“That’s not an answer.”
He steps closer. “You want answers?”
“Yes. Start with who the hell those men were.”
“Contractors. Ex-military. Sent here to find you.”
I stare at him. “Me?”
“They said someone somewhere was worried that you were missing.” He watches me too closely. “You tell anyone where you were going?”
“No. I didn’t.”
“Think harder.”
Anger flares in my chest. “You think I brought them here on purpose?”
“I think they came for you. I think someone wanted you close to me.”
My spine stiffens. “That sounds paranoid.”
He steps in close, and the air tightens around me.
“Everything about me is paranoid, sweetheart. That’s how I’m still breathing.”
His presence fills the room, commanding and absolute. My back bumps against the counter’s edge, its cold press grounding me, reminding me there’s nowhere else to go. The walls seem to narrow, the air thickens with anticipation, and every instinct in my body screams that retreat isn’t just impossible, it’s no longer an option I want.
“So what now?” I whisper. “You going to lock me in here forever?”
His hand lifts. Not to strike. Not to touch. Just to remind me he could. And somehow, that burns hotter than fear.
“You wanted to know who I am,” he says, voice low and edged like a blade. “Let me show you the Beast.”
I try to hold his gaze, but it roots me to the floor, my breath stuttering in my chest. A glint of something feral ignites behind his eyes, raw and untamed, hunger sharpening the icy stillness into something that feels like a silent dare. It slices through the air between us like a blade, sharp enough to strip me bare. The urge to look away claws at me, but I don’t. I can’t. Not when he’s looking at me like he already owns every inch of my body, like defiance only makes the claim sweeter.
He unbuckles his belt slowly, eyes never leaving mine. The leather slides free with a hiss, his movements deliberate. He steps behind me, looping it around my wrists with practiced ease, binding them together as he murmurs, “Say thank you.”
A bolt of heat stabs through me, humiliation tangled with something darker. It moves through me like a jolt of current, searing and hot, short-circuiting thought with sensation. I don't want to obey, not after everything. Not after the blood. But the power in his voice scrapes something raw and wanting inside me, and the war between my pride and whatever he's unlocking rages loud enough to drown out shame.
“No,” I whisper, even as my breath quickens.
His hand brushes my cheek, not gentle, not cruel. “Say it.”
Heat crashes through me, wild and unwelcome. “Thank you.”
“Good girl.”
He tilts my head back, eyes dark with intent, and pushes me lower. He presses the thick crown of his cock to my lips, and I part for him. Heat floods my mouth as he pushes inside, stretching me until my jaw protests, his taste dark, raw, and unrelenting. I gag, choke, then open wider, the rhythm brutal from the start. His fist knots in my hair, holding me on him, forcing me to take more, to swallow until I can’t think past the stretch of my lips and the fire in my throat.
The cabin echoes with every wet pull, every ragged breath, every groan he can’t hold back. My knees slide against the floor, my shoulders strain against the belt, and still he drives deeper, relentless. Spit slicks my chin, tears blur my vision, and the intensity only makes my pulse hammer harder. I can feel the moment he loses control, his hips jerking, his voice a guttural sound above me as he spills down my throat. I take it all, swallowing until he’s empty and I’m shaking.
A hush clamps down, weighty and airless. My lips throb, my wrists burn where the leather held them fast. He crouches in front of me, fingers brushing the raw marks he’s left behind.
“You’re not broken,” he says, voice steady. “You’re still here. With me.”
The words dig deeper than his hands ever could. My lungs drag at the air, my knees ache from the floor, but the real fracture isn’t physical. It’s the heat pooling low in my belly, and instead of fading, an ache blooms, tight and insistent.. Shame should follow, but it doesn’t. What rises in its place is darker. A need I can’t name and don’t want to.
My body remembers everything. Every command that broke down my defenses. Every relentless thrust that left me trembling, raw, and stretched too wide. Each calculated change in his rhythm marked his possession of me, a branding not of fire but of will, etched into my muscles and nerves until they thrummed with obedience and shameful desire. My legs feel unsteady, the backs of my knees slick with sweat and a hollow throb pulses low in my belly where need hasn’t been extinguished, only banked. The weight of his control lingers like heat trapped beneath my skin, my wrists still sensitized from the belt’s bite, my jaw sore from how far I let him push me. And deeper still, beneath the sting and ache, is the shuddering truth I can’t escape: I didn't just endure it. I burned for it.
