Page 32 of Checks & Bonds

"You think this means anything?" I hissed through clenched teeth, trying to ignore the fire building within me.

His finger thrust deeper, and I bit back a moan. "Oh, it means everything," he said softly. "It means you're mine. Every part of you…mine."

The words stung more than they should have. I wanted to defy him, to show him that he didn't own me—not really. But as his fingers worked their dark magic on my body, it became harder and harder to hold on to that defiance.

Each stroke of his thumb on my clit sent sparks flying through me, igniting something primal and uncontrollable deep within. My breath hitched again as he pressed harder, pushing me closer to the edge.

I hated him for what he was doing to me—for making me feel this way despite everything I knew about him. And yet, a small part of me couldn't help but crave more.

The war raged inside me: hatred battling desire with every touch of his hand. My nails dug into the car door behind me as I fought to keep from giving in completely.

But even as I struggled against him—against myself—I knew that some battles were destined to be lost.

"When you come," Henry's voice slithered into my ear, his breath hot and possessive, "I want you to remember it was me. I did this to you.Only me."

The words reverberated through my body, fueling the conflicting storm inside me. His fingers moved with an unyielding rhythm, each stroke pushing me closer to a precipice I desperately didn't want to fall over. My breath hitched, my body arching involuntarily as waves of pleasure crashed through me. Every nerve felt like it was on fire, the intensity almost too much to bear.

My mind screamed at me to resist, to fight against the sensations overwhelming my senses. But my body had a will of its own, betraying me with every shudder and gasp. The world narrowed down to just his touch, the relentless drive toward an inevitable climax.

And then it happened—a powerful release that tore through me like a storm, leaving me trembling and breathless. My eyes fluttered shut as the last tremors of pleasure coursed through me, mingling with the bitterness of defeat.

Henry pulled his fingers back, leaving me feeling both empty and exposed. I watched in stunned silence as he brought them to his mouth, his gaze never leaving mine.

"So this is what you taste like," he murmured, savoring the words as if they were a dark secret only he knew. His eyes held mine captive as he slowly pulled his fingers out with apop. "Now," he said, his tone sharp and commanding, "get in the fucking car."

My legs felt like jelly as I pushed myself off the car and stumbled toward the passenger seat. The aftermath of what had just happened left me disoriented and raw. I hated himeven more for making me feel this way—vulnerable and utterly powerless.

Henry walked around to the driver's side with an air of satisfaction that made my skin crawl. As I settled into my seat, I struggled to catch my breath, every inhale reminding me of how thoroughly he'd shattered my defenses.

This time, I didn't argue. My silence was a bitter acknowledgment of how completely he'd broken through my resolve. And in that moment, I hated myself more than I ever hated Henry.

10

Henry

The drive was silent after that. The town lights flickered past us, casting fleeting shadows inside the car. I could still taste Freya on my tongue, her scent lingering like a stubborn ghost. My grip on the steering wheel tightened. Every glance at her made my blood simmer, a cruel reminder of the war she waged within me.

Freya stared out the window, lost in thought or maybe just avoiding my gaze. Her presence was a torment, a beautiful, maddening torment. Part of me hated her for making me feel this way in the first place, for awakening something primal and uncontrollable inside me.

The engine's hum filled the void between us. Streetlights stretched into blurred lines as we sped down empty roads. The radio remained off, its silence amplifying the tension that crackled in the confined space.

"Why are you doing this?" she finally asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

I glanced over at her, her eyes wide and searching.

"You know why," I replied, my tone sharper than intended.

She shook her head, looking down at her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

I forced myself to focus on the road ahead. My cock was hard, painfully so, but I refused to claim her. Not until she begged for it. It was a cruel game we played, one where desire clashed with stubborn pride.

"Henry," she said softly.

I didn’t respond immediately. The sound of my name on her lips sent a shiver down my spine.

"What?" I asked eventually.

"Do you hate me?" Her question hung in the air between us like an unsolvable riddle.

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