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“Fuck you,” I spit as his hand tightens, and with his free hand, he penetrates me with two fingers that delve into my slick heat. Again, and again, he pumps them faster, harder.
“Come. Now. I want it. Give me all your fucking pleasure. It’s mine. It always has been,” Archer rasps his command, and I smile.
“I don’t come on command,” I tell him, but I can feel my orgasm nearing, pulsing through me like a wave about to crash. And somewhere along the past few moments, desire and anger have joined forces, and I want to punch him. I want to hurt him for leaving me, but I can’t move.
“You will. Because when I’m done with your body, the only man who will bring you pleasure is me,” he vows, pulling me to the bed and bending me over at the waist. I hear the hiss of a zipper, then the blunt head of his cock is at my entrance, but he doesn’t fuck me.
Instead, he trails it along my seam. Wetting the tip with my juices, he taunts me, causing me to move back, hoping to get him inside, but Archer knows me. He knows my body. He grips my hip with one hand and his cock with the other as he inches in, then pulls out completely, again and again, until I’m clawing at the bed.
“Fuck me, Archer, just fuck me,” I beg. I’m pleading like a wanton slut, but I don’t give a shit. I need him inside me.
“This” — he spanks my ass hard, causing me to yelp — “is mine.” It’s a vow, one thing I don’t refute. “And this.” He sinks into me in one long, brutal thrust, bottoming out inside my tightness. “Is mine too.”
His hips move, violently. His fingers fist my long, dark hair as he tugs me backward. This isn’t making love. This isn’t affection. This is a reminder that I do belong to him. A violent, forceful need that burns through him, and as he fucks me into the bed, I know it, I feel it, I accept it.
“You’re mine, Mara. You always have been,” he grunts. My pussy tightens, flutters around his thickness. “You always will be.” My nails dig into the mattress as I cry out in pleasure. As his cock hits my cervix, the pain, the euphoria, everything crashes down around me as Archer’s body falls on mine, cocooning me in warmth as he empties his seed into my nonexistent womb.
Chapter 22
Archer
I spend the next few days recovering from my impromptu surgery with Samara and Hunter’s help. The latter’s care is given rather reluctantly. It’s something I’m glad of because I don’t want him here. He’s touched my woman, and it makes my skin crawl. If I’m not sleeping, I’m fucking Samara—being balls deep inside her heals me better than any lengthy period of rest can. It mends my soul from all the wrong I’ve done. I’ll never be able to fully clear my conscience of the acts I’ve committed, and I still have large gaps in my memory, which suggests my brain doesn’t want me to remember them. All I can do now is help bring down Rebekah Ward and the rest of the doctors who made me the monster I was.
Mara leads me up the stairs and out of the dungeon for the first time. Hunter is sitting in a lounge area on a battered leather sofa, scowling at me. I notice his hand is close to his gun. He’ll never trust me. If I had a weapon, I don’t doubt I’d be in exactly the same stance, so I shrug it off and wrap my arm around Samara’s shoulders to bring her closer to me. It’s possessive. If I was a wild animal, I’d piss on her to let him know just who owns her, but that’s not my kink, so having her plastered to my side whenever he’s around will have to do.
“What’s he doing up here?” Hunter lifts his chin at Samara.
“He’s healed.” She leads me toward a desk in the middle of the room covered in papers and a laptop while she speaks. “We’re going to continue with the plan. It’s time to bring the rest of them down.”
“He a part of it now?” Hunter gets to his feet and stalks over to the table. He places his hands down on the papers to cover them.
“Of course, he is.” Mara furrows her brows together. “Hunter, we discussed this. He was being controlled. We removed that. He’s his own person now.”
“Years of doing the things he did will leave scars.” The man snarls at me. I don’t flinch or deny his accusation. Because it’s true. I’ve got scars upon scars, but so has Samara. She’s survived this and come out the other side stronger. I’m going to do the same.
