Chapter 19 #2
"Tell me you want me to get you pregnant," he growled against my breast, his teeth grazing my nipple before he sucked hard enough to make me whimper.
His other hand slid down, his fingers replacing mine, thrusting inside me with a rough, possessive rhythm.
"Say it, Belle. Say you want my come breeding you. Say you want to carry my child."
I shook my head, my fingers clawing at his wrist, but my body betrayed me—my hips lifting into his touch, my breath hitching as his thumb pressed against my clit. "No—I—"
"Liar." His voice was a dark, velvety command, his lips trailing down my stomach, his breath hot against my skin. "Your cunt is dripping for it. Your body knows what it wants. Now say it."
His fingers curled inside me, hitting that spot that made my vision blur, my back arching off the wall. "Please—"
"Please what?" He bit down on the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, his teeth sharp, his tongue soothing the sting a second later. "Use your words, Belle. Tell me what you want."
I swallowed hard, my throat tight, my body trembling on the edge. "I—I want—"
"You want my come," he murmured, his lips brushing against my ear, his voice a dark promise. "You want me to fill you up, to breed you, to make you mine in every way possible. Say it."
His fingers worked me relentlessly, his thumb circling my clit, his mouth hot against my skin. My body was a live wire, every nerve alight, every breath a gasp. "Yes—yes, I want it—"
"Louder." His grip on my throat tightened, just enough to make my pulse race, my voice break. "I want to hear you beg for it."
"Please," I gasped, my hips jerking against his hand, my body so close to the edge I could taste it. "Please, Gideon—I want it—I want you to—"
"To what?" His voice was a growl, his lips brushing against mine, his breath hot and demanding.
"To breed me," I whispered, the words tasting like shame and need and something darker, something I couldn’t name. "I want you to get me pregnant. I want your come. I want—"
"You want to be mine." His voice was rough, possessive, his fingers still working me, his body pressing me against the wall. "Say it."
"Yours," I gasped, my body trembling, my release so close I could feel it coiling tight inside me. "I’m yours—"
"Good girl." His mouth crashed against mine, his kiss brutal and hungry, his fingers driving me over the edge. "Now scream my name. Do it."
"Oh, Gideon," I moaned. "Gideon!"
My body convulsed, my back arching, my scream muffled against his lips as the pleasure tore through me, sharp and overwhelming.
He didn’t stop.
His fingers kept moving, drawing out every last shudder, every gasp, until I was boneless against the wall, my breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps.
"Again," he murmured, his voice dark and commanding. "You’re going to come again, Belle. And this time, you’re going to scream my name so loud the whole fucking house hears it."
A broken sound tore from my throat, my body tightening, my orgasm crashing over me before I could stop it. My back arched, my fingers buried deep as I came with a choked cry, my vision whiting out for a second.
Gideon’s mouth was on mine before I could catch my breath, swallowing my gasps, his tongue sweeping in to claim me. His cock pressed against my stomach, thick and demanding, and I could feel how hard he was, how close he was to losing control.
"Good girl," he growled against my lips, his hand still wrapped around my wrist, my fingers still buried inside me. "Now clean yourself up. And then you’re going to show me how sorry you are for defying me."
My fingers trembled as I pulled them free, slick and shameful. The air hit my exposed skin, too cool, too real, and I wanted to disappear. Wanted to sink into the floor and never come back.
"Clean yourself off," Gideon murmured, his voice rough against my ear. "With your mouth."
I flinched, my stomach twisting. But I didn’t argue. Didn’t fight. My fingers shook as I brought them to my lips, the taste of myself bitter and salty. My eyes burned, tears spilling over before I could stop them.
Gideon watched me, his gaze dark and hungry, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone to catch a tear. He brought it to his lips, his tongue flicking out to taste it.
"Mmm," he hummed, low and approving. "Your sadness is delicious, Belle."
I hated him. Hated the way my body still throbbed, still ached for more. Hated the way my breath hitched when he touched me, even like this—gentle and cruel all at once.
His fingers tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes. They were dark, endless, pulling me under.
"Such a good girl," he murmured, his thumb brushing over my lower lip. "You take punishment so well."
I wanted to spit at him. To scream. To claw his skin until he bled.
But I didn’t.
I just stood there, trembling, as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against my mouth.
His tongue dragged up my cheek, hot and wet, like he was tasting the salt of my tears. I jerked back, but his hand fisted in my hair, holding me still. His lips found my throat, his breath rough against my pulse.
Then—
Pain.
Sharp and sudden, his teeth sinking into the tender skin just below my jaw.
I gasped, my fingers flying to his wrist, nails digging in.
But I didn’t push him away. The sting bloomed into something darker, something that made my stomach clench.
His mouth worked against my skin, sucking hard, marking me.
My breath came in ragged bursts, my body betraying me with a traitorous heat.
He pulled back just enough to see his handiwork. His thumb brushed over the spot, his eyes dark with satisfaction.
"You didn’t want to wear my jersey?" His voice was a growl, low and rough. "You’ll wear my mark on your neck." His fingers tightened in my hair, tilting my head to the side. "And you won’t cover it for three days." A pause. A threat wrapped in velvet. "Or we’ll do this again."
I swallowed hard, my pulse throbbing under his touch. The mark burned, a brand I couldn’t hide. My fingers twitched at my sides, itching to cover it, to erase it. But I knew better. He’d see. He’d know.
And then he’d make good on his promise.
I met his gaze, my chin lifting despite the shame curling in my stomach. "Fine."
His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. "Good girl."
He released me suddenly, stepping back. The loss of his heat made me shiver. My legs trembled as I stood there, naked and marked, his eyes raking over me like he owned every inch.
"Now," he said, his voice a dark promise, "let’s see how well you can apologize."
For some reason, this was harder than everything else. Not the humiliation. Not the exposure. Not the way my body betrayed me with every shuddering breath.
But this.
Lying here, marked and trembling, expected to say the words that would make him right.
My throat closed around them, bitter as poison.
"Belle." Gideon's voice dropped to a growl, warning and promise tangled together.
Something in me snapped.
"I'm sorry," I spat, the words sharp enough to cut. Not an apology. An accusation.
My eyes met his, blazing with everything I couldn't say—I hate you, I hate this; I hate that you make me feel like this.
His jaw tightened. For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then his thumb traced my bottom lip, slow and possessive. The touch was almost gentle, almost tender, and that made it so much worse.
Something flickered in his eyes—something I couldn't name.
He blinked. Pulled away suddenly, like I'd burned him. The space between us felt cavernous.
"Get ready for bed," he said quietly.
Then he turned and walked out. Left me there, his mark burning on my neck. Wondering why his retreat felt more like a punishment than anything he'd actually done.