“Grayson, wait. Listen to me. I should’ve told you. I didn’t think that guy was interested. It was supposed to be a ride home. That’s all.”
He stops.
Turns.
His face is blank. Set in stone. That jaw clenched so tight it could shatter.
But he didn’t leave me to die. He’s in this house. He brought me back.
He saved me.
“I know you love me,” I pant, voice shaking. “I know I scared you. I’m sorry. I’m so freaking sorry. But you... you are the only man I want.”
His mouth twitches, a faint, underlying hurt flashing in his eyes, just for a second.
“I can’t lose you,” he says, dark and bitter.
I blink. “Okay, well—”
“No.” His voice drops deeper. That low, cracking rasp that says more than any scream. “You don’t fucking get it. If I lose you... there’s nothing left. You’re it.”
His chest rises and falls, slower now. But his rage hasn’t gone. Not really. It’s mutated into grief.
“You disappeared. You didn’t answer. And I thought...” He looks away. “That ruined me.”
I don’t have words.
Because he’s not cruel.
He’s destroyed.
Because of me.
He doesn’t soften, arms crossed, his intense eyes glaring down at me. “Do you have any idea what I feel for you? What you’ve done to me? I don’t think you do, or today would have never happened.”
I’m side-swept. The look in his eyes. It’s not just anger. It’s need. Madness.
“I know,” I whisper.
“You don’t.”
Suddenly, he lifts me like I’m a feather.
He carries me into the bedroom, not like I’m precious, but like he’s claiming what’s his. Like I belong over his shoulder, under his hands, pinned to his bed.
He throws me onto the mattress, then climbs over me. No tenderness. Just hunger and darkness.
The air charges. He’s hard again, and I know, he’s gonna make good on his promise. Teach me. Own me differently than throat fucking till I nearly pass out. To make me hurt. To cripple me with euphoria and suffering.
He doesn’t let go of the cuffs. He curls his fingers around their chain and pulls my hands above my head, holding them there while he sinks his shaft inside me. He stretches my sore pussy, and I welcome it. The pain. The push. The burn that says I’m his, even if it hurts like hell.
He powers forward.
Slow.
Deep.
Claiming.
