Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
RAVEN
I know he is trying to make this moment as ugly as possible, but he can’t because it’s beautiful. He’s beautiful and I’m so turned on I am dripping wet. The texture of his skin, the feel of his silky skin against my tongue—it’s a mix of the familiar and the new, setting my senses ablaze. Memories rush in, unbidden and overwhelming. Of a time when we were so young and our love was innocent and full of passion. Every inch of him is burned into my memory, but experiencing it again now is almost too much to bear.
I trace him from root to tip, feeling the heat and hardness of him against my mouth. His skin is smooth, stretched tight over steel, and I savor the way he pulses, alive and raw. My hand wraps around the base of his cock, fingers tightening just enough to make him hiss through his teeth. I pump him slowly, teasing, while my tongue circles the sensitive crown.
There’s salt and warmth and that taste that is uniquely his. My hands press into his strong thighs, my fingers curling into his skin as if anchoring myself against the storm he ignites within me. A heat builds within me, raw and insistent, spreading from the pit of my stomach to every nerve ending in my body.
I close my eyes, shutting out everything but the way he feels and tastes and he lets out a ragged sound above me, and it sends a shiver down my spine. His hands hover near my face, trembling as if he’s caught between holding back and surrendering. I feel his restraint, his tension, and the way he fights not to fall back into old habits.
Suddenly, his big hands grab my head and he pushes himself deeper. My eyes snap open as my lips are pulled up the pulsating length until I feel him jam the back of my throat; we are joined so tightly that we become one writhing animal.
A guttural cry escapes him from above me. That sound shocks me. It carries such terrible pain and aching need. I recognize and understand that pain. I feel it too. I have felt it all these years without him. The room around us vanishes, leaving just the two of us in this burning, consuming moment. All the anger, all the bitterness between us fades, eclipsed by something primal and undeniable. A connection that feels as ancient and unshakable as the rock faces of mountains. No amount of time or distance could ever sever it.
Even as he uses me so brutally, fucking my mouth like a man possessed, it’s not ugly. I don’t need to look up to know the expression in his eyes. The dam has broken. He has completely lost control. His breaths come faster, shallow and broken, each exhalation is a desperate sound that makes my thighs clench. With every involuntary thrust, his body betrays him ever more. His groans fill the room—low, guttural, feral. His hand tangles in my hair, his fingers trembling as they press against my scalp. The gesture is both commanding and pleading. All his bluster is fake. Without me, he cannot survive.
I glance up, meeting his gaze, and the raw intensity there almost shatters me. His eyes are dark, wild, a storm of need and vulnerability. I see him as he once was—the teenager who worshipped me, who offered me his heart without hesitation or reservation. He would have done anything for me. Killed for me, died for me. To watch him unraveling back to being completely mine is insanely intoxicating. A drug I can’t get enough of. I start to dread the moment when he goes over the edge. What will return? The stony-eyed stranger or the old love of my life.
But at this moment, he’s nothing but mine—lost in the sensations I’ve stirred in him.
He grips my head tightly, his fingers brutal. He’s trembling as he holds me against his body, hips jerking forward with an urgency that sends shockwaves through my whole being. I feel the tension coiling in him, his body taut like a bowstring about to snap.
His release comes suddenly, my name tearing from his throat, as he spills his seed deep into my belly. But he doesn’t let go, keeping me joined to him as he rides the waves, his grip unyielding. Three times he jerks against me and the sheer force of him is overwhelming.
When he finally releases my head and pulls back, my lips feel swollen and bruised, my breath shaky. I look up at him … my heart breaks.
His chest is still heaving, but only the stoney-eyed stranger remains. He looks rugged, chiseled, impossibly gorgeous and unimaginably unreachable. A man entirely in his element, and yet … he won’t even look at me.
“You always were the best cocksucker in town,” he murmurs cruelly.
His words sting like a whip on my skin and I stumble as I try to stand, but he doesn’t move to help. The old Earl would have fallen himself rather than let me fall. But this man, he just stands there, his hands slack at his sides as if touching me would demean him. Grabbing his thighs I push myself up and I can’t help the way my body brushes against his. My nipples harden instantly at the contact, even the thick fabric of my hoodie does nothing to dull the sensation.
Heat still radiates between us, but his eyes are cold as ice. How amazing. He’s built up this impenetrable wall in seconds. The vulnerability I glimpsed earlier is totally gone. There’s only guarded distance and dislike.
“We should talk,” I say quietly, running my palm over my saliva-smeared cheeks and mouth.
It takes him a long moment to respond, his eyes lingering somewhere over my shoulder before they finally find mine. When they do, they cut me like a knife.
“What is there to talk about?” His voice is flat and dead and the rejection is complete. He is making it clear. Those unguarded moments before, that was nothing. I am nothing to him.
I swallow the lump forming in my throat. “I’m not saying we should be friends or whatever, but we can’t be enemies or strangers either. There’s a lot to say to clear the air. We need to talk about what happe?—”
He cuts me off by stepping away, his muscles taut with tension, then turns his back to me. My words trail off, left hanging in the air like a broken thread.
I watch in amazement as he moves with detached arrogance, his gloriously naked form bathed in light. There’s something brutal in the way he keeps his back to me, like I don’t deserve even the courtesy of his gaze, and I hate myself for how my eyes drink him in, despite the growing knot of anger and confusion in my chest.
Every step he takes feels like a deliberate rejection, the air between us thick with unspoken words that he won’t let me utter. He moves towards the bed without a word, climbing onto it with a casualness that borders on condescension. Sprawling on his back, he rests his hands behind his head and looks at me, his gaze daring me to challenge him.
“What I want out of this relationship,” he says, his voice emotionless, “is blind obedience. You will do as you’re told and under no circumstances do I want to ‘talk’ or know how you feel or what you think about anything. That’s what this agreement is.”
My fists clench at my sides, but before I can respond hotly, he carries on.
“For instance, right now what I want is for you to get over here and ride my dick. Ride it so hard your pussy burns and you make me forget how …” His voice trails off, and I catch the flicker of hesitation in his expression.
“Make you forget how what?” I prompt, thinking he might be about to say something real, but his lips curl into a bitter smirk.
“Your time’s wasting,” he says, his tone mocking, his gaze burning into me.
I want to scream at him, to demand answers, to ask him why—why he left, why he abandoned me, why he’s treating me like this now. But I won’t give him the satisfaction. I won’t let him see how much his cruelty cuts me.
“You’re an asshole,” I fling at him, my chest tight with suppressed emotion. “I don’t know what happened years ago to make you leave without a word and abandon me, but don’t act like I’m the sinner here.”
He doesn’t react, just watches me with that cold, detached expression that makes me want to break something. So I keep going.
“Well, I don’t care to kiss and make-up anyway,” I spit. “Fine, I need the money so I’ll do what you want. I’ll ride your dick hard and here’s hoping you forget whatever it is you want to.”
I turn my back on him and push my hands up my skirt. My fingers are trembling as I hook them under the thin band of my panties and quickly slide them down, the soft, wet fabric brushing against my thighs before they fall to the floor. I leave my skirt on. My face burns, but I hold my head high, refusing to let him see the war raging inside me.
I’m about to climb onto the bed when his voice slices through the tense air.
“I didn’t pay for a half show,” he says coldly, his eyes narrowing. “Strip. Then touch your boobs. Squeeze them. Show me what I’m paying for. Convince me it’s worth it.”
My breath catches. He is determined to get his pound of flesh. With gritted teeth, I force my hands to move. The hoodie catches briefly on my hair before I tug it free, letting it fall carelessly to the floor. I stand there, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, refusing to let my vulnerability show. My eyes meet his, daring him to look away—but he doesn’t. His gaze is locked on me, piercing and unrelenting.
My hands slide up to cup my breasts, the weight of them heavy in my palms. My fingers tremble slightly, but I dig my nails into my resolve, refusing to falter.
I squeeze them gently at first, my thumbs grazing over my nipples, hard against the chill of the room. His gaze darkens, eyes fixed on every movement like a predator locked onto its prey.
“More,” he commands, his voice low and edged with impatience. “Don’t make me wait.”
My stomach twists, but I do as he says, rolling my nipples between my fingers, a reluctant heat pooling in my belly. His breathing grows heavier, the tension between us thick enough to choke on.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, his lips curling into a smirk that makes my skin crawl and ignite all at once. “This is what you’re made for. Now keep going.”
His words make me freeze. Humiliation wells up, sharp and suffocating. I feel like a piece of meat on display, but I force myself to breathe. He won’t see me crack. He won’t get the satisfaction I want to see skin.”
My hands move to the hem of my hoodie, gripping the fabric tightly to still the slight tremor in my fingers. I lift it slowly, peeling it away from my body, the cool air brushing against my skin as it rises.
He leans back against the headboard, his eyes roaming over me with a mixture of hunger and something darker, something colder. His jaw tightens, and I can see the way he fights against his own desire. The tension between us is electric, charged, and I hate the way it makes me feel.
I unclasp my bra, letting it fall. My breasts feel heavy under his gaze, my nipples hardening against the cool air. His eyes darken, and for a moment, he seems lost in the sight of me.
“Happy now?” I ask, my voice sharp, cutting through the silence.
“Not yet,” he says, his smirk returning. “But I’m getting there.”
His words linger in the air, sharp and cutting, as if daring me to push back.
“Cup them,” he commands, motioning lazily with his hand, his voice low and edged with impatience. “Squeeze them. Take that skirt off as well. Finger yourself.”
My breath catches. Heat rushes to my face, but I force myself not to hesitate.
“I’m getting bored,” he taunts. “Don’t forget, at any point, this agreement can end. I’m afraid you’ll have to work for the money you want, honey.”
My jaw tightens as a storm of emotions churns inside me—humiliation, defiance, and something I can’t fully name. I do as he says, but make sure my movements are mechanical and deliberately unsexy. Even so, his eyes darken with a hunger that’s barely restrained. As I take my skirt off, I notice my fingers trembling slightly so I clench my teeth to steady them.
“Take off your skirt, sit on that chair, open your legs wide, and finger yourself,” he commands.
I should have felt a mix of hate, anger and shame, but infuriatingly, I feel unbelievably excited and turned on as I pull my skirt down, the fabric brushing my thighs. The silence is broken only by the sound of my own shallow breathing and the rustle of my skirt pooling on the floor.
“Do go on,” he approves, a wolfish grin appearing on his face.
My heart is pounding in my chest. I can feel his eyes on me, unrelenting, watching every movement I make. But what is worse is the heat pooling in my stomach. I hate the way my body betrays me even now. Even put to this unthinkable humiliation I can’t seem to stop my body from responding to him.
“Look at you,” he taunts. “You’re getting off on this, aren’t you?”
“No,” I snap, the word almost a growl. But the way my body shakes betrays me. I can feel the flush spreading across my skin, the tightening in my chest as I fight to maintain control.
“You can’t even lie properly,” he mutters, his mockery vanishing. “Take a seat and get on with the show, I haven’t got all night.”
I perch at the end of the chair and slowly open my legs.
“Damn! How wet your little cunt is. It’s dripping,” he notes interestedly.
I glare at him, but say nothing. What can I say? It is the truth. I am so aroused my sex is wet and throbbing wildly.
“Lean back,” he orders, “and raise your legs up in a V shape.”
I obey, exposing my pink flesh completely to him.
He draws in a sharp breath and his voice is harsh. “Masturbate. Play with yourself.”
My fingertips delicately brush my swollen sensitive clit then circle it. My movements are hesitant to start with, but they quickly become frantic as the tension inside me builds. I hate how easily he’s broken me down, how powerless I feel under his gaze. And yet, I can’t stop.
I shudder, unable to hold back the soft, involuntary moan that escapes my lips. It’s humiliating, the sound echoing in the suffocating silence of the room. My left fist clenches as I will myself to stay calm, but it’s no use. My body is no longer mine, consumed by something I can’t control.
“Now finger fuck yourself,” he commands. His voice seems far away and strange.
My fingers slide deep inside me. In, out. In, out. Relentless. It’s a show. For him. For money. Tears sting the backs of my eyes.
“That’s enough,” he says abruptly, his voice low and commanding. “Come over here. Crawl towards me.”
I freeze.
Crawl?
My mind is screaming at me to walk away from this degradation, to do anything but obey his sick command, but my body doesn’t want to stop. It can’t. It remembers too well the deep pleasures of being with him and it wants it now. And it won’t be denied. He owns my body. He always has. And he always will.
I get down on the ground, and on my hands and feet, I crawl towards him like an animal. The carpet is rough against my palms and there is a fire between my legs as I move myself closer and closer to him. As I reach the side of the bed he reaches down and hauls me effortlessly into the air and plops me on top of him. The sheets are cool against my heated skin. My soaking pussy is pressed onto his thigh and I have to resist the desire to rub myself against it.
He watches me intently, his expression unreadable, his mocking smirk gone. “Are you on birth control?”
I nod slowly.
“Good. We don’t deserve to be parents.”
I gasp with shock.
And he smiles silkily. “I think I’m going to really enjoy being married to you. Now fucking ride my cock.”