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The sound of his zipper echoes in the bathroom, followed by a slap on my arse cheek. I yelp, but it’s drowned by a moan when he enters me from behind.
I’m supposed to be sore, but the moment he’s fully sheathed inside me, I let out a small whimper.
“Fuck, I’ll never get tired of this,” he murmurs with obvious lust, then thrusts inside me with the rhythm of a madman.
I want the earth to open up and swallow me rather than feel the onslaught of both pleasure and pain.
All of a sudden, he tugs my head up by the hair and makes me stare at the stranger in the mirror.
Killian is behind me, tall like a god and sinister like the devil. His face is hard, his features dark with both lust and domination.
And me?
I’m bent over, being used and abused and utterly dominated by him, but instead of pain, my eyes shine with erotic pleasure. My lips are parted, and my nostrils are flaring.
His hold on my hair makes the scene even more disturbing. Wrong.
Carnal.
“Look at how much you want this, baby. You’re about to cry for it.” He slows his rhythm but deepens it until my hip bone hits the edge of the counter. “Next time, you don’t question that you’re mine, you don’t go around ghosting me for it, and you sure as fucking fuck do not push me away. Is that clear?”
I dig my nails into the marble, feeling every stroke, every burst of pleasure inside.
His teeth meet the flesh of my throat and he bites down, so hard that I shriek.
“Is that fucking clear, Glyndon?”
“No…” I glare at him in the mirror and he bites the spot next to it.
A sob leaves me this time, but the onslaught of pain adds to the friction his cock causes.
“We’ll try again. Is that fucking clear?”
“I don’t want to be yours.”
“Not your call to make.”
“I don’t want to lose myself,” I admit, tears gathering in my cheeks.
“You won’t.”
“How would I know? You’re getting your way with me.”
“It’s up to you whether I punish you and you don’t enjoy it or I actually bring you pleasure.” He rolls his hips and hits a spot inside me that whitens my vision for a brief second. “Say you’re mine, baby.”
I purse my lips, but the fight in me is long gone. I still murmur. “I’ll never be yours.”
“Terrible fucking mistake.” His rhythm turns berserker and it’s intense, so intense that I cry.
So intense that I wish I could die and orgasm at the same time.
But he makes me come again and again, demanding that I say the words.
I don’t.
He could kill me and I fucking wouldn’t.
This is the last part I have of myself, and I vehemently refuse to hand it over.
