"I hate you," I whisper, the words lacking conviction even to my own ears as heat spreads through my veins.
"Hate and desire aren't mutually exclusive," he replies, shifting to position himself between my thighs, the silk of his pants sliding tantalizingly against my sensitive skin. "In fact, they often amplify each other."
His hands capture my wrists, drawing them above my head and pinning them there with one large hand. The position arches my back, pressing my breasts more prominently against his chest, emphasizing my vulnerability in a way that sends another unwelcome surge of arousal through me.
"You're mine now," he says, his free hand moving between our bodies, finding the center of my desire with unerring precision. "Legally. Physically." His fingers slide through the evidence of my body's betrayal, gathering the wetness there before circling the sensitive bundle of nerves in a way that draws an unwilling moan from my throat. "Say it, Penelope. I need to hear you acknowledge who you belong to."
"Never," I manage, though the word breaks on a gasp as his fingers continue their relentless assault on my senses, circling, pressing, retreating only to advance again with more intensity.
His mouth moves to my throat, teeth grazing sensitive skin, then soothing with his tongue. "Say it," he demands again, fingers sliding inside me now, curling to find a spot thatmakes my hips buck involuntarily and sends sparks of pleasure shooting through my nervous system.
I bite my lip, determined to deny him this victory at least, even as my hips lift involuntarily into his touch, seeking more of the exquisite sensation he's creating. My inner walls clench around his invading fingers, hungry for more.
"So stubborn," he murmurs, adding another finger, stretching me deliciously as his thumb continues circling my clit with devastating precision. "But your body knows the truth. It's already surrendering to me."
He's right, damn him. Despite every effort to remain unmoved, my body responds to his skilled touch with embarrassing eagerness. Tension coils tighter and tighter in my core, building toward a release I simultaneously crave and resent.
"Stop fighting it," he commands, watching my face with intense focus as his fingers move faster, deeper. "Let go. Show me what I already know—that I can make you come apart whenever I choose."
The combination of his words, his touch, and the weight of his body pinning me to the bed proves too much. Release crashes through me in waves of unwanted pleasure, my back arching as my body surrenders completely to his control, inner muscles pulsing around his fingers as a cry tears from my throat.
"Tell me you want this," he says, his voice strained with desire but controlled. "I need to hear it."
"I want this,"I admit, the honesty of my body impossible to deny in this moment. "Please."
Before the aftershocks have subsided, he releases my wrists to shed his pants in one fluid movement, revealing his impressive arousal. He positions himself at my entrance, thethick head of his cock pressing against me, demanding entry. With one powerful thrust, he fills me completely, drawing a gasp from my lungs at the sudden stretch and fullness.
"There," he says, voice strained with desire but still controlled as he seats himself fully inside me. "Perfect."
He begins to move with measured strokes, establishing a rhythm designed to rebuild the pleasure he's already forced upon me. His hands grip my thighs, spreading them wider, angling my hips to take him deeper with each thrust.
"You're mine," he says again, punctuating the statement with a particularly deep thrust that hits a spot inside me that makes me cry out. "My wife. My woman." His pace increases, driving harder, deeper, the sound of our bodies coming together filling the room. "Mine to protect. Mine to pleasure. Mine to keep."
To my horror, I feel myself responding again, my body welcoming his invasion, inner muscles clenching around him in a way that draws a groan from deep in his chest. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure radiating outward, building toward another peak I can't resist.
"Say it," he demands, his control beginning to fray at the edges as his movements become more urgent. "Tell me who you belong to."
I shake my head, clinging to this last vestige of defiance even as my body betrays me completely, hips rising to meet his thrusts, seeking more of the pleasure I don't want to acknowledge. My legs wrap around his waist of their own accord, pulling him deeper.
His hand releases my hip, moving instead to my throat—not squeezing, just resting there with gentle pressure, a reminder of his physical dominance. The other slides between us, finding my over-sensitized clit and pressing down in tight circles.
"Say. It." Each word punctuated with a thrust that hits something deep inside me, sending shockwaves of pleasurethrough my system, pushing me relentlessly toward another climax.
"Yours," I finally whisper, the admission torn from me against my will as pleasure spirals beyond my control. "I'm yours."
Something flares in his eyes—triumph, satisfaction, possession. "Again," he demands, increasing his pace, his hand tightening slightly at my throat as the other continues its merciless assault on my clit.
"I'm yours," I repeat, louder this time, the words coinciding with another wave of pleasure building toward crescendo. My nails dig into his shoulders, leaving marks of my own as my body arches beneath him.
"Mine," he confirms, driving into me with renewed intensity, his control finally shattering. "My wife. My Penelope."
The second climax hits with even greater force than the first, my body arching beneath him as pleasure explodes outward from my core, muscles clamping around him in rhythmic pulses. The intensity of my release triggers his own—with a final, powerful thrust, he stills deep inside me, his body shuddering as he finds completion, filling me with his warmth.
For several long moments, we remain connected, his weight supported on his forearms to avoid crushing me, our breathing gradually slowing, heartbeats returning to normal rhythm. His lips find mine in a kiss that's surprisingly gentle, almost tender in its exploration.
When he finally withdraws, rolling to lie beside me, I feel hollow in more ways than one. Empty physically, emotionally drained, mentally exhausted from the conflict between my body's surrender and my mind's continued resistance.
Tears well unexpectedly, streaming silently down my temples into my hair. I turn away, unwilling to let him see this final vulnerability, this ultimate admission of defeat.
