"Goddamn, Grace," he breathed. "You ride like you want to ruin me."
I leaned down, teeth grazing his jaw. "Maybe I do."
He flipped us, rough and sudden, pinning me to the bed. His cock was hot and heavy between us, dragging against my slick folds. I arched, chasing it.
"Tell me to stop," he said again. "One word and I stop."
I stared up at him, defiant. "Don’t you dare."
His eyes darkened. "Good girl."
He slid into me with one hard thrust. I cried out, nails digging into his back.
He fucked me like he wanted to break me open—deep, relentless, all-consuming. My body responded to every rough snap of his hips like it had been waiting for this, like it had been starved for him.
Then he slowed.
He pulled almost all the way out, just the tip remaining, watching every twitch and arch of my body. I whimpered, tried to lift my hips. He held me down with a hand on my stomach.
"You going to beg yet?"
I gritted my teeth. "No."
He slammed back in, deep and punishing, then slowed again to the edge of withdrawal.
"You're not getting anything until I hear it from your lips. You want to come? Beg for my cock."
Another shallow thrust. Then another. Just enough to tease. Just enough to make me squirm.
My nails raked down his back. I was panting now, every nerve stretched tight, my core throbbing with unsatisfied need.
He leaned down, lips grazing my ear. "Tell me what you want. Tell me you need me to fuck you."
I writhed beneath him, desperate. Hating him. Hating myself.
"Please," I whispered.
"Louder. I want to hear you say it."
"Please. I want it. I need you to fuck me."
His mouth curved with dark satisfaction. "Not until I have all of it. Say it like you mean it. Say it like you're mine."
"I'm yours," I gasped. "Just fucking give it to me."
Then he drove into me, brutal and perfect, and I broke. My orgasm tore through me, white-hot and devastating, my body shuddering around him, mouth open in a silent cry.
He held me through it, thrusts relentless, and only when I was boneless beneath him did he let himself go. His release came with a groan that sounded like triumph.
Afterward, we lay tangled together, sweat cooling on our skin, the reality of what we'd done slowly seeping back into consciousness. I should have felt regret. Should have felt shame. Should have felt anything except the strange, peaceful emptiness that had replaced the chaos in my mind.
Rafe's arm was around me, holding me against his chest, his heartbeat gradually slowing beneath my ear. He didn't speak, didn't try to define or explain what had happened between us. Just held me, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my bare shoulder.
Eventually, the silence became too heavy, too laden with unspoken questions and implications. I pulled away slightly, not meeting his eyes.
"I should go," I said, my voice sounding strange to my own ears.
His arm tightened around me momentarily, then relaxed. "If that's what you want."
