Chapter 12 #2
Belle straightened slowly, pulling her jeans up with shaking hands. Her breath came uneven, her gaze locked on mine like she expected retaliation.
I walked around the desk instead. Circled until I stood in front of her.
Blocked her exit without touching her.
My eyes felt like ice. I could feel the shift—the mask sliding back into place, colder and sharper than before. The kind of detachment that made opponents hesitate on the ice.
The kind that made grown men flinch.
She didn't flinch.
She met my gaze head-on, chin lifted despite the tremor in her jaw.
Brave.
Stupid.
Both.
I stepped closer. Crowded her space until the desk bit into her spine and my shadow swallowed hers.
"If you want to run that mouth," I said, voice soft and lethal, each word deliberate, "I have something better to keep it occupied."
Her breath caught.
I gripped her chin, fingers firm, tilting her face up until she couldn't look anywhere but at me.
Eye contact.
Inescapable.
"You think I'm alone?" I murmured, searching her face for the crack, the moment her certainty would falter. "You're the one on your knees in my house, Belle."
Her eyes flashed—defiance, hurt, something dangerously close to tears.
But she didn't look away.
I tightened my grip, just enough to make her feel it.
"Say it again," I dared her, my voice dropping lower. "Tell me how desperate you are. Tell me how much you hate being here."
Her lips parted.
I waited.
Wanted her to fight.
Wanted her to break.
Wanted something that would prove she wasn't the only one bleeding in this room.
The air between us went thick with the kind of silence that came before something broke. Her breath hitched, fast and shallow, her chest rising against the edge of the desk. I could see the pulse in her throat, the way her fingers dug into the wood like it could save her.
It couldn’t.
Nothing could.
I unzipped my jeans. Didn’t rush. Didn’t hesitate. The sound cut through the room like a blade—sharp, final, the kind of noise that made her flinch before she could stop herself.
My cock was already hard. Thick. Heavy with the kind of need that had been building since she walked into my study like she had any right to be there.
I wrapped my hand around the base, gave it a slow stroke just to watch her react.
Her eyes flicked down.
Widened.
I saw the moment realization hit—what was about to happen, what she couldn’t stop, what she’d earned with that smart mouth of hers.
“Open,” I said.
Her lips pressed into a line. Defiance, even now. Even when she had to know how this ended.
I tightened my grip on her chin, fingers digging in just enough to make her gasp. “Open your mouth, Belle.”
She didn’t move.
I leaned in, my voice a blade against her skin. “And if you bite me, I swear to God, I’ll get your father sent back to the hospital so fast, you’ll belong to me forever to pay off his debts.”
Her breath stuttered. Fear flashed in her eyes—real, sharp, the kind that cut deeper than anger ever could.
I didn’t wait.
I shoved my cock past her lips, forcing her mouth open. The head hit the back of her throat, and she gagged, her body jerking against the desk. Her hands flew up, fingers clutching at my wrists, but I didn’t let her push me away.
“That’s it,” I murmured, my voice rough. “Take it.”
She made a broken sound, half protest, half something else—something that made my grip tighten.
I thrust deeper, watching her eyes water, watching her throat work around me. Her nails dug into my skin, but she didn’t fight. Not really.
She knew better.
She knew exactly what happened when she pushed me.
And she knew—just like I did—that this wasn’t about her.
This was about me.
About control.
About proving that no matter how much she thought she understood, she didn’t.
Not yet.
Her throat clenched around me, tight and hot, and fuck if that didn’t make my hips jerk forward.
I groaned, low and rough, watching her eyes water as I hit the back of her throat again.
Her nails dug into my wrists, sharp little crescents of pain that only made me harder.
She wasn’t fighting—not really—but she wasn’t submitting either.
That fire in her gaze, the way her tears cut tracks down her cheeks, the way her body trembled with rage and something else, something darker—it was perfect.
I tightened my grip in her hair, pulling just enough to make her whimper around me. "Look at you," I murmured, voice rough. "Taking me so fucking well."
Her eyes flashed, furious and bright, but she didn’t pull away.
Couldn’t. Not with my hand fisted in her hair, not with the way I controlled every inch of this.
I thrust deeper, watching her throat work, feeling the way her body tensed beneath me.
She gagged, a broken sound that sent a jolt straight to my spine.
"Bet you're wet," I growled, my voice dropping lower. "Bet you hate yourself for it."
Her fingers twisted in the fabric of my shirt, clutching like she was drowning. I could see it—the way her breath hitched, the way her body betrayed her even as her mind screamed no. She hated this. Hated me. And fuck if that didn’t make it better.
I pulled back just enough to let her breathe, watching her gasp, her lips swollen and red. "You love this," I lied, because it was easier than admitting the truth—that I did. That the way she fought me, the way she hated me, made this the only thing that felt real.
Her tears fell faster, dripping onto her chest, her throat working as she tried to catch her breath.
I didn’t give her time. I shoved back in, deeper this time, feeling her throat flutter around me.
Her nails raked down my arms, but she didn’t push me away.
She just took it, her body trembling, her breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps.
I was close. Too close. My spine tightened, my balls drawing up, and I knew I wasn’t going to last. I wanted to come down her throat, wanted to feel her swallow every fucking drop, but no—this was better. This was hers.
I pulled out with a rough groan, my cock thick and aching in my hand. She coughed, her chest heaving, her eyes wide and wet. I stroked myself once, twice, watching her face, the way her breath hitched as she realized what was coming.
Hot and thick, stripping across her cheeks, her lips, her chin. She flinched, her eyes squeezing shut, but she didn’t move. Didn’t wipe it away. Just sat there, trembling, her breath coming in sharp little gasps as my release marked her.
I watched her, my chest heaving, my grip on her hair loosening just enough to let her feel the difference. She was still. Too still. Her tears mixed with my come, dripping down her face, and fuck if that wasn’t the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
I leaned in, my voice a murmur against her ear. "Good girl."
She shuddered.
I released her, stepping back just enough to see the full picture—her flushed skin, her swollen lips, the way my come glistened on her face. She didn’t move to wipe it away. Didn’t look at me. Just sat there, her hands clenched into fists in her lap, her breath coming too fast.
I tucked myself back into my jeans, zipping up slowly. "Clean yourself up," I said, my voice calm. "Then come to bed."
She didn’t answer.
"Oh, and Belle?" I stopped at the door. "Don't fucking test me."
I didn’t wait.
I turned and walked out, leaving her there in the study, marked and trembling and mine. The door clicked shut behind me, soft and final.
I didn’t look back.