eyes narrowed into venomous slits.
My fingers tightened around her throat. Her breaths turned forced, shallow, and I felt the faint arch of her body, a reflex as her lungs screamed for air. Her eyes widened—not with fear, but with that absurd mix of fury and… lust. "I’ll gladly show you your limit, Fiona," I growled against her ear, squeezing just hard enough to steal her breath, watching every micro-reaction. Her lips parted, a choked sound escaping her, but she didn’t break eye contact. No flinching, no begging—just the fight she waged against me.
Her hands clawed at my arm, nails digging deep into my skin. An electric thrill shot through me at her defiance.
Slowly, deliberately, I loosened my grip just enough to let her breathe again. She gasped greedily, chest heaving—yet those damn eyes still burned into mine. "Did you feel it, Fiona?" I dragged her closer until her lips were inches from mine. "Did you feel how fast I can get serious?"
She panted.
"What?"
No fear—just dark, raw hunger.
"Do you want me to fuck you?"
A pause. Then a slow nod. Our gazes locked like talons. "You know I’ll punish you?"
Her stare turned molten, so searing I had to shake my head. "Oh, of course you know. You even want it. You want to know how it feels when I take you without restraint."
She trembled as I spoke, skin scorching under my touch. Could it really be? Was Fiona Robertson my perfect match, wired for the same twisted desires?
I yanked her closer: "From now on, you’ll be the picture-perfect version of a good girl. Understood?"
Fiona completely ignored me, fingers scrambling for my shirt, greedily popping the bottom button. Every movement crackled with untamed energy—as if submission wasn’t just foreign to her, but impossible. The thought of molding her, piece by piece, breaking her until she surrendered, ignited something deep and feral in me. She didn’t know it yet, but she would learn to yield—and I’d savor every step of that journey.
I slapped her hand away hard. Her eyes flared in surprise. "I. Fuck. You. Not the other way around," I clarified.
She tried again, both hands clawing at my shirt, dragging me down with surprising strength.
I shoved her back, spinning her in one fluid motion, forcing her face-first onto the table. "This isn’t the picture-perfect good girl," I growled in her ear.
She knew this. What came next? She definitely didn’t.
"Stay." With firm pressure between her shoulders, I pinned her to the wood, every twitch under my absolute control. She shuddered at the contact, a defiant whimper escaping as I secured her ankles to the table legs with zip ties. The techniques—how to restrain someone effectively, eliminating every escape route—were second nature by now. But I had to leash thedarkness, the instincts honed in far deadlier scenarios. She wasn’t one of the men I’d interrogated, wasn’t part of the blood-soaked trenches I’d crawled through. She was different. And that demanded I hold the line. Mostly. "You should be a good girl, or this thing will leave marks even from ten feet away."
Her cheek pressed against the cold surface, eyes tracking me. "Since we’re in our interrogation room," I murmured, moving to the table’s edge, "you won’t be surprised this table is more than just a surface." I grabbed her right arm, pulled it over the edge, and found the cuffs anchored beneath.
The soft click of metal made her eyes flare—a muffled gasp escaped past the gag as she instinctively tried to wrench her hand free. Resisting was pointless. I guided her wrist into place, securing it, my gaze raking over her face. Even now, utterly at my mercy, she clung to that untamable defiance that drove me mad.
"Your goddamn stubbornness, Fiona," I said lowly, stepping back to position myself behind her. "It fucking ruins me."
She let out a derisive snort.
The club lights pulsed like a living aura, painting her skin in hypnotic swirls of red, pink, and violet. Stretched over the table, wrists cuffed to the sides, legs slightly spread and ankles zip-tied to the table legs—she was mine, completely under my control. The sight stole my breath, incinerating the last shreds of reason or restraint.
I forced her legs wider, adjusting her into perfect submission before settling behind her. My nails dragged lightly up her thighs, pushing her dress up inch by inch until it bunched at her hips. Her breathing turned ragged, and I felt the unconscious shift of her body—trying to escape? Or press closer? Even she didn’t know.
With deliberate slowness, I hooked a finger under the delicate fabric of her panties and pulled them aside.
A sharp, involuntary gasp escaped us both as her glistening,swollen flesh was exposed. It felt like unwrapping something precious—something that belonged only to me. The sight of her, flushed and dripping with need, obliterated the last of my control. Every instinct roared to make her feel how thoroughly she was mine. No preparation. No gentleness. Just the raw, unfiltered intensity of what burned between us.
A choked sound tore from her throat, distorted by the gag, as I slammed into her with one brutal thrust. Her back arched off the cold metal table, every muscle locking as she took me—all of me.
Fuck. The tight, scorching heat around me stole my senses. I closed my eyes, surrendered completely to instinct, and left the last shred of reason behind. My fingers dug deeper into her flesh as I drove into her with a hard, savage rhythm. There was no trace of restraint here, no false promises of tenderness. Only raw, untamed hunger. Our movements were a brutal dance, fueled by pent-up desire that recognized no limits. She moaned against the gag, her head lolling to the side, and I could feel her resisting the intensity. "This is what you wanted, isn’t it?"
