Page 218 of Fractured Loyalties
The sound that escapes me is half fury, half raw want. My nipples tighten instantly, aching in the open air. His thumb finds one and pinches hard, the pain so sharp it ricochets into pleasure.
“Mine,” he growls, dragging his mouth down my throat, biting hard enough to mark, then sucking until I know the bruise will bloom dark across my skin. “Every scar, every shiver, every fucking inch of you is mine.”
My knees nearly buckle, but his thigh holds me up, grinding exactly where I can’t stand it. My wrists fight the leather binding them, not to escape, but because I want to touch him, want to claw him open the way he’s doing to me.
“Let me—” My voice cracks. “Elias, please—”
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his hand still torturing my nipple, his thigh still pinning me in place. “Please what?”
Shame and desire knot in my chest, warring for dominance. I want to tell him to stop, to let me go. But the truth claws its way out instead, raw and humiliating. “Please touch me.”
His smile is pure sin. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
He turns me in one brutal motion, bending me over the dresser so my bound wrists and the bunched fabric of my hoodieand shirt grind into the polished wood. The layers knot tight around my arms, locking me in place. The surface is cold under my chest, a sharp bite against overheated skin. He kicks my legs apart with his knee.
The first drag of his hand down the curve of my ass makes me jolt. His knuckles skim the denim seam, then he unbuttons my jeans, slow enough to make my hips twist, and peels them down inch by inch.
The belt traps my arms. My cheek presses to the dresser. I can see his reflection in the dark glass of the window across the room—broad shoulders, every movement cut with ruthless control.
His palm presses between my legs, cupping me over the thin cotton of my panties, and the contact steals a broken sound from my throat.
“Already dripping,” he says. “For a man you swore you hated.”
His fingers press harder, rubbing circles that make my knees shake. Then he hooks the fabric aside and slides two fingers between my folds, spreading me open. The slick sound fills the air, obscene and undeniable.
“God, Mara.” His voice is strained, ragged now. “You’re perfect like this. Bound, desperate, trying so fucking hard not to beg.”
His fingers thrust into me, curling just right, and I cry out, arching against him. The belt digs into my wrists. The dresser digs into my ribs. None of it matters. I want more.
“Say it,” he demands, his fingers pumping harder, faster. “Say you need me.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, fighting it, holding on to the last shred of defiance. But his thumb finds my clit, circles with ruthless precision, and the pressure shatters me.
“I need you!” The words rip from me like a confession I can’t take back.
His body presses flush against mine from behind, his cock hard and heavy against my ass through his pants. “Good girl.” His voice is a groan against my ear. “Now you’ll get me.”
He yanks his zipper down, the sound jagged and final, and positions himself at my entrance, the blunt head of him sliding through my slick folds. I whimper, already stretched from his fingers, but this is thicker, harder, unrelenting.
Then he drives in, one brutal thrust that pushes me flat against the dresser, and the scream that rips out of me is equal parts pain and relief.
“Fuck—” I gasp, shaking, clenching around him.
He doesn’t give me time to adjust. His hand knots in my hair again, yanking my head back as he pounds into me, deep and merciless. Every thrust slams me into the wood, rattling drawers, scattering whatever control I thought I had left.
And I can’t fight anymore. I can only take it.
His thrusts are merciless, each one dragging a cry from me that I can’t contain. The wood of the dresser bites into my ribs, my breasts flattened against the hard surface, my wrists straining uselessly against the belt cinched tight above me. The bunched hoodie and shirt press into my arms, suffocating, holding me down as much as he does.
He grips my hip, fingers digging bruises into my skin, using me as leverage to drive deeper. His cock fills me in ways that make my vision blur, stretching me, burning in the mostunbearable, perfect way. I can feel him everywhere, inside and outside, every inch of me owned and forced open.
“You feel that?” he snarls against my ear, slamming into me so hard the dresser scrapes an inch across the floor. “That’s what you need. Not safety. Not distance. Me. All of me.”
“Yes—fuck—yes!” The word rips out of me, hoarse, raw. My hips push back against him on instinct, begging for more even as the pain twists into pleasure so sharp I can hardly breathe.
He laughs darkly, low in his chest, and his hand abandons my hair only to wrap around my throat. He squeezes just enough to make my pulse race harder, the air catch shallow. The pressure turns every nerve alive, amplifying the drag of his cock inside me until I’m trembling.
“That’s it,” he growls. “Take me. Take what you’ve been craving since the day you looked at me like you wanted to run and wanted to fall at the same time.”
