Chapter 4 Caius #2
Did I imagine her hips pressing forward into my rapidly swelling cock?
Judging by the blush rising furiously over her face… no, no I did not.
“No.”
She tries to slide left, but I block her with a knee. Her pulse is wild now. She’s fighting the urge to claw at my face. I almost hope she does; I’d like to see her nails break skin.
Instead, she just looks at me—really looks.
“I’m not scared of you,” she lies.
I smile. “You should be.”
I reach down, close my fingers around her wrist. Not tight, not yet. She tries to jerk free, but I hold her, forcing her palm against the rough grain of the shelf behind her. Her hand is small, warm, but the muscle in her arm is stronger than I expected.
“You can hit me,” I say. “Scream, if you want.”
She doesn’t.
Instead, she spits in my face.
It’s a clean shot, right at the corner of my mouth. I taste the salt. The surprise freezes me a full second. Then I laugh. The sound is ugly, real. I wipe my cheek with the back of my hand, then lick it, slow, making sure she sees.
“Better,” I say.
I close the space between us, my mouth a breath away from her ear. “Next time, that spit will be on my cock as I shove it to the back of your throat, do you understand me, Ophelia?”
She shudders. I can feel her hate, thick enough to eat.
“You think this is the worst I’ve endured?” she says, teeth bared.
I press my thigh between hers, pushing her harder into the wood until I can see the imprint on her skin. “I think you’re dying for someone to fuck you.”
She bares her teeth. “Fuck you.”
“Not yet,” I say. “But soon.”
I let her go, just to see what she’ll do. She doesn’t run. She stands, breath ragged, face flushed, jaw set like stone.
My cock is so hard, I can barely think. I need to let her go before I do something against the rules.
“You’re mine,” I say, then step back.
She doesn’t even look at me as her chest heaves.
She stands there, hands clenched, eyes wide, and I see the future in her: a hundred nights like this, her body learning to anticipate the ways I’ll twist her, her mouth learning to say my name like a curse and a prayer.
“Not yours.” She repeats, just like last night and then tries to walk past me.
“You don’t get to leave,” I say.
Her mouth opens, ready to argue, but I don’t let her speak.
My control snaps. Just a taste. Before I can stop myself, I press her against the shelf again, pinning her with my body. The little gasp that falls from her lips almost has me coming undone. I slide my palm up her thigh, slow and unhurried, mapping the way her skin shudders under my hand.
She hisses, “Don’t—”
But I do. I push my fingers under the hem, find the edge of her panties. The fabric is thin, the elastic already frayed. I hook a finger under the band and pull until it bites into her skin.
She grabs my wrist, tries to pry me off. Her nails leave crescents in my flesh, but I don’t stop. If anything, I press harder.
“Please,” she whispers, but I can’t tell if it’s a plea to stop or keep going.
I tilt her chin up with my free hand, forcing her to look at me. “This is how you survive here, Morrow. You fight, or you take it.”
She glares at me, pure hatred, but she doesn’t look away.
I push inside her, two fingers, rough. She’s wet. That surprises us both. I can feel her body tense, trying to force me out, but I don’t let her. I curl my fingers, find the spot, and grind my palm against her clit.
She bucks, swears under her breath. I slap my hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. She screams anyway, but it’s swallowed by the shelves, deadened by the old wood and the secrets pressed into these walls.
I fuck her with my hand, relentless. Her thighs clamp around my wrist, trying to block me out, but I force them open. Her cunt clenches, hot and angry, but I’m stronger. I set the pace, and she has no choice but to follow.
Her breath is a hurricane in my palm, every exhale a new curse.
“You’re going to come for me,” I say, voice low, teeth bared. “Right here, where anyone could see.”
She shakes her head, but her body betrays her. She’s so close, I can feel the tremors start in her stomach, the ripple through her thighs.
I shove her harder against the shelf. A book falls, lands beside her foot. She almost collapses, but I hold her up with one arm, the other still fucking her.
She comes. It takes her by surprise, a shockwave that knocks the air from her lungs. Her eyes roll back, mouth open under my hand. I watch every second, memorize the shape of her pain and pleasure.
When she’s done, I don’t let go right away. I keep her pinned until she stops shaking.
Then I pull my hand out and wipe it on her skirt. I want her to remember this, every time she looks at the stain.
“You’re mine,” I grit out.
She sags against the shelf, one hand pressed to her mouth, the other clutching the wood like it’s the only thing holding her up.
I leave her there, ruined and radiant, her scent on my fingers and my name echoing through her head.
As I walk away, I hear her collapse to the floor, the books and her body hitting at almost the same time.
She didn’t break.
But I did.
I want more.
I want all of her.