"You're so tight," he growled. "So fucking warm. Look at you—soaking for the man you claim to despise."
My head fell back against the wall, eyes shut tight, trying to escape the pressure, the heat, the truth.
He pressed his forehead to mine, panting, breath mixing with mine in the narrow space between us.
"You’re going to come for me again," he said, fingers working with ruthless precision. "And next time, it’ll be on my cock."
I shattered.
Silent, breathless, wrung out by the tension that had coiled for days. My whole body clenched, legs trembling violently as he held me up through the storm of it. I came on his hand, sobbing out a sound I didn’t recognize—something desperate, something raw.
He held me there, breathing hard, fingers still buried deep.
Silent, breathless, wrung out by the tension that had coiled for days. My whole body clenched, legs trembling violently as he held me up through the storm of it. I came on his hand, sobbing out a sound I didn’t recognize. Something desperate, something raw.
He held me there, breathing hard, fingers still buried deep.
"So fucking sweet when you break like that," he went on, lips brushing the sweat-damp skin at my temple. "You try to hate me, I know you do. But this?" He flexed his fingers inside me, slow and possessive, making my breath hitch. "This is the truth."
I gasped, one hand scrabbling against his chest. Not to push. Just to hold. To survive it.
"And I haven’t even put my cock in you yet. Haven’t stretched you open, haven’t felt you clench around me while you scream my name. And still, you're shaking like I already have."
He kissed the side of my neck, slow and taunting. "Are you going to cry when I put my mouth on you? Or are you going to beg first?"
"Fuck you," I managed to grit out.
He chuckled, dark and low. "Gladly, sweetheart."
His fingers slipped out at last, coated in slick. He lifted them to his lips and sucked one between his teeth like it was honey, groaning low in his throat.
"This pussy was made for me," he said, licking the taste of me off his fingers. “You taste like madness, Grace. Like the reason I won’t ever let you go.”
He let me slide down the wall, just far enough that my feet touched the floor again, though my legs threatened to give.
"Still hate me?" he asked.
"Yes," I whispered, breath trembling.
He grinned. "Good. Keep telling yourself that while I make you come again."
His mouth grazed mine. Close enough to taste, not enough to claim. He waited. Let me feel the threat of it. The promise. I wanted to pull away. I almost did. But I didn’t. Couldn’t.
His hands were on my hips now, slow and possessive. He moved me without force, just certainty, guiding me back until the backs of my knees hit the edge of the velvet chaise in the corner. My legs gave, but not without a fight. I tried to plant my feet, to hold ground, but his grip only tightened, his fingers biting in.
“You going to run again?” he asked, voice low and dark. “Because I swear to God, I’ll chase you every time.”
I shoved at his chest, a weak, futile push. “Get off.”
He laughed—a rough, breathy sound. “You fight so pretty, Grace. All that heat, all that spit and fire. Makes me want to fuck the defiance right out of you.”
He sank to his knees in front of me.
His palms slid up my thighs, thumbs stroking slow, hypnotic circles just above the place I throbbed. I jerked away, or tried to, but he only grinned and grabbed harder.
“You break so fucking beautifully for me,” he murmured, voice rougher now. “But it’s even better when you try not to.”
My tank top was gone before I realized he’d moved. He didn’t rip it. Just peeled it away like something precious. Reverent. Slow. I should’ve hated how exposed I felt. But all I felt was heat.
