12. Josie
Then without a second of warning, I heard the violent sound of fabric screaming. He reached down and gripped the back of my dress. He gave it a single brutal yank, and ripped the material clean down the middle.
The cold air hit my bare skin instantly, making me shiver as the ruined material fell away from my shoulders.
"You look so much better like this," he growled, his hand moving down to the small of my back.
He didn't stop there. I felt his fingers hook into the thin fabric of my underwear. I let out a small, choked gasp and tried to wiggle away, but he just pressed his knee harder into the back of my thighs.
"Don't even try it," he warned.
He ripped the lace away. I heard the fabric snap and tear as he tossed the ruined scraps onto the stairs beside us. Now there was nothing between his heat and my skin. I felt completely exposed, pinned to the stairs in the middle of his house.
He pressed his heavy chest into my bare back, pinning me flat against the carpeted step. I tried to wiggle my hips, to find some way out, but he just laughed, a low, dark sound that made my skin prickle.
"Still trying to fight?" he muttered.
He reached down, his large hand sliding over my hip. His fingers were rough against my skin. He moved his hand between my legs, pushing past my thighs until he found exactly what he was looking for.
I gasped, my face pressing harder into the carpet. I was slick and dripping, my body betraying me even while I tried to struggle.
He rubbed his fingers against me, "Look at this," he taunted, his voice dropping to a cruel hiss, "You're a needy little slut, aren't you?"
The word stung, making my face burn with shame, but the heat between my legs only flared hotter.
"You love this," he whispered, "You love being caught and used."
Before I could even try to pull away, he pulled his hand back.
Crack! The sound of his palm hitting my bare skin echoed through the quiet house.
He slapped my ass so hard I let out a sharp cry, the sting blooming like a fire across my skin.
It hurt, a stinging, throbbing heat that made my toes curl.
"Stay still," he ordered.
Crack!
He hit the other side just as hard. I sobbed, my skin was stinging and red, throbbing.
He grabbed my hair, tugging my head back just enough so he could bite the sensitive skin where my shoulder met my neck.
He shifted his weight, his knees forcing my legs even wider apart. I felt his hands grip my waist, his thumbs digging into my hips as he prepared to take exactly what he had hunted me for.
"You're not a virgin, are you?"
"No," I gasped, my face still buried in the carpet. I tried to sound brave, to sound like I knew what I was doing.
He let out a short, mean laugh that made my blood run cold, "Good," he whispered.
He didn't wait. He reached down, his large hand sliding between my thighs again. I tried to squeeze my legs shut, to keep him out, but he just shoved his knee deeper between mine, forcing me wide open.
He didn't use any gentleness. He just pushed one thick finger inside me.
I let out a choked cry. It was sudden and hard. I tried to arch my back, to pull away from the intrusion, but he used his other hand to grab my hair, tugging my head back to keep me down.
"Stay still," he growled.
He started moving his finger in and out, a fast, rough motion that didn't care if I was ready. I felt the friction, the way he was stretching me out, taking up space I hadn't given him. Every time I tried to wiggle away, he just pushed deeper, his knuckles rubbing against my skin.
He added a second finger, hooking them inside me and pulling back hard. The sensation was so strong, so intense, I had never felt anything like this before.
"Look at you," he taunted, "Tossing your hips like you’re begging for more."
He increased the pace, his fingers working me over. I was slick with my own heat, my skin flushed and burning. I couldn't move, couldn't run and I didn't want to.
Tristan didn’t care about being gentle. He ignored my small, pained gasps and pushed deeper, his fingers stretching me until I felt like I was going to split.
"Still want to fight me?" he grunted.
He shoved a third finger inside, the sudden fullness making my eyes snap wide. I tried to arch my back, my fingers clawing at the stair carpet, but he just slammed his chest down harder against my spine.
He started moving his hand faster, his knuckles rubbing hard against my sensitive skin. My resistance began to crumble, my muscles melting even as my mind tried to scream no.
I couldn't help it. A low, broken moan ripped from my throat, echoing off the high ceilings of the dark hallway.
"There it is," he taunted, his breath hot against the back of my neck, "Let me hear it again. Let me hear how much you love being forced like this."
He hooked his fingers, pulling back against me with a tug that made my hips jerk involuntarily. Another moan followed, louder this time, sounding more like a plea. I was shaking, my body vibrating under the sheer power of his hand.
He was fisting his hand into the carpet to keep his balance while he worked me over, his fingers sliding in and out with a wet, slapping sound that made my face burn with a mix of shame and desperate need.
I was a mess, dripping and trembling, completely at the mercy of the man who had promised to break me.
He hammered into me harder, his fingers driving deep and fast, forcing my body to react until I was sobbing his name into the stairs.
Tristan suddenly pulled his fingers out of me. The sudden emptiness made me gasp, my body still twitching from the friction. I stayed pinned to the stairs, my chest heaving against the carpet, my skin stinging and hot.
I didn't even have time to breathe before his hand was at my face. He grabbed my jaw, his thumb and fingers digging into my cheeks to force my mouth open.
"Open up," he ordered.
He shoved his wet fingers into my mouth, pushing them deep against my tongue.
"Taste that, Josephine," he taunted, his eyes locking onto mine as he watched me struggle. "That’s you. That’s how much you wanted this, even when you were trying to run away."
He moved his fingers around inside my mouth, forcing me to suck on them, to feel the slickness he had just pulled out of me.
It was degrading, a cold reminder of how easily he had broken me down and for some fucked up reason, I liked it.
He pulled his fingers out slowly, trailing them over my bottom lip. He looked at me like I was something he had finally conquered, a trophy he had stripped of all its pride.
"Now," he muttered, his hand moving to the belt of his trousers, "Let's see if you can handle the rest."
He kept my face shoved into the carpet of the stairs, I could hear the sharp clink of his belt hitting the marble and the sound of his zipper sliding down.
I tried to wiggle, to find some way to move, but he grabbed both of my wrists again. He pinned them high above my head, stretching my body out until I was completely open and helpless.
"Stay down," he growled.
I felt the tip of him press against me. He was huge, a solid, blunt force that made my breath hitch in my throat and then he pushed.
I let out a muffled scream into the carpet as he forced his way in. My muscles were tight, screaming against the sudden, massive intrusion. I tried to crawl away, my toes digging into the stairs, but he just gripped my hips with his free hand and yanked me back onto him.
"God, you're so tight," he hissed, his voice strained and rough.
He pushed harder, a slow shove that made my eyes water. I felt every inch of him stretching me, filling me up until I felt like I would break. I was shaking, my breath coming in moans.
He stopped for a second, his chest heaving against my back. He leaned down, his teeth grazing the back of my neck.
"Do you feel that, Josephine?" he whispered, "I'm barely even halfway in, and you're already shaking like a leaf. You wanted to see what I'm like? This is it."
I choked on a sob as he thrust into me. The fullness was overwhelming, a heavy, throbbing pressure that occupied every part of me. I felt like I couldn't even draw air into my lungs.
He didn't give me time to get used to the size. He started to move. He pulled back until he was almost out, then drove back in. Each thrust sent my head knocking against the step above me.
"You're taking all of it," he taunted, his hand leaving my wrists to slap my ass again. Crack! The sting made me jump, but I couldn't go anywhere. "Every bit of me. Tell me how it feels to have no choice. Tell me!"
I couldn't speak. I could only moan, a broken, messy sound that was lost in the vast, empty home.
Tristan then pulled me up, until the stairs felt hard and cold against my palms and knees. He reached down and grabbed a handful of my hair, winding it around his fist. He yanked my head back until I was looking up at the ceiling, my neck arched painfully.
"You like this?" he asked as he gave my hair another sharp tug, forcing my head back until I was staring blindly at the ceiling.
"Yes..." I choked out.
A slick sheen of sweat broke out across my skin. My heart was thumping against my ribs so hard it hurt.
"Say it louder," he ordered, "Tell me exactly what you are when I'm inside you."
I couldn't even think. My vision was swimming, and the only thing that felt real was the heat of him and the stretching ache that filled me up completely.
"I... I like it," I sobbed, my fingers curling into the rug. "Please, Tristan... don't stop."
He pulled back until he was almost gone, then slammed forward with everything he had. I let out a broken cry, my hands clawing at the step in front of me.
He used his free hand to reach for the ruined scraps of my red dress. He didn't care about the fabric. He gripped the collar and yanked it forward over my head, dragging it off my arms until it was gone.
"Get this garbage off you," he spat.
He reached for the clasp of my bra. Snapped it open and the lace gave way instantly. He peeled the cups back and threw the bra down the stairs, leaving me completely naked..I was shivering, my bare breasts pressed against the carpet of the stairs.
He increased the pace. Thud. Thud. Thud. Each thrust sent my body sliding forward, only for him to jerk me back by my hair. I was sobbing, my moans turning into gasps as he worked me over.
He let go of my hair and slammed both hands onto my hips, his thumbs digging into my hipbones to lock me in place. He started to drive into me even faster, a blur of motion that left me gasping for air.
The heat in my gut suddenly coiled tight, turning into a electric tension that I couldn’t fight anymore. My breath came in broken, high-pitched hitches as the pleasure began to overwhelm me.
"Tristan—" I gasped, my fingers digging into the carpet until my nails stung.
I felt it coming, a wave of white-hot pressure that made my entire body go rigid. My inner muscles clamped down around him, squeezing him. I let out a long, shattered cry as the orgasm ripped through me, waves of intense feeling crashing over my skin.
My thighs started to shake violently. They felt like jelly, wobbling and weak as the sensitivity hit a peak that was almost too much to bear. Every nerve in my body was screaming.
But Tristan didn’t stop.
He ignored my trembling and kept driving into me, his pace turning even more brutal. He used his heavy weight to pin my shaking legs down, forcing me to take every hard, rhythmic thud even though I was already spent.
"Please," I sobbed, my head tossing from side to side. "I’m... I’m too sensitive. Tristan..."
The friction against my sensitive skin was agonizing and incredible at the same time. Every thrust sent a fresh jolt of electricity through my core, making my muscles twitch and my toes curl against the marble.
I was a mess of sweat and tears, completely broken open on his stairs, while he continued to hammer into me like he was trying to leave his mark on my very soul.
Tristan finally pulled out of me with a wet, sudden slide that left me gasping and empty on the cold stairs. I slumped against the step, my body still humming from the climax, my thighs shaking so hard I couldn't even keep them still.
Tristan suddenly pulled out of me. The loss of his heat was a shock that made my body shiver. My thighs were still wobbling, and my skin was damp with sweat as I slumped against the step.
"Get up," he ordered.
He didn't wait for me to move. He grabbed my arm and hauled me up until I was kneeling on the landing of the stairs. He stood over me, tall and powerful, looking down at me.
I looked up at him, my hair a mess and my chest heaving. He reached out and wound his fingers into my hair, his fist tight against my scalp. He used the grip to tilt my head back, forcing me to look up at him.
He started to stroke himself right in front of my face, his movements fast. I watched him, my breath hitching in my throat. I felt incredibly exposed, naked and messy on his stairs, but a new wave of heat flooded my chest.
I felt powerful in my surrender, erotic and more turned on than I had ever been in my life because seeing him like this, it did something to me.
Ever since I’d met him, Tristan had been the wall.
He was reserved, dark, and brooding, always keeping the world at an arm’s length with his silence.
Seeing that wall completely crumble, watching a man as powerful and composed as him become this depraved and primal.
.. it turned me on more than anything else ever could.
I was seeing the real him, the part he kept locked away, and I was the one he was sharing it with.
"That's it," he groaned, his grip on my hair tightening as his pace quickened, "Look at me while I do this."
"Open your mouth, Josephine," he rasped, his eyes dark and hungry, "Stick your tongue out. Show me how much you want to taste what you've done to me."
I parted my lips, my heart thundering against my ribs as I looked up at him with wide, hooded eyes.
As he continued to stroke himself, his pace turning fast and frantic, I reached down. I started to touch myself, my fingers sliding over my own slick, sensitive skin. I moaned, the sound muffled as I leaned forward to meet him, my tongue flicking out to taste the salt and heat of him.
"That's it," he hissed, his jaw clenching tight. "Good little whore."
I worked my fingers against myself, my body arching toward him as I watched the muscles in his stomach ripple.
Suddenly, he let out a low growl. His hand tightened in my hair, pulling my head back even further.
"Don't move," he ordered.
Then, he finished.
It was a hot, heavy rush. I gasped as it hit my face, the heat of it startling me. It spread everywhere, thick and white across my tongue as I tried to take him in, splattering over my nose and my forehead. I felt a drop slide over my eyelid, making me blink, and another trail down my cheek.
He stood over me, his chest still heaving, looking down at the mess he’d made on my face. His eyes were darker than I’d ever seen them, stripped of every bit of that cold, polite mask he usually wore.
He tightened his grip on my hair, tilting my head back even further until I was staring straight up at him.
He took his cock, and began to rub it slowly across my skin. I gasped as I felt the heat of him smearing the wetness over my cheeks and across my forehead. He dragged himself over my nose and across my closed eyelids, making sure every inch of my face was coated in him.
He pressed himself against my lips, forcing me to feel the slick friction of his skin against mine. I reached up, my fingers still trembling, and gripped his thighs to keep my balance on my knees.
Seeing him like this, this man who usually kept everyone at a distance, who acted like he was above these kinds of primal urges being so unashamedly depraved was the most erotic thing I’d ever experienced.
He rubbed the tip of his cock against my bottom lip, smearing the heat there before pulling back just enough to look me in the eye.
Tristan finally let go of my hair, his fingers sliding slowly through the strands as he stepped back. I stayed there on my knees, my chest heaving, my face still slick and warm with the mess he’d made of me.
He reached down, his large hand cupping my jaw. He tilted my head up, his thumb dragging across my bottom lip, smearing the wetness there. For the first time all night, the harsh lines of his face softened into something that looked almost like pride.
"You did so good, Josephine," he murmured, "Better than I thought you would."
The praise hit me harder than the slaps had. It made my stomach flip, a sweet, aching heat spreading through my limbs.
"You took every bit of it," he continued, his gaze raking over my naked body, "Most women would have broken before I even started. But you... you stayed right there with me."
He didn't look away from the ruin he had made of my face.
"But next time," he whispered, his eyes darkening, "I want you to fight me more. I want you to scratch, and kick, and scream 'no' until your throat is raw. I want to feel you struggling against me with everything you have."
He moved his hand from my jaw to my throat, his grip firm but not choking.
"Do you understand?"
I couldn't even nod. I just stared at him, my breath hitching. The way he looked at me like I was the most precious and the most disposable thing in his world all at once made me feel more alive than I ever had with Harrison.
He stepped back, and then without a word, he adjusted his clothes. I watched, breathless and trembling, as he tucked himself back into his dark trousers and zipped them up.
Then, he leaned down. He didn't say anything as he hooked one arm under my knees and the other behind my back. He lifted me easily, my naked, marked body feeling fragile against the rough fabric of his button-down shirt.
"Let’s get you cleaned up," he murmured.
He carried me the rest of the way up the stairs and into the massive master bathroom. The room was all cold stone and glass. He set me down gently on the edge of the deep marble tub and turned on the shower.
The sound of the water filling the room was peaceful. Tristan didn't leave. He stripped off his own shirt and tossed it aside, then grabbed a soft, white washcloth. He soaked it in the warm water and knelt between my shaking knees.
He began to wipe my face. He was incredibly careful, his large, calloused hands moving with a gentleness that made my heart ache.
He wiped the mess from my forehead, my nose, and my cheeks, rinsing the cloth often.
He cleaned the corners of my eyes and my lips until my skin felt fresh and warm again.
"Does it hurt?" he asked, his thumb grazing the red marks on my wrists where he had pinned me so hard.
"A little," I admitted, my voice small.
He didn't apologize. That wasn't who he was. Instead, he leaned forward and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to each of my wrists.
He stood up and helped me into the steaming spray of the shower, stepping in behind me to soap my back.
He stayed right there in the shower with me, the water soaking through his expensive trousers until they clung to his muscular legs, but he didn't seem to care.
He reached for a bottle on the shelf, "Lean back," he murmured.
I leaned my head back into his large chest, closing my eyes as I felt his strong fingers sink into my hair. He wasn't grabbing or pulling now. He was massaging my scalp with a slow pressure that made my toes curl for a completely different reason. It felt incredible.
When he rinsed it, he cupped his hand over my forehead to keep the soapy water from stinging my eyes.
When I thought he was done, he reached for the conditioner.
He smoothed the thick cream through my hair, detangling the knots from where he’d fisted his hands earlier.
He was so meticulous, so patient. It was hard to believe this was the same man who had just ripped my dress in half and pinned me to the stairs.
This Tristan was sweet. He was romantic in a way that felt deeper than flowers or dinner. He was taking care of the mess he had made, making sure I felt safe again.
"Look at me, Josephine," he said quietly.
I turned in his arms, the water sluicing down between us. He leaned down and pressed a slow, tender kiss to my forehead, then another to the tip of my nose.
I rested my head against his bare shoulder, breathing in the scent of the soap and the man. For the first time in nine days, the hollow ache in my chest was gone. He was back, and even though he was dangerous, being in his arms felt like the only place I was ever meant to be.
Tristan let the water run over us for a few more minutes, his hands resting on my shoulders as the steam calmed the last of my tremors. He gently nudged me toward the corner of the large shower where the spray didn't hit as hard.
"Stay here," he murmured.
I watched him as he quickly washed himself. The water slicking back his dark hair and sliding down the hard muscles of his back. Seeing him like this, completely relaxed and focused only on the water, it was hard to reconcile him with the man who had just used me so roughly on the stairs.
Once he was finished, he stepped out and grabbed two plush, white towels. He wrapped one around his waist and used the other to gently pat me dry. He was so thorough, making sure I was warm and dry before he reached for a clean, oversized black T-shirt from a nearby shelf.
He slid it over my head. The fabric was soft and smelled exactly like him, spicy, clean, and masculine. It hung halfway down my thighs, swallowing my frame.
Without saying a word, he scooped me up again. He carried me into the bedroom, where the dim golden light from the bedside lamps made the room feel cozy and safe. He laid me face down on the silk sheets.
"Wait here," he said.
He returned a moment later with a small tube of clear, soothing gel. He sat on the edge of the bed beside my hip. I felt the bed dip under his weight as he gently lifted the hem of the T-shirt, exposing the red, stinging skin of my backside.
I winced slightly, the memory of the slaps still fresh.
He squeezed a bit of the cool gel onto his fingers and began to apply it.
The cold sensation hit my burning skin, and I let out a long, shaky sigh of relief.
He rubbed it in with slow, circular motions, his touch incredibly light and careful.
He didn't rush. He focused on every red mark, his fingers moving with a tenderness that made my heart ache.
"It’ll feel better in the morning," he promised.
He kept rubbing even after the gel was gone, his hand just resting there. I felt the last of the adrenaline leave my body, replaced by a comfortable exhaustion. For the first time tonight, I felt like I could finally close my eyes and just breathe.
"If you walk away again, especially after what you just did to me, I swear to God, I’ll kill you," I whispered.
I meant every word.
A low, dark vibration of a laugh pulled from his chest as he leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear. "Never," he promised, his grip tightening just enough to let me feel his strength one last time, "I'm never letting you go again, Josephine. Not even if you beg me to."