"You know I fucking do."
I wait for her to run. I want her to. I want to give her a head start, chase her down, pin her against the wall.
But she doesn’t.
Instead, she moves—rocking against me, rolling her hips in a slow, devastating grind. My grip tightens, and she fucking moans, and that’s it. That’s the last snap of restraint I have.
I stand, lifting her with me, carrying her to my bed. Our bed.
I throw her down onto the mattress, tearing off her clothes and then mine. She looks up at me, eyes dark and hungry, lips swollen from kissing.
She dares me.
She tests me.
I crush my mouth to hers, dragging my teeth over her bottom lip before moving down, biting at the sensitive skin of her throat. She gasps, thighs squeezing around my waist.
I press my knee between her legs, forcing them open.
Claiming her.
My hands leave bruises. Marks she’ll feel tomorrow. And she likes it.
She fucking loves to hurt.
And I fucking love to hurt her.
My hands find her wrists, pinning her down, keeping her exactly where I want her. And still, she twists under me, but it’s just another one of her games. She wants me to overtake her.
She wants me to make her submit.
So I do.
I fucking do.
I take my time breaking her apart—holding her hands down, licking her nipples, dragging my teeth over her skin. Savoring every gasp, every whimper, every desperate push against me.
She slaps at me when I let her go for even one second, and I let her come undone before I grab her hair, yank her head back, and bite her neck.
She groans, shaking, panting, her hands clawing at me.
I welcome it.
Just when she looks like she got her way, I roll onto my back and pull her on top of me.
"Ride me."
I slap her ass hard—until she squeals, until my handprint blooms on her naked skin.
She looks at me like she’s won.
And maybe she has.
I don’t just want her.
I need her.
"You keep fucking pushing me," I growl, my voice barely holding together. "Do you really wanna see what happens when I stop holding back?"
