Chapter Fourteen - Chloe
The drive to the estate is suffocating. I sit stiffly in the backseat of the sleek black car, my hands folded tightly in my lap as my wedding gown pools around me, the pristine fabric feeling more like a cage than the symbol of some joyous occasion.
Through the window, Barcelona shimmers in the night—alive, vibrant, and achingly out of reach. Its hum of freedom mocks me, a sharp contrast to the tension crackling in the enclosed space.
Erik sits beside me, calm and composed as always, his presence an oppressive force that fills the car. He hasn’t spoken since we left the church, and I haven’t dared to look at him. Not yet. The silence between us feels louder than any words.
When the car slows and finally stops, I glance out the window and feel my stomach drop. The estate is massive, its stone facade bathed in golden light. Every detail screams wealth and power, each one meticulously crafted to impress—and to intimidate.
Erik steps out first, his movements smooth and deliberate. He turns to me, offering his hand. I hesitate, my gaze lifting to meet his. His blue eyes are sharp, unreadable, and for a moment, I consider refusing. But what would that accomplish?
I place my hand in his, the contact cold and impersonal. He helps me out of the car, my gown brushing the gravel as I step onto the driveway. My eyes flick over the estate, awe and dread warring within me.
“This way,” he says, his voice steady, unshaken.
I follow, my footsteps echoing as we cross the grand hall. Marble floors gleam beneath towering chandeliers, and every detail feels larger than life, designed to overwhelm. Erik strides ahead, unbothered, his presence commanding even in silence.
The winding staircase feels endless, each step tightening the knot in my stomach. By the time we reach the bedroom, I can barely breathe.
He pushes the door open, stepping aside to let me enter first. I walk in slowly, my heart sinking further as I take in the space.
It’s stunning. Lavish. The kind of room anyone else would envy. Plush rugs cover the floor, and the massive canopy bed is draped in fine linens. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook sprawling grounds bathed in moonlight.
I stand in the center of the room, every muscle in my body taut. The air feels thick, charged with something I don’t want to name.
The door closes with a soft click, and I flinch, my breath catching.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Erik’s voice cuts through the silence, calm and casual, as if this is just another night for him.
I don’t respond, my eyes darting to the windows, then the bed, my mind racing with thoughts I can’t control.
“Say something, Chloe,” he presses, taking a step closer.
My head snaps up, and for the first time, I meet his gaze fully. The fire in my chest ignites, fueled by anger and defiance. “What do you want me to say, Erik?” My voice trembles, bitterness dripping from every word. “That I’m impressed, even grateful?”
A faint smile plays on his lips, infuriatingly calm. “Honesty suits you.”
I glare at him, the fear in my chest momentarily eclipsed by rage. “You want honesty? Fine. I feel like a prisoner in a gilded cage. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
He steps closer, and the air shifts, his presence filling the room like a storm cloud. “You’re not a prisoner, Chloe,” he says evenly. “You’re my wife.”
The words send a chill down my spine, but I force a sharp, bitter laugh. “A wife who had no choice.”
“You always have a choice,” he counters, his voice dropping lower, almost a growl. “Choices come with consequences. You made yours the moment you ran.”
His words cut deep, and I look away, my jaw tightening as my hands ball into fists at my sides.
He steps closer still, his proximity unbearable. The tension between us is suffocating, the heat of his gaze burning into me.
“You’re mine now,” he says softly, the words laced with finality.
My head snaps up, and I spit the words before I can stop myself. “You don’t own me.”
His eyes darken, his expression hardening as he reaches out. His fingers brush a stray strand of hair from my face, the gesture almost tender, but it makes my skin crawl.
“Don’t I?” he asks, his voice a challenge and a promise all at once.
The room feels too small, the air too thick. My chest heaves as I fight to hold on to the last scraps of control, but every look, every touch from him threatens to pull me apart.
“Fighting me won’t change anything,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. “Accept it.”
I want to argue, to shout, to claw my way out of this suffocating reality. The words stick in my throat, drowned out by the storm raging inside me.
Slowly, as if moving through water, I reach for the buttons at the back of my gown. My hands tremble, the delicate fabric shifting under my touch.
Every button undone feels like a surrender, a small piece of myself slipping away.
When the gown slips from my shoulders, pooling at my feet, I stand exposed, vulnerable, and trembling. My arms fold instinctively across my chest, my chin lifting in defiance even as a faint blush burns across my cheeks.
“There,” I say quietly, my voice strained. “Is this what you wanted?”
Erik takes a step closer, his gaze sweeping over me, the intensity of it making my breath hitch.
“What I want,” he says softly, his voice steady, “is for you to stop fighting me. To accept what this is.”
I stare at him, my mind and body at war. Hatred and something else—a pull I can’t ignore—clash violently, leaving me raw and unsteady.
He reaches out again, his fingers brushing against my cheek. His touch is warm, possessive, and utterly inescapable.
Erik stands still, his piercing blue eyes locked on to mine as though he’s savoring the moment. The air between us is heavy, charged with something I can’t quite name—anger, defiance, and something deeper, darker. His gaze sweeps over me, and I feel my skin heat under the weight of it, every nerve ending alight with awareness.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, his voice low, a near-whisper that seems to crawl under my skin. There’s something almost tender in the way he says it, but an edge of possessiveness laces every word, turning what could have been a compliment into a claim.
I hate him for it.
I hate him for looking at me like I’m already his, for the way my heart pounds when his eyes linger too long. For the way my body betrays me, heat pooling low in my stomach despite the fury that still burns in my chest.
I take a step back, trying to put distance between us, but it’s useless. His presence fills the room, suffocating.
“Don’t,” I snap, though my voice is weak, trembling.
“Don’t what?” he murmurs, taking a deliberate step forward.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I manage, though my breath hitches when he closes the distance between us.
“Like what?” he presses, his tone deceptively soft as he reaches out, his hand brushing against my cheek. His touch is warm, almost gentle, and it sends an unwelcome shiver down my spine.
“Like you want to devour me whole,” I bite out, my words dripping with venom.
His lips curve into a faint smirk, his hand sliding down to tilt my chin upward. “Perhaps I do,” he says simply, his voice as unyielding as steel.
Before I can respond, his hand tightens, not enough to hurt but enough to hold me in place as he leans in. His lips crash against mine, rough and demanding, stealing the breath from my lungs.
I struggle at first, my hands pressing against his chest in a feeble attempt to push him away. He doesn’t relent. His other hand grips my waist, pulling me against him, his strength overwhelming.
The kiss is punishing, a battle of wills I know I can’t win. Yet, as his fingers dig into my skin, as his lips claim mine with a force that leaves no room for doubt, something in me shifts.
My body betrays me first, melting into his touch despite the war still raging in my mind. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him—yet I can’t deny the fire that sparks to life wherever he touches me.
He presses me back against the wall, his hand sliding up to tangle in my hair as he deepens the kiss. A gasp escapes me, and he takes full advantage, his tongue sweeping into my mouth with a possessive hunger that leaves me reeling.
I don’t know when my resistance falters, only that it does. My hands, once pushing him away, now clutch at his shoulders, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if to anchor myself.
“Erik,” I whisper, his name slipping from my lips before I can stop it.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his breath warm against my cheek. “Say it again,” he demands, his voice rough, his gaze dark and heated.
I shake my head, my pride flaring even as my body trembles with need. “No.”
His smirk returns, dangerous and predatory. “Still fighting me,” he murmurs, his hand trailing down to grip my hip. “I like that.”
He kisses me again, just as rough, just as consuming, and this time I don’t resist. The fire burning between us is impossible to ignore, and as much as I want to hate him, a part of me is drawn to him in a way I can’t explain.
I can feel his cock now, thick and hard against the inside of my thighs. It makes my mouth water, desire pooling low in my stomach.
His hands roam my body, his touch both possessive and intoxicating, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. I feel like I’m unraveling, every shred of control slipping away as he claims me with his hands. His cock twitches, hot even through our clothing.
“You want this, don’t you?” he whispers against my lips, his voice a growl.
Erik’s hand moves to my jaw, tilting my head up so his gaze can bore into mine. His thumb brushes over my bottom lip, his touch deliberate, claiming. “You fight so hard,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, the sound vibrating through me. “We both know how this ends.”
I want to deny it, to throw his words back in his face, but the fire in his eyes traps the words in my throat. The weight of his dominance, the unrelenting pressure of his presence—it’s suffocating, overwhelming, and yet, it sends a thrill coursing through me that I hate myself for feeling.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I whisper, my voice trembling, though I’m not sure if it’s fear or something else.
He leans in closer, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “You’re trembling,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl that sends a shiver through me. “It’s not fear, is it?”
I want to scream at him, to push him away, but my body betrays me. My pulse races, and when his hand skims over my waist, pulling me flush against him, I can’t stop the gasp that escapes me.
“Admit it,” he says, his voice laced with dark amusement. “You like this.”
I shake my head, the motion weak and unconvincing. “Y-yes,” I whisper, my voice breaking.
“Good,” he says, his lips grazing my neck, his breath warm against my skin. “I thought so.”
He moves lower, his hands sliding over my hips, gripping them possessively as his lips press against the hollow of my throat. The sensation sends sparks shooting through me, my body arching involuntarily toward him.
“Erik,” I manage, though I don’t know if it’s meant to stop him or urge him on.
He reaches down between our thighs, toying with the edge of my panties beneath my skirt. His fingers are thick and warm, sliding towards my entrance.
“Erik, what—”
“You said you wanted this, so you’ll get it.”
I can only gasp as he shoves me harder against the wall, undoing his belt buckle. His cock springs free, thick and already leaking pearly precum.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his blue eyes blazing. “Say my name again. I won’t give it to you until you do,” he commands, his voice dark and demanding.
I bite my lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction, but he smirks, as if he already knows he’s won. “Erik….”
“You’re mine, Chloe,” he says softly, his hands tightening on my hips. “Good girl.”
Then he delves past my entrance, parting my wet folds and I gasp. My back arches against him, and I can’t help the muffled cry that leaves my lips.
His lips crush against mine again, rough and consuming, and this time I don’t resist. My hands find their way to his shoulders, clutching at him as if he’s the only thing keeping me upright.
The kiss deepens, his tongue teasing against mine, and I can feel myself unraveling. He thrusts once, twice, claiming both my lips and my desperate pussy all at once.
I hate him. I hate him for what he’s done, for how he’s made me feel. I can’t deny the heat pooling in my core, the way my body responds to his every touch, as if it’s been waiting for this.
He pulls back just enough to speak, his lips grazing mine as he does. “You feel it, don’t you?”
“No,” I whisper, though the word is weak and unconvincing.
He chuckles softly, his hand trailing up my spine, sending shivers through me. “Liar.”
I clench my fists, my nails digging into his shoulders as I try to muster the strength to fight him. When his lips find the sensitive spot just below my ear, a quiet moan escapes me, betraying everything I’m trying to hide.
Erik quickens his pace, rutting me against the wall until I’m sucking in great lungfuls of air. My walls clench around him, and God, I’m so close already it’s embarrassing.
“There it is,” he murmurs, his voice like silk. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”
“I hate you,” I whisper again, though my voice is softer now, trembling with something I don’t want to name.
“Keep saying it,” he replies, his lips curving into a smirk against my skin. “It won’t change anything.”
He presses me harder against the wall, his hands roaming with a confidence that makes my breath hitch. His broad hands slide beneath my blouse; I both curse and am thankful that I’m not wearing a bra, because he grabs me and skims a teasing thumb across my pert nipple.
The roughness of his touch, the sheer dominance in the way he moves—it should scare me. Instead, it ignites something I can’t control.
I don’t know how long we stay like this, the air between us is electric. His lips trail over my jaw, my neck, my collarbone, and every touch leaves me trembling, torn between defiance and surrender.
I come with a cry, so overstimulated that it rolls over me all at once. I don’t see it coming. The orgasm hits me, my whole body tensing as pleasure ricochets through my entire being—
And I think Erik comes too, pumping me full as his hand grips my breast tighter. He grunts, and it sounds like it could have almost been my name. Except I’m so thoroughly ravaged that I can hardly form the thoughts, even as his back arches and his cock pulses inside me.
When he finally pulls back, his hands still gripping me, I’m breathless, my chest heaving as I try to steady myself.
His gaze sweeps over me, dark and victorious. “That’s enough for tonight,” he says, his voice low and commanding.
Before I can respond, he releases me, stepping back. The sudden absence of his touch leaves me reeling, my legs weak beneath me.
I slide down the wall, collapsing onto the floor as I try to catch my breath. My hands shake as I press them to my face, my heart racing as I process what just happened.
Erik stares down at me, his expression unreadable. He fixes himself back into his pants, leaving the belt loose.
“Remember this moment, Chloe,” he says softly, his tone more serious now. “You can fight me all you want, but in the end, we both know you enjoyed this as much as I did.”
With that, he turns and walks away, leaving me crumpled against the wall, my body betraying me in ways I never thought possible.
“Now, let’s get you to bed, hmm?”