I moan, half-choked, body trembling against the wall. “Rafe—”
He tightens his grip. “Say it.”
My knees almost give. My mouth falls open. “I’m—”
“That boy on the screen?” he snarls. “He wasn’t yours. He didn’t belong to anyone. But you—” He thrusts against me once, rough and slow. “You’re mine.”
“Yours,” I gasp.
“Not enough.” His hand wraps around my throat.
I press into it like I’m starving for breath. “I’m your halo,” I whisper.
“Louder.”
“I’m your fucking halo.”
“More.”
I shake, gasping, head spinning from the merciless heat, the unrelenting pressure, the raw, clawing need that consumes every inch of me. I can feel him everywhere—his heat, his weight, his fury pressing in like he’s rewriting my skin. “I’m your fucktoy,” I breathe against the wall, voice trembling but certain. “Your player. Your addict. Your problem.”
His hand slides down, catches the waistband of my shorts, and yanks them to my thighs in one brutal motion that rips a whimper from my throat. “All of it,” he growls, already lining himself up, thick and insistent against me.
I flatten my palms to the scorching metal, glance back at him over my shoulder, then forward at the frozen screen still looping my old self, and I don’t hesitate. “I’ll always be yours.”
And then he pushes in—hard, slow, devastating.
I scream.
He fucks me like the world is ending and he wants to be the last god I ever worship. My hands stay braced against the sun-warmed container wall, skin sticking to metal, knees trembling with every punishing thrust. The phone remains taped in front of me, still playing that cursed tape—the sounds that haunted me for years: Nathan’s voice murmuring praise, my own ruined with want, the hotel-room angle filthy and stupid and unholy. I should hate it. I should smash the screen or sob or force it off. But Rafe is buried so deep inside me I can’t think straight, can’t breathe right, can’t even tear my eyes away.
His body crushes mine against the wall, every motion a threat and a promise braided together. One hand grips my throat again, thumb hooked just under my jaw, possessive and unyielding. The other claws into my hip like he’s trying to carve his name into the bone. My spine arches instinctively, head tipping back onto his shoulder as he slams in harder, hips snapping with deliberate, devastating intent.
I sob out a moan and whimper, “Mark me.”
His breath shudders against my neck.
“Do it,” I whisper, voice cracking with want. “Bite me. Ruin me. Leave something I can’t wash off.”
He growls—low, animal, real—and the hesitation vanishes like smoke. His mouth opens, closes, and then his teeth sink in: not a nip, not a tease, but a brutal, claiming, permanent bite that drags a sharp cry from my throat and makes my nails rake the wall.
“Harder,” I gasp. “Rafe, please—”
“You want me to own you?” he snarls, voice nothing but gravel and heat.
“I’m yours,” I breathe, words spilling out like prayer. “I’m always yours. Prove it. Make me forget anyone ever fucking touched me.”
Rafe releases my neck only long enough to shove two fingers into my mouth, hard and demanding. “Suck,” he growls.
I do—instantly, desperately—tongue curling around him like I was trained for it, like my body remembers every command he’s ever given. Behind me he fucks deeper, rougher, every stroke striking a place inside me I thought had gone quiet forever. He pulls his fingers free, wipes my spit across my ass, then slams back into me like I’ve said something unforgivable.
“I’ll make you forget,” he pants, voice breaking on the edge of something feral. “I’ll fucking burn the memory out of you.”
I nod—dazed, wrecked, nodding like a pretty little doll caught in his storm. “Yes, Rafe. Just—please—”
He slams me harder into the wall, teeth finding my shoulder now, sinking in with fresh intent.
The phone keeps playing. Nathan keeps moaning. But none of it reaches me anymore.
