CHAPTER 14 #2
“This isn’t to harm you, Rose,” I whispered, leaning close, my breath hot against her ear. “This is to free you. To free you from your own stubbornness. To free you to feel.”
Her eyes squeezed shut, a single tear escaping, tracking a path down her temple. “You’re sick,” she choked out.
“Perhaps,” I conceded, my voice low, devoid of emotion. “But I’m your sick. And you, my little historian, are about to become very, very familiar with my particular brand of madness.”
I ripped open her paint-stained shirt, the buttons scattering across the duvet. Her breasts, pale and full, rose and fell rapidly with her ragged breaths, her nipples already tight, engorged. My eyes devoured them.
“Beautiful,” I rasped, my hand reaching out, not to touch her, but to trace the line of her ribcage, then lower, along the delicate curve of her hip. She shivered, a visceral reaction that made my cock throb.
I knelt between her spread legs, stripping off my clothes with brutal efficiency.
My erection, thick and throbbing, sprung free, rigid and eager.
Her eyes flickered open, fixing on my cock, a flash of fear, but also that undeniable, unwanted spark of arousal.
She couldn’t hide it from me. Her body betrayed her, even when her mind screamed defiance.
“Look at me, Rose,” I commanded, my voice raw. “Look at what you do to me. Look at what you belong to.”
I leaned down, my lips grazing her inner thigh, sending a jolt through her.
She gasped, her head thrashing against the headboard.
I worked my way up, tasting her skin, smelling her, a mixture of paint and her unique, intoxicating scent.
My tongue flicked over her trembling labia, eliciting a sharp gasp from her.
“You’re so wet,” I growled, my voice thick with lust. “So fucking wet for me, even when you hate me.”
I plunged my tongue into her, tasting her, devouring her, my fingers spreading her wider, giving my tongue full access to her swollen, aching clit. She arched her back, a guttural moan tearing from her throat, her body convulsing. Her hands, tied above her head, fumbled uselessly, desperately.
“Liam! Oh God, Liam!” she cried out, her voice broken, pleading.
I kept going, relentless, torturing her with my tongue and my fingers, driving her closer and closer to the edge.
Her hips bucked against my mouth, a frantic dance of desperation and pleasure.
The room filled with her gasps, her pleas, her broken moans.
This was about control. About breaking her spirit, yes, but also about making her crave it, making her surrender to the pure, unadulterated pleasure that only I could give her.
Her climax ripped through her, a shattering scream that echoed in the room, her body convulsing, her hips slamming against the bed. I pulled back, watching her, her chest heaving, her eyes squeezed shut, tears mixing with sweat.
“That’s just the beginning, kitten,” I whispered, my voice rough with satisfaction. “Now you’ll feel me. All of me.”
I moved over her, positioning my throbbing cock at her entrance.
Her legs were still spread wide, tied, vulnerable.
I grabbed her hips, pulling her up, then slammed into her, burying myself to the hilt.
She cried out, a sharp, piercing sound, as I filled her completely, stretching her, owning her.
Her tightness was exquisite, a hot, wet glove that squeezed me, demanding release.
I began to thrust, slowly at first, then harder, faster, my hips slamming into hers, the bed creaking with the force of our impact. She screamed, her tied hands fumbling, useless, her legs clamped around my waist, pulling me deeper.
“Mine,” I snarled, thrusting, burying myself deeper with each word. “You are mine, Rose. My woman. My property. And you will fucking obey.”
My words were harsh, guttural, mingling with her cries, with the desperate sounds of our coupling.
Each thrust was a declaration of ownership, a brutal reminder of her captivity, a desperate act of claiming.
Her head fell back, hitting the headboard with a dull thud, her eyes squeezed shut, tears mixing with sweat on her temples.
“Tell me,” I commanded, pulling out almost completely, then slamming back in, making her arch her back, her hips rising to meet mine. “Tell me who you belong to, you stubborn, defiant slut. Say it!”
“You,” she choked out, her voice broken, desperate, on the verge of tears. “I’m yours, Liam. Yours.”
A raw, animalistic roar tore from my throat as I pumped into her, harder and faster, pushing her past her limits, past her control.
Her body convulsed around mine, a shattering climax ripping through her, her screams echoing in the room.
I followed moments later, a guttural groan tearing from my chest as I spilled my seed deep inside her, hot and pulsing, filling her with my claim, my essence.
I collapsed on top of her, my body heavy, sweat slicking our skin together. Our ragged breaths were the only sound in the room. My heart hammered against her back, slowly returning to a calmer rhythm. My cock, still buried inside her, pulsed with the lingering aftershocks of our brutal union.
She lay beneath me, tied, spent, tears still tracking down her temples.
I knew she hated me, hated this. But I also knew, with a certainty that thrilled me, that a part of her, a primal, instinctive part, had surrendered.
She might still fight me with her mind, with her words.
But her body, my exquisite Rose, her body was mine. It would always be mine.
I shifted, pulling out of her, then untied her wrists and ankles, carefully, deliberately. Her limbs were limp, bruised with the faint marks of the silk. She didn't move, didn't speak. Just lay there, breathing heavily, staring blankly at the ceiling.
I stood up, pulling a silk sheet over her trembling body, then walked to the en-suite bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. The taste of her, the smell of our coupling, still clung to me. My body felt sated, but my mind was already turning, planning.
She was not broken. Not yet. The flicker of defiance was still there, a tiny, stubborn ember. But now, she understood. She understood the power I held. She understood the limits of her freedom. And she understood, I hoped, that I would always come for her. I would always claim her.
This wasn't just about punishment. It was about possession.
About addiction. About a volatile, dangerous dance where I led, and she, eventually, always followed.
She was the thorn in my crown, but she was also the precious jewel, the one thing that truly fascinated me.
And I would keep her close. Keep her safe.
Keep her mine. The exasperation remained, but it was now laced with a colder, more determined resolve.
The game would continue, and she, my Rose, would play her part, whether she liked it or not.