Chapter 63
Brooke
His hand wraps around my throat, tight enough that I feel my pulse hammering against his palm. His breath hits my mouth in short bursts. I look up at him, anger still burning, desire right behind it, both twisting together until it aches in a way I can’t separate.
His jaw moves like he’s grinding something down, his eyes dark and raw, every part of him exposed.
I understand what this is. This is the only way he knows how to keep himself from falling apart.
The edge in his stare wavers for half a second. His fingers twitch against my neck, grip tightening before it eases just enough to let me breathe.
Then he slams me back into the wall, and the impact knocks the air from my lungs. His mouth crashes into mine, teeth clashing, lips bruising under the force. I kiss him back just as hard and bite down on his lip until I taste blood.
He hisses and pulls back, eyes blazing, and his hand drops from my throat.
I shove against his chest and twist away, forcing the office door open as I move into the hallway. I barely make it three steps before he catches me.
His hands lock around my waist and I yelp as he lifts me clean off the floor. My stomach flips as he throws me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing.
“What the fuck, Seth?” I snap, fists pounding against his back as I twist against him, in a futile attempt to break free.
He doesn’t slow down. He doesn’t answer.
His hand lands hard against my ass, then his fingers hook into the waistband of my leggings. He drags them down just enough for cool air to hit skin already overheated. My ass and pussy are fully exposed as I hang over his shoulder.
A sharp, helpless gasp escapes me.
“Seth—”
His middle and ring fingers press between my legs, finding me soaked. He drives them inside in one hard motion while he keeps walking. My body jolts against his shoulder, breath punching out of me in a broken sound.
“Oh, fuck,” I choke, nails digging into his back.
He curls his fingers deep, rough and possessive, like he is claiming something he refuses to lose. Every step he takes forces them deeper, the movement relentless. My body rocks against him, hips twitching with every push.
He slows just enough to drag his fingers out and drive them back in with controlled precision. Heat builds fast, anger dissolving into something desperate and aching that I can't hold back.
“Say it,” he demands.
“I need you, Seth,” I breathe, the words pulled out of me.
His grip tightens. He thrusts once more, then pulls his fingers free and slaps my ass hard enough to sting.
He kicks the bedroom door open without breaking stride.
He throws me onto the bed, and my back hits first, the air ripping out of my lungs in a sharp rush. I barely have time to react before he moves.
He grabs my ankle and flips me onto my stomach in one forceful motion. My cheek presses into the mattress as I try to push up, but his weight and grip keep me in place.
The dresser drawer slams open.
The duct tape tears loudly through the room as he yanks it free.
He grabs my wrists and drags my arms behind my back. I twist, trying to pull free, but he forces them together and wraps the tape tight around them, once, twice, pulling it snug until my shoulders strain and my fingers flex uselessly. The tape bites into my skin.
He fists a hand in my hair, yanks my head up. He tears off another strip and presses it over my mouth, sealing the argument there, every word I still want to throw at him trapped under adhesive and heat. The tape bites at the corners of my lips when I try to spit a curse at him.
His hand grips the back of my neck for a second, holding me there.
I feel him shift away just enough to unbuckle his belt.
The metal clinks loud in the quiet room.
He pulls the leather free and loops it around my throat, snug but not crushing, a solid band of pressure that keeps me perfectly aware of exactly how close his control is to snapping.
I feel the heat of him pressed against the backs of my thighs as he shoves my leggings the rest of the way down, leaving them tangled around one ankle. The air feels colder against my exposed skin, sharp against the heat already building under my nerves.
In the mirror across from the bed, I catch him behind me. His body is tight, muscles rigid, jaw locked, desire and rage tangled so completely I can’t tell the difference.
He pulls down his pants and grips himself. His dick is fully hard, thick and veined. The head is dark and swollen, a sheen of pre-cum already gathering at the tip. His fist closes around himself in one slow stroke, as if he is testing how much pressure he can take before he snaps.
His eyes meet mine in the reflection. He grips the belt and pulls me back slightly, arching my spine. My bound wrists strain behind me as he steps closer, his thighs pressing against mine. He lines himself up without hesitation.
Then he drives into me in one hard thrust.
My cry smothers against the tape.
He pulls out and slams back in, deeper, the sound of skin meeting skin loud in the room. His grip tightens on the belt, keeping my head tilted back, controlling the angle as he moves.
Each thrust is hard and unforgiving. The veins along his cock press against me, stretching me, filling me completely. My body jerks forward with every movement, wrists bound, mouth sealed, forced to take everything he gives.
The mirror reflects everything. His body driving into mine. The tension in his arms as he holds me in place. The belt tight in his fist. My back bowed, legs trembling, breath breaking uselessly behind the tape. Our clothes hang twisted and half stripped, fabric clinging to overheated skin.
It's raw. It's brutal.
It is exactly what we both needed.
I watch it all in the mirror, every filthy detail laid out in front of me.
The brutal snap of his hips. The way my spine bows each time he drives into me.
The way my breasts bounce with the force.
The way the duct tape seals over my mouth, pushing my sounds back into my throat until they spill out as frantic, muffled cries I can't control.
Tears blur my vision. My hair clings to my face.
Sweat coats my skin. I look wrecked, used, and undone.
His eyes stay locked on my reflection, tracking every shift in my expression. The tightening in my jaw. The tremor in my thighs. The way my body tightens each time he hits deeper. He watches me come apart under him, piece by piece, reaction by reaction, as if he is cataloguing my undoing.
“You wanted me to prove it,” he pants, voice thick and low as he drives in again, harder, forcing another sound out of me against the tape. “Now I’m showing you who the fuck I am.”
Heat floods through me, anger tangled with humiliation, tangled with something hotter that I can’t stop. I hold his gaze through the mirror. My glare dares him to push further.
My body tightens around him, clenches hard, despite everything I try to hold back. I feel the pulse of it grip him. I see the moment he feels it. His jaw locks. His breath cuts off. A rough curse slips from him before he can swallow it.
His rhythm breaks, then turns rougher.
“Fuck,” he growls, thrusting harder, deeper, chasing the reaction he just pulled out of me, chasing the way my body keeps giving him more.
He moves like he needs this, like he needs me undone and shaking and unable to think of anything except him.
My climax hits fast and violently, stealing my breath in one rush that leaves me shaking.
I scream into the duct tape, the sound trapped and broken in my throat, my body locking as the release tears through me.
My legs shake under the force. My muscles seize.
Pleasure crashes through me in waves that blur my vision and bow my spine until I feel like I’m going to snap.
He keeps driving into me, relentless and focused, fucking me through the aftermath like he needs to force me past every limit I thought I had.
He moves with a need that feels dangerous, a need that tells me he is trying to outrun something inside his head.
Using me is the only way he holds himself together, and I take everything he gives because it keeps him here.
I take every thrust. I take every drag of sensation. I take every second that lasts longer than I can handle. Even while I shake and gasp and fall apart, I know he is watching. He knows what he is doing to me. He knows how completely he owns every part of me.
Only when my legs start to tremble uncontrollably, oversensitive and wrung out, does he pull out.
I gasp against the duct tape, spit collecting at the seam over my lips, my chest rising and falling in harsh drags of air. My body feels dazed, twitching with aftershocks.
He strokes himself once and leans over me. He spits into his palm and fists himself tighter, stroking with a rough need that makes his breath catch. His other hand clamps around my thigh, holding me open and keeping me exactly where he wants me.
Then he moves with quick force. He grabs my hips with both hands and drags me up. My ass lifts into the air. My thighs shake under me.
He grips the belt with one hand and lifts my head. My eyes rise to the mirror.
I see everything. I see myself, mouth stretched under the tape, cheeks wet, hair tangled, eyes wild. I see him behind me, chest moving rising and falling, dick thick in his fist, gaze locked on my reflection. His free hand spreads me wider, his thumb pressing into my hip with bruising force.
He spits again, letting it drip between my cheeks. It lands hot on my skin. He spreads slowly.
I flinch from the contact, not from fear, but from the anticipation of what I know he plans to do. I know how deep he will go. I know how far he is about to push me.
My voice strains under the tape, my breath shaking, my body already tightening again for him.
He groans behind me, a low filthy sound that only comes out when he has lost every layer of restraint. Then he pushes into my ass.
The burn hits instantly, stretching and intense.
My scream tears into the tape as he drives in inch by inch until he is fully inside me. My chest hits the bed. Every muscle shakes while my body fights to adjust to the pressure and the size of him. I feel stretched to the limit. I take all of it.
My body opens for him, hungry for his cock, hungry for him. Every nerve fires at once. I shake under him, overwhelmed by the force of it.
He leans over me with his weight pressing into my spine, the heat of his chest settling across my back. His voice breaks behind my ear, low and rough as his hand grips the belt around my neck and snaps my head up toward the mirror. “That’s right,” he growls. “Take it.”
His hips slam forward without warning.
The sound fills the room. Skin against skin. Loud, punishing thrusts. It hits and reverberates around us. My body jerks forward with every thrust. My legs struggle to hold me up. He doesn’t slow. He doesn’t pull back. He doesn't give me a moment to breathe.
He fucks me like this is the only way he knows how to feel.
Hard. Deep. Relentless.
Each thrust sends heat through my bones and forces a cry into the tape. Tears gather in my lashes as pain twists with pleasure until I can't tell one from the other. I crave the next movement even as my body shakes from the last.
His breath breaks apart behind me. His hips drive into mine with force that punches air from my lungs. His rhythm stays brutal, and every movement lands deep inside me, dragging another helpless sound into the tape.
He releases the belt and my head falls forward, but nothing feels easier.
His hands clamp around my hips with a grip that allows no movement except the one he chooses.
He pulls me back onto his cock with rough strength, using my body like he needs this to settle the anger inside him.
He moves with need that leaves me shaking.
And my body answers him without hesitation.
My second climax crashes through me with violent force, tearing a muffled scream into the duct tape.
My entire body convulses. My vision blanks white.
My cunt clenches around nothing while my ass tightens hard around him, pulsing in helpless waves that make me gasp.
Every muscle in me locks as I break apart under his weight, twitching uncontrollably, unable to stop the way my body keeps giving him more.
His thrusts turn erratic, deeper and rougher, driven by the way I clamp down on him.
I feel him thicken inside me. I feel the tension race through his body.
Every muscle above me tightens at once. He growls my name, guttural and strained, and slams into me one last time before he comes, spilling hot and deep while his hands lock on my hips like he is anchoring himself to me.
He stays inside me. His breath drags heavy against my ear. His chest presses into my back. One hand grips my ass, fingers digging in. The other slides up my spine, like he can’t pull himself away.
He doesn’t let go.
Even when the room stops spinning. Even when my legs stop trembling.
Even when my throat burns from screaming into the tape.
Even when aftershocks keep rolling through my body in relentless waves.
I feel him everywhere. I feel the stretch of him inside me.
I feel the way my ass keeps fluttering around him, oversensitive and spent.
Then he collapses onto me, his full weight folding over my back. His chest rises and falls against mine in harsh pulls of breath. His forehead rests beside my neck, skin hot against my shoulder. The duct tape is still sealed over my mouth, slick with spit and sweat, but I don’t move.
I listen to his breathing. I listen to the silence. I let the aftermath settle over us while he stays wrapped around me like he is afraid to let the moment end.
Then I feel it.
A drop of something warm lands on my skin. Then another. It isn’t sweat. It isn’t spit.
My eyes lift to the mirror in front of us, the glass fogged around the edges from our bodies, from the heat, from everything that just tore through us.
Seth’s face is half hidden behind me. His hair sticks to his forehead. His jaw stays locked so tight I can see the muscle jump beneath his skin.
But I see his eyes.
They are red. They are wet.
Tears slide down his face in silence, tracking over his cheeks and falling one by one onto the back of my neck. Each drop feels heavier than the last.
He isn’t making a sound. He's crying without realizing it, like his body started bleeding emotion before his mind could catch up. His chest keeps rising and falling against my back, while his arms stay wrapped around me like he might fall apart if he lets go.
Something inside him broke and the pieces were too small to pick up.