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His bed. How many times had I dreamed about this exact thing happening? Granted, he was usually less angry in my fantasies, but this was good, too.
He climbed on top of me and ran his hands down my chest before tearing my shirt off the rest of the way. He straddled my legs, keeping them pinned as he unfastened my belt and yanked my pants down my thighs. When I tried to help, he just shoved my hands away, so eventually, I gave up and let him. I still didn't know what the hell was going on, but I was enjoying it too much to care beyond being concerned about him.
He started unbuckling his belt as well, and when I reached to unbutton his shirt, he let me. I pulled off his jacket, then the crisp black shirt underneath, and my hands trembled with familiar need as they explored his body. I was tentative at first, not really sure what he was willing to allow, since his moods were as unpredictable as any wild beast’s. He was all the more terrifying for his relative civility.
Terrifying, beautiful… the line was always blurry where he was concerned.
I had a bad feeling that somehow, even though I hadn't even been in that room for whatever had triggered his fury, it had something to do with me.
Although if this was how he wanted to take his anger out on me from now on, I was completely fine with that. Maybe I’d even have to find new ways of pissing him off.
"Roll over," he ordered.
I hesitated, because for a second, I wasn't sure if that was a genuine command or another crack about me being a dog. The hunters were full of them. When I took too long to obey for his liking, even if it had only been a second, Castor grabbed me by the arm and flipped me over. He was even stronger than he looked, and while I was used to him manhandling me in training, this was new. New, arousing, and confusing.
I got on my hands and knees, and when he reached into the bedside table’s drawer for something, it finally dawned on me what he was planning on doing. I felt a surge of panic and more arousal, because he was particularly adept at stirring seemingly contradictory responses in me.
"Did last time scare you off?" he taunted, his voice low and husky in my ear. "It’s not too late to run away, little pup."
Those words sent a chill down my spine, but not for the reasons they should have. "No," I mumbled. "I'm not scared."
It wasn't entirely true, but I was more afraid of missing out on another rare opportunity to be with him like this, even if it wasn't the way I had planned. I would take him however I could get him. However, whenever, wherever. It didn't matter if it was on the training room floor, in his bedroom, or on the fucking moon.
As agitated as he was, and knowing this was clearly an outlet for all his pent-up aggression, I was expecting him to just ram into me without preparation. I was pleasantly surprised, though still a bit unsettled, when I felt his fingers pressed against my entrance, slick with lubricant. He wasn't exactly gentle, though. Certainly not as much as he had been the first time. He barely took the time to spread the gel around the ring of muscle that was tightly clenched despite my best attempt to relax before he pushed two fingers at once into me, all the way up to the second digits.
A strangled cry escaped me before I could stop it, and I balled my fists up in his blankets. I bit down on my lower lip so I wouldn't embarrass myself any further, but when he pushed his fingers in the rest of the way and started thrusting, all that went out the window. I gave a pathetic whimper that made me want to crawl under a rock and die, but if he noticed, he didn't say anything. Probably not out of benevolence, but rather as a result of whatever hyper-focused trance he happened to be in.
I wasn't sure if he was focused on me, exactly, or if he was just getting something out of his system. Either way, being the center of his attention—as often as I had longed for just that—was intimidating, to say the least.
"Ow," I gritted out. "Do you have to be so rough?"
"Stop whining," he scolded, but he did slow down, and when he curled his fingers into me, the sensation of them pressing against my prostate was enough to make me forget and forgive everything else. I whimpered again for an entirely different reason, my hips bucking in response to his forceful, rhythmic thrusts.
His pillow had ended up underneath me somehow, so I ground against it desperately as he fucked me with his fingers, and even though the preparation only lasted for a minute, I was relieved when he pulled his fingers out because I was moments from coming.
Even though I knew he was only doing this as an outlet for his anger, feeling the brunt of his passion was at once exhilarating and overwhelming. I found myself thinking that if I could never be loved by him, maybe being hated by him was the next best thing. The only thing I couldn't handle was his apathy.
I heard him pouring out some more lubricant, and when I felt the head of his cock slip between my cheeks, a familiar thrill ran down my spine. There was also fear in equal measure, maybe even more than the last time, since I knew what to expect now—not just the pleasure, but the pain that came with it.
"Relax," Castor commanded, and for once, my body chose to disobey him. Instead, I grew tense as he pushed into me. Another cry tore from my throat, this one pure pain. It hurt so bad that I thought he had sheathed himself completely in me, only for him to mutter, "It's barely even the tip."
I groaned in response, burying my face in his other pillow since my arms had given out on me. I collapsed with my knees beneath me and my ass in the air, but how much dignity did I have left to lose?
“It feels bigger than last time.”
“No, you’re just tighter because you’re not in rut,” he said impatiently. “Stop clenching.”
“You know, telling me to relax doesn’t actually help, right?” I muttered. “If I could, I would, trust me.”
He gave a weary sigh. “Push against me.”
“What’s that going to do?”
“Eddie.”
Hearing my name said in the clipped tone he always used to correct me in the training room should have pissed me off, or at least put a damper on my arousal. Instead, it was just kerosene on a roaring flame.
“Fine,” I mumbled, doing as he said. Without warning, he thrust his hips to ram his cock in deeper, and it must have worked because he succeeded.
