"There is no us." She meets me thrust for thrust, nails scoring my back, drawing lines of fire. "There's only you taking. Always taking."
I grab her jaw, forcing her eyes to mine. "Look at me. Look at me when you come."
Her gaze locks onto mine, brown and endless and devastated. I drive harder, deliberately angling so the thick ridge of my cock drags against that spot inside her with every stroke. "That's it. You're taking me so well. Such a good girl for me."
She clenches violently around my cock at the words, a helpless whimper slipping out. I smile against her mouth. "Yeah? You like that? Being my good girl?"
"Yes," she gasps before she can stop herself. The admission makes her wince, but her hips snap up to meet mine harder.
"Good girl," I growl, and her whole body shudders. "That's my girl. Taking every inch because you were made for it. So fucking perfect."
I release her wrists and slide my hand between us, thumb circling her clit in tight, relentless strokes. "Come for me. Show me how good it feels when I praise you."
She breaks with a ragged cry, pussy pulsing around me in tight, rhythmic spasms. I don't let up. I keep fucking her through it, thumb still working her clit."There you go. That's my good girl. Give me another one."
Her second orgasm hits harder. She sobs my name, thighs shaking around my hips, slick soaking the sheets beneath us. The sight of her lost like this snaps the last thread of my control.
I strike.
My teeth sink into the juncture of her neck and shoulder, breaking skin, and she comes again, harder still, body bucking as the bond locks into place—permanent, irreversible.
My knot swells and locks us together. I flood her in thick, hot pulses, growling against the fresh mark as I fill her.
We collapse in a tangle of sweat-slick limbs. For a long moment I stay buried deep, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other stroking slow circles down her spine.
Minutes pass. Her breathing slows from frantic to uneven. When the knot starts to soften, I ease out carefully, watching every wince that crosses her face. She doesn't say anything, just turns toward the bed.
I catch her wrist before she can stand.
"Stay." My voice is rough but quieter now. I reach for the towel she'd used earlier, dampen it with water from a water bottle on the table, and gently clean between her thighs. She flinches at the first touch, but I keep my strokes slow and careful, murmuring, "Easy. Let me take care of you."
When I'm done, I press a kiss to the inside of her knee, then move up to the bite on her neck. I lick the wound clean with slow, deliberate strokes of my tongue, sealing it the way my instincts demand. "You did so well for me," I whisper against her skin. "So strong. So beautiful. My curvy girl. I love this body. This perfect body."
She doesn't answer, but she doesn't pull away either. I pull her back against my chest, one arm banded around her waist, and reach for another water bottle. "Drink, baby girl."
She hesitates, then takes it. I watch her throat work, then sets aside when she's finished.
"I'm still leaving," she says eventually, voice hoarse.
"I know." I press my lips to the top of her head, breathing her in. "But not tonight. Tonight you're mine to look after."
"No, I'm not," she says. Her voice is quiet. Controlled. The flat affect terrifies me more than her screaming. "You think you fixed us, when what you really did was ruin us."
"Sharma—"
"You absolute, pathetic idiot." She slides off the bed, movements mechanical. "You think that changes anything? You think biting me, fucking me, forcing this moment—"
"I didn't force—"
"You did." She stresses with a violent jerk. "You carried me here. You pinned me down. You took my choice away the second you decided your need was more important than my choices."
I sit up; the sheets draping my waist. "You wanted it. Your body—"
"My body betrays me every second I'm near you." She spits the words. Her eyes aren't wet anymore. They're dry and hot and final. "That's the bond, Roan. That's not consent. That's not trust. It's chemistry."
She pins me with an expression I've never seen directed at me before—not anger, not hatred. Pity, mixed with resignation. "You just destroyed any chance we had," she says. "Any foundation. Any possibility that I might have looked at you tomorrow and thought, 'Maybe he's different. Maybe he grew up.' But you didn't grow. You haven't changed a single bit."
"Sharma, listen—" Her words are terrifying me. Did I go too far? Hell no, the bond screams. She needed to know who she belongs to. The matter needed to be settled once and for all.
