His mouth was on mine before I could breathe, devouring instead of kissing, all tongue and teeth and rage. He grabbed my face with both hands like he couldn’t believe I existed—like if he didn’t hold me down, I’d disappear. He walked me backward until I hit the wall with a thud, breath knocked out of me, his body crashing into mine like a wave breaking the shore.
“Hit me again,” he growled, voice rough and wrecked, “and I’ll fuck you so hard you forget your own name.”
My breath caught.
His hand slipped into my hair, yanking my head back just enough to bare my throat. His lips dragged along it, open and hot. “You think you hate me? Then hate me,” he whispered, teeth scraping skin. “Hate me with your whole body. I’ll take every ounce of it and fuck it back into you.”
I moaned—angry and needy—and clawed at his shirt. “I do hate you.”
“Good.” He tore the fabric open, buttons scattering like they knew they weren’t welcome. “Because I’ve never wanted anything gentle from you.”
My pants were around my thighs before I could blink. He spun me hard, one hand on the back of my neck, pressing me to the wall, the other dragging my panties to the side with a snarlthat made my skin burn. I felt him at my entrance—hot, thick, already pulsing—and I whimpered.
“That’s right,” he muttered, lining up against me. “Dripping for the man you just slapped.”
Then he thrust.
Deep. Hard. No warning, no hesitation. Just his cock splitting me open in one brutal stroke, like he’d waited too long and couldn’t be bothered with patience.
“Fuck—you feel made for me,” he gritted, grinding into me, his breath rough against my neck. “Tight little cunt just begging to be filled. You’ll never get this from anyone else, Grace. No one will fuck you like I do. No one will ruin you like I will.”
I was panting. Writhing. Moaning his name like it was a curse and a prayer.
“You slap me again, and I’ll bend you over every room in this fucking house,” he hissed, slamming into me. “Leave handprints on every inch of your skin. So you never forget who you belong to.”
“Yours,” I gasped, voice high and broken.
“Say it louder.”
“Yours.”
He groaned, low and feral, and shoved deeper. One hand wrapped around my throat—not choking, justclaiming—while the other reached down and rubbed me fast, rough, relentless. I cried out, legs trembling, body already unraveling.
“You’re going to come for me,” he said darkly. “Soak my cock like a good little bitch, and then beg me to fill you.”
I shattered with a scream, my orgasm ripping through me so hard my knees buckled. He held me up, still fucking me, deeper now, slower, filthier. A claiming. A branding. A promise.
“Feel that?” he growled, voice in my ear. “That’s mine now. This pussy. These screams. That slap. You belong to me in every fucking way.”
He came with a snarl, spilling inside me with a sharp jerk of his hips and a growl that sounded like he’d waited his whole life for this moment. Forme.
And even in the aftermath—sweaty, shaking, dripping—we didn’t move.
Because the line between hate and need had vanished completely.
Neither of us moved.
Not at first.
His forehead dropped to my shoulder, sweat slick at the seam where our bodies met, and for a moment, the world stilled. His breathing was heavy—ragged, almost feral—but it matched mine. Perfectly. Like even our wreckage was in sync.
I couldn’t feel my legs. I couldn’t feel anything but the stretch of him still inside me and the way his hands hadn’t left my skin. One at my hip, possessive. The other curved around my throat—not squeezing, not now. Justthere, like he wasn’t ready to let go of the place he’d claimed.
“Say it again,” he murmured against my neck.
I swallowed. My voice was raw when it came, wrecked from screaming. “Yours.”
His arm tightened around me. Just a beat. Just enough.
