Chapter 15 #2
There’s something addictive about dragging him to the edge—about letting myself be caught in the undertow.
I want to be claimed.
Possessed.
Broken open and rebuilt by his hands.
As if reading my thoughts, Peter’s hand closes around my throat. My body rebels, trembling, arching, betraying me. I tell myself it’s fear—I want it to be fear—but the sound that tears from my lips is not a scream.
It’s a plea.
I hate myself for it, and still, I give him more.
He doesn’t cut off my air, but the deliberate threat is there. I can feel the thrum of my pulse against his fingers, my heart hammering in my chest as his grip tightens. His feral eyes are locked onto mine, a triumphant grin spreading on his lips.
“You like that, don’t you, Wendy Darling?” he growls, voice low and rough, vibrating through me.
His hand tightens again, just enough to steal another gasp.
“You like it when I take control. When I’m rough with you.”
I nod, breath coming in short, shallow bursts. There’s no point pretending otherwise.
Yes. I like it.
“That’s my darling,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over the rapid pulse at my throat. “Now, ride my cock like a good girl until I come.”
I hesitate, only for a moment. The command in his voice, the possessive grip around my throat, the filth of his words—
It sends a rush through me.
Fear and arousal. Pleasure and surrender. All tangled into one electric thrill.
I want this.
I want him to use me. To drag me into sensations I’ve never dared to crave until now. The night in the forest had irreversibly changed something in me—no, awakened something in me.
The way he broke me open. The way I begged and shuddered beneath his touch. It terrified me, and I can’t stop replaying it.
Wanting it.
Craving him—brutal and merciless and mine.
I draw a shaky breath and begin to move, lifting off him, the stretch deep and aching as my pussy clenches around his cock. Then I sink back down, inch by inch, taking him inside me all over again.
I lean into him, hands clutching his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin like I need something to hold onto—or maybe just to mark him as mine.
“I want to feel you come inside me,” I whisper.
Peter’s eyes darken, a flicker of approval flashing through them like lightning. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I'm going to fill up your tight little cunt until I’m dripping down your pretty thighs.”
His grip on my throat tightens, making me gasp for air.
He starts to move, his hips thrusting up to meet mine, slamming into me at a ruthless pace.
My body is on fire, every nerve ending lit, the pressure building fast. His grip is unyielding, his fingers digging into my throat until I’m fighting for each breath.
I claw at his hand around my flesh, panic blooming as I struggle for air. His grip is too tight—I can’t breathe.
My wild gaze locks with his, and for a brief moment, I wonder if he’ll really kill me.
Then he loosens his hold, just enough. I gasp, dragging in air, and the rush of oxygen makes the pleasure spike so sharp and hot, it’s nearly unbearable.
He does it again. And again.
He cuts off my air completely until I’m tearing at his wrist, pulse roaring in my ears—then eases up just enough for me to suck in a desperate breath.
It’s the fear, the wild helplessness of it. The savage look in his eyes as I claw and fight. And when he finally lets go, when air floods my lungs, and my vision sharpens—my body floods with sensation.
I soar higher than I ever thought pleasure could reach. With his hands at my throat and his cock buried deep, I’m nothing but ecstasy in his arms.
It’s a sick, twisted sort of feeling, a surrender so complete it borders on ruinous.
And I love it.
Heaven help me, I love it.
He pulls me close by the neck, his lips brushing my ear. “Come for me, little darling.”
And I do. I shatter on the spot, unraveling beneath the weight of his voice, his hands, his cock buried inside me. My orgasm rips through me, white-hot, almost blinding in its intensity. My pussy clenches tight as I scream his name.
It’s too much. My body trembles violently, every nerve lit with fire, every thought drowned in the flood of him.
His grip on my throat tightens, just enough to anchor me there. His other hand digs into my hip as he holds me still and follows me over the edge.
I feel it all, every pulse of his release spilling into me.
His cock twitches inside me, the last of his cum leaking out, dripping down my thighs exactly the way he wanted.
He finally releases my throat, his hand sliding down to grip both hips, keeping me pinned to him as he rocks up into me once more, drawing out the last sparks of pleasure.
I fall into him, gasping for breath, tears slipping onto my hands where they’re splayed across his chest. My hair falls around us like a curtain, sealing us in. His heartbeat thrums beneath my palms, a wild, relentless beat mirroring the frantic rhythm still pulsing through me.
When I meet his gaze, his eyes are dark with satisfaction, a lazy, dangerous smile playing at his lips.
“Look at you,” he says, almost in awe. “Wrecked for me. Just as you were meant to be.”
And despite everything—the fear, the pain, the savage pleasure that’s left me shaking—I feel pleased by his words.
I should feel ashamed. I should flinch from what I let him do to me.
But I don’t. Because somewhere deep and secret, I already know the truth:
I want him to ruin me.
Again.
And again.
And again.