Chapter 8 An Invasion of Desire #2
He moves faster, thumb circling my clit with unbearable precision. His other hand grabs my jaw and forces me to look at him.
“Say it,” he demands. “Say you’re mine.”
“No.” My voice shakes, but I force the word out. I can’t surrender that easily. Can’t let him claim a victory I haven’t even made him earn.
He thrusts deeper, harder. I choke on a moan.
“Say it, Wendy.”
My eyes roll back, pleasure blooming like fire behind my ribs. “No.”
He glares down at me, fury crackling in his eyes, his voice a low snarl.“Want to be stubborn, little darling? That’s fine by me. But when I fuck you—and you’re screaming my name—don’t forget what that makes you. Mine.”
He lowers his head, licking the tears from my cheeks before kissing me again, hard and hungry, like he’s trying to devour the truth straight from my mouth.
And maybe I want him to. Because some part of me does want to be ruined by him.
To be broken open and remade in his image.
To fall so deep there’s no coming back, no light waiting at the surface. Only him.
Peter withdraws his fingers, and I feel the loss instantly, like a wound torn open. My body clenches around emptiness, desperate to be filled again.
He sits back on his heels at the edge of the bed, fingers finding the hem of his shirt.
The fabric slides over his head in one smooth motion, and for a moment, I can only stare.
The lamplight flickers, throwing shifting shadows across him—sharp collarbones, lean muscle.
He looks carved from sin and violence, beautiful in a way that should be feared.
And for an instant—a flicker so brief I almost doubt it—I see symbols flare to life across his skin.
Golden and glowing. Then they vanish, leaving nothing but the ghost of their light.
My heart stutters as his hand drifts lower.
He undoes his trousers and frees his cock with ease.
My eyes go wide. I remember it. I remember him, the thick head hitting the back of my throat the night before, the way my jaw ached, the tears that slipped from my eyes even as I moaned around him.
My thighs squeeze together involuntarily.
“Peter…” I whisper. It comes out unsure. Half protest, half plea. I’m afraid this will hurt. I’m excited that it might.
He doesn’t answer me. Just strokes himself lazily, his gaze never leaving mine. Heavy-lidded. Smoldering.
“It’s your choice, darling,” he murmurs, voice like smoke and honey. “I can ruin you softly—with kisses, with sweet words and deep thrusts… or I can take you hard. With teeth.” He leans over me, tone darkening. “Either way, this is happening.”
My heart pounds in my ears. I should tell him no. I should tell him to stop. But instead, I stare at his cock—thick, long, glistening in the low light—and imagine it stretching me open.
“I want soft, Peter,” I whisper. This time. But I bite back the words before they reach my tongue.
His smirk is wicked. “I’ll try my best,” he says, crawling back over me, dragging the head of his cock through my slick folds. “But you make it so fucking hard to be gentle.”
He circles my clit with the tip of his cock, making me squirm.
The room is filled with the sound of our ragged breaths and the soft, slick slide of him against me.
He’s holding back. I can see it in the tight coil of his muscles, the way his jaw clenches, the darkness blooming in his eyes with every teasing motion.
And heaven help me, it makes my traitorous heart soar.
“Are you ready, sweetheart?” he murmurs, voice thick with restraint.
I nod, breath catching when he presses against my entrance, just enough to make me gasp.
His gaze locks on mine as he begins to push inside, slow and steady, the head of his cock breaching me inch by inch. Another gasp breaks from my lips as my body tightens around him, unprepared for the invasion. He’s big, a stretch that borders on unbearable, on impossible…
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groans, hands gripping my hips like he’s holding himself back by force. “Relax, Wendy. Let me in.”
I breathe in deep and try to do as he says—try to surrender. I feel my body giving way by inches, opening for him. He pushes deeper, and I feel everything, every ridge dragging along my inner walls as he slowly fills me.
“You feel so fucking good,” he pants, his voice strained, guttural.
The burn of him sliding deeper is sharp and consuming, like he’s splitting me open, but threaded through the pain is something sweeter.
Pleasure unfurls low in my belly, molten and insistent, until it floods through me in waves.
A moan escapes before I can stop it, my hips lifting to meet him, to take him deeper until he’s fully sheathed inside me.
He’s stretched me to my limit. For a moment, he holds still, his breath ragged against my neck, letting me adjust to the weight and heat of him filling me completely.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “That’s all the gentleness I had in me.”
Then he pulls back, almost all the way out, before driving into me again with such force that I cry out, my nails raking down his back as my vision sparks white.
He does it again. And again. Each thrust harder, deeper, more consuming, until there’s nothing left of me but the sound of his breath and the brutal rhythm of his body against mine.
Peter groans into my neck. “You’re taking it all, aren’t you, Wendy? Taking my cock like you’re supposed to. Like you were made for me—mine, and only mine.”
I can’t speak. I can only moan, every nerve alive with sensation. He thrusts deeper, striking a place inside me I didn’t know existed, and the shock of it ripples through me.
I’m unraveling. Already.
I try to hold it back, to stay quiet, to swallow the sounds clawing their way up my throat—but the pleasure is too much. A cry tears free, raw and high, as my body convulses around him, shattering in his hands.
His hips slam into mine with punishing force, his cock driving deeper, faster. The bed creaks beneath us, the air thick with sweat and sex and the sound of skin meeting skin.
“Fuck, Wendy,” he groans, voice rasping like gravel. “You feel so fucking good. So tight, so wet—perfect. I could fuck you for days and still be starving for this cunt.”
His words strike like a spark to dry kindling, burning through flesh, thought, everything but sensation. I shake, a raw, unbidden cry tearing from my throat as pleasure coils tight and hot inside me. My body clenches around him, greedy, pulsing, giving him exactly what he wants.
Peter groans. One hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back so he can watch my face. His other hand grips my thigh, hauling my leg higher around his waist, opening me wider so he can thrust even deeper. I gasp as he hits me too deep, pain-laced pleasure tearing through me like lightning.
His mouth crashes into mine. He kisses me like he wants to possess me from the inside out—biting my lip hard enough to draw blood, then licking it away with something close to reverence.
His tongue thrusts between my lips with the same brutal rhythm as his cock, and I sob into his mouth.
I can’t tell whether I’m crying from the pain or the ecstasy.
My hands are fists in his hair, my nails dragging across his scalp. I can feel it—everything—building, unbearable. The tension winds tighter and tighter inside me, a brutal, blazing coil.
“Please,” I gasp, the word breaking on a moan. “I’m—I’m gonna—”
“Let go, darling,” Peter growls, voice wrecked with need. “Come for me. Let me feel you fall apart on my cock.”
I can’t hold back anymore. The tension snaps, and I break apart around him, my body convulsing, pussy clenching tight as I come with a scream.
Peter groans low in his throat, fucking me through it, never slowing his brutal pace.
His mouth finds my ear, voice dark and feral. “You want me to come inside you, Wendy? You want to feel me flood this sweet little cunt?”
I moan helplessly in response, nails raking down his back as my hips arch to meet him.
My body’s too sensitive now, raw and overstimulated, but he doesn’t stop.
Each thrust sends aftershocks through me—a relentless pleasure that borders on pain.
I bite my lip to muffle the cries, but it’s no use.
Every inch of me is wound tight again, the coil already building, spiraling toward another high.
He buries his face in my neck and bites my tender flesh.
Pain floods my senses, mingling with the pleasure.
I cry out, my body arching as the world fractures around me.
The force of it tears through every nerve.
For a heartbeat, I see nothing but light.
My pulse hammers in my throat, and I can’t tell where I end and he begins.
Peter groans against my skin, the sound guttural, as he thrusts one last time. “Fuck, Wendy,” he groans, broken and breathless.
His cock pulses deep inside me. I feel his release. The heat of it. The way it fills me up and spills over, thick and warm between my thighs. The way it marks me as his.
And I let him.
I let him ruin me.
He already owned my heart. Now he’s taken my body too, sealing the claim I was too weak to resist.