6
Linnéa woke to the feeling of fingers between her legs.
She was lying on her stomach, face pressed into the pillow, one of Isak’s heavy arms draped over her back. His fingers moved slowly through her folds — lazy, deliberate strokes that had clearly been going on for some time. She was already wet. Shame burned hot in her chest.
“Don’t,” she mumbled into the pillow, voice rough with sleep.
Isak’s low chuckle vibrated against her shoulder.
“Too late,” he murmured. “Your body woke up before you did.”
He pushed two fingers inside her without warning. She gasped, hips jerking. He was already hard against her thigh, thick and insistent. Without another word, he pulled his fingers out and replaced them with his cock in one smooth thrust. He didn’t give her time to adjust. He simply started moving — deep, rolling strokes that made the bed creak and her breath hitch.
This time there was no wall. No bathtub. Just the soft sheets and his body covering hers completely. One hand fisted in her hair, holding her down, while the other slid beneath her to rub slow circles over her clit.
“You’re going to come like this,” he told her, voice low against her ear. “Face down. Taking me. Like you were made for it.”
Linnéa bit the pillow to muffle the sounds trying to escape her. She hated how easily her body responded now. Hated the way her cunt clenched around him every time he spoke to her like that.
Isak leaned down and bit the side of her neck — not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to leave a mark.
“Say it,” he ordered.
She shook her head.
He pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in, making her cry out.
“Say it, Linnéa.”
“I—” Her voice broke. “I belong to you.”
The words tasted like defeat.
Isak groaned, low and satisfied. He fucked her harder after that, the hand in her hair tightening. When she came, it was with a broken sound muffled by the pillow, her body shaking beneath him. He followed soon after, burying himself deep and coming with a rough sound against her neck.
For a long moment, he stayed inside her, breathing hard.
Then he slowly pulled out and rolled her onto her back. He looked down at her — at her flushed face, her trembling body, the fresh mark on her neck. Something dark and possessive moved through his eyes.
He brushed his thumb over her lower lip.
“You’re getting better at that,” he said quietly.
Linnéa turned her head away, but he simply gripped her chin and made her look at him again.
Later, after he had washed her in the shower and dressed her himself in a soft sweater and loose trousers, he made her sit on his lap while they ate breakfast in the large kitchen overlooking the water.
He fed her pieces of fruit with his fingers and made her lick the juice from his skin. Every time she tried to pull away or close her mouth, he simply waited — patient, immovable — until she obeyed. The control was quiet, but absolute.
When she finally finished eating, he wiped her mouth with his thumb and studied her face.
“You’re quieter today,” he observed.
Linnéa stared at the table. “What do you want me to say?”
“Anything honest.”
She was quiet for a long time before she spoke.
“I don’t know who I am anymore.”