Page 14 of The Marriage Debt

I hate him.

I hate the way he looks at me like he sees all the pieces I’ve been trying to hold together. I hate that he took control of everything—Lev, the hearing, my name—and somehow made it all feel like he was doing me a favor. Worst of all, I hate that he actually did save me. That without him, I might’ve lost my son to a woman who only wanted to punish me.

My shame burns hotter than my fury.

I should scream. I should claw my way out of this moment, but I don’t. I stay still, frozen in place while my body does the thing I promised myself it wouldn’t do—respond.

My skin buzzes where he touches me. My breath catches when he shifts, just slightly, like he’s waiting for something. The worst part is, I think he knows. I think he’s been waiting for me to break like this.

And I do.

I move first. Not fast, not certain. Just enough.

He doesn’t stop me.

My mouth finds his like it’s instinct, not choice. The kiss is rough from the first second—no buildup, no softness. Just pressure and heat and something desperate in the way our mouths collide.

His hand is still locked around my wrist when my other one fists in the front of his shirt. He kisses like he fights—calculated, brutal, and precise. There’s no give in him. No space. Just tension, coiled and snapping between us.

I taste whiskey on his tongue. My teeth drag across his lip. His hand moves to the back of my neck, anchoring me there, and I don’t resist. I hate how much I want it, hate the sound I make when he presses in harder.

There’s no control here, no line we’re pretending not to cross. We’re already over it. Teeth, lips, hands—every touch is a dare, every breath stolen. I don’t care how dangerous it is. I don’t care what it means. I just want to feel something that doesn’t hurt. Even if I hate myself for it later.

It’s only when he yanks the shoulder of my nightgown down and his hand cups my breast, thumb stroking the erect nipple, that sanity begins to seep back in. The feel of his callused fingers against my naked skin is like a fire alarm going off in my head. What the hell am I thinking? He’s a lunatic and a sadist, and I’m stupidly ready to spread my legs for him.

Mateo takes charge at the first hint that I might pull away. His hands are greedy, groping me, tearing at my nightgown. I’m whimpering, my body shuddering with desire as he pins me against the railing. The metal is cold against my hips, his fingers harsh against my thigh as he hooks them into my panties’ waistband and jerks them down.

The hand on my thigh slides upward, brushing against the center of my now-drenched core. I know I should pull away, but there’s a part of me that’s wet, soaking wet for how he dominates me. The last thing I need right now is to belong to another abusive man, but God, I can’t stop myself.

His fingers probe me, testing the slickness and eliciting moans I can’t hold back. He withdraws them and then, before I can protest, he thrusts them into my mouth. I taste the salty-sweet mixture and bite him hard, which earns me a slap to the thigh and a dark expression.

“You little minx,” he purrs with dark eyes devouring me. “You’re gonna regret that.”

“Make me,” I say when his fingers withdraw. My chest is heaving, hands planted on the metal railing as he undoes his belt buckle and unzips his fly. His cock is rock-hard, larger than Anton’s was. Seeing it sends a rush of arousal to my core. I swallow hard, and he reaches up and grabs my hair, pulling it hard to expose my neck where he sinks his teeth into my flesh.

“I’m going to fuck you so raw, you’ll think about me every time you piss,” he growls.

I must be insane.

But before I can say anything, Mateo is perching me on the railing, positioning his cock at my entrance. He slides in just the tip, slowly watching my face, savoring my startled expression. His hand on my hair has my neck craning so I barely make eye contact, and that brief passing thought between us vanishes as he pushes himself into me all the way.

He’s right. Mateo doesn’t disappoint, fucking me so hard that I feel like I might fall off this railing to my death. But the thrill of it has me whimpering. He’s relentless, merciless, and each time I moan or whimper, he spanks my ass or bites my shoulder. It hurts, but I'm wetter than I’ve ever been in my life. He knows exactly where to touch, how to angle his hips so that my orgasm is just within reach.

And when it does come, I see stars. My body arches on pure desire, and the hard bite he leaves on my neck only fuels the fire more as I spasm and jolt. With one of his hands tangled in my hair, the other pinning me against his body, I let loose and feel the waves of pleasure consume me.

“You’re mine now,” he says in between breaths.

“Don’t stop,” I whine, clinging to his tie like it’s a lifeline.

The sex is wild, primal. It feels like punishment but also release after years of pent-up frustration. I know I should be horrified at myself for submitting to him, but there’s a part of me that has always craved this—this lack of control, this freedom from the pain that’s plagued me for so long.

When he comes, he holds my hips and drives himself deep inside me as his body shudders. I feel every hot pulse of his orgasm inside me as he stares down and watches his cock entering me and pulling back slowly.

I’m breathless, still clinging to him, and I come to myself and realize how easily I could fall. I lean in, wrapping my arms around him in a move meant to steady myself, but he misreads it, putting his strong arm around me too. It’s a tender embrace momentarily before he turns and sets me on the cold stone again.

The breeze whips across my skin, now fully chilling me, and I can’t even make eye contact. My hair shields my eyes and his cum drains down my legs as my nightgown falls around my hips.

Mateo fixes his slacks, and I back away, tucking my tit back into my nightgown. I'm not sure why I did that, but it was incredible. I walk toward the door on shaky legs. I might not think of him every time I piss, but I will think of him—and never again in the same way.

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