Chapter 18 #5
He’s back at the edge of the bed, feet planted on the floor, dragging my hips down to meet the punishing thrusts he’s slamming up into me. His grip on my ass is bruising, and so deliciously cruel as he uses my body like he owns it.
Every time I try to move, his hand fists in my hair, yanking me forward until our mouths brush.
“Look at me.”
I do—barely, eyes glazed and fucked-out, but I look. I want to see the way he unravels for me, the way I break him, too.
“You better fucking cum for me, baby. Squeeze my cock, let me feel it. Show me how good I fuck you.”
His voice is ruined from growling and groaning. From worshipping me like I’m his goddamn altar. My vision blurs. I’m crying, sweating, clinging to him with everything I have left. The air is thick with sex—hot, heavy with the scent of skin and spit and need.
His eyes lock on mine, demanding that last piece of surrender.
“I can feel it,” he growls. “Feel this perfect cunt choking my cock. You want me to fill you up, baby? You want to be mine? Fucking prove it.”
Then his hand slides from my hip, grips my breast, and slaps it twice—hard—right across the nipple.
I scream. Scream like I’m being exorcised, like every ounce of shame is being driven out of me by pleasure.
The sharp pain shoots through my chest and then explodes into ecstasy, my body seizing around him, every muscle locked as a second orgasm rips through me—violent and blinding.
Tears spill down my cheeks, and I sob his name as the aftershocks pulse through my core.
He watches, never breaking eye contact, soaking up every sound, every shudder, every broken gasp I give him.
“Fuck… fuck, you’re a good fucking girl for me,” he murmurs, breath hot against my cheek, his voice a wrecked praise.
His fingers brush over my jaw—thumb dragging through the tears on my face like he’s collecting something holy. His touch is gentle, even as everything else is rough. He leans in, mouth barely brushing my temple, breathing me in.
Then he shifts—deeper, slower.
So slow I feel every thick inch of him, stretching me wide and pulling me apart in the most unbearable, aching rhythm. He’s not chasing it anymore—he’s savoring it. Dragging the moment out, grinding into me, hips rolling in deep, punishing circles that make me whimper and clutch at his arms.
Forehead to forehead, breath to breath. My nails dig into his skin.
“You feel that?” he whispers. “Feel how full you are? How fucking perfect you are for me?”
I moan his name, almost broken. He’s everywhere. Inside me. All around me. I can taste him on my tongue, feel his sweat sliding down my spine.
“That’s it,” he groans, barely moving now, just grinding, keeping every part of him buried deep. “You take me so well. Fuck, Sawyer…You’re fucking made for me.”
Then, his teeth brush my jaw. He nips the skin, and it sends another pulse of pleasure through my ruined body.
“I’m going to fill you up so much that the next time Jasper sees this pretty cunt,” he breathes, words hot and evil at my ear, “you’ll still be leaking my cum. He’ll see it. He’ll smell me all over you.”
The shock of it—the sound, the promise, the sheer filth—makes my back arch again, and I come for the third time, clenching down around him so hard he chokes on a moan. My world whites out, every nerve burning with humiliation and pride, ruined and worshipped.
And then he’s cumming inside me, slow and deep and deliberate, like he’s filling me up with everything he has. His hips jerk, and he buries his face in my neck, groaning my name, teeth scraping my shoulder as he empties himself inside me.
“Mine,” he groans. “Mine. Even when you’re with him. You’re fucking mine.”
And I can’t say anything.
Because I might be. All theirs, entirely.
My chest is rising and falling like I ran a marathon and got tackled at the finish line by pleasure itself. My limbs don’t work, my brain is static, and my body… is ruined.
Riot’s still inside me, his arms wrapped tight around my waist like he’s anchoring himself. Or maybe anchoring me. I can stll feel him throbbing inside of me.
His forehead rests against mine, our sweat mixing. His lips brush my jaw, then trail to the corner of my mouth.
“I should clean you up… but I’m not gonna because I want him to see what I did to you. Know that I was inside you.”
My eyes flutter open, catching the gleam in his.
“If he didn’t hear it already,” he adds with a smile.
My face heats, memory flashing—the moans, the screams, the way my voice broke when I begged. The way I wanted them both to hear.
He brushes his thumb across my lower lip, his touch lingering.
“I ruined you tonight, baby. And I want it to haunt him. I want him to know you’re mine too.”
My heart shouldn’t flutter at that. But it does. It’s not about competition—it’s about how desperately I want to be seen. How I want to be wanted enough for both of them to claim me this hard.
I whisper, “You really think I’m ruined?”
He smirks.
“No, Hellcat,” he says softly, kissing me just once, barely there. “I think you’re just finally realizing you were made for this… Maybe even for both of us.”
RIOT
She’s curled up on her side, facing me, lashes fluttering against her cheeks like she’s still chasing the last aftershock in her dreams. I should let her sleep. I am letting her sleep.
But fuck…
I can’t stop staring.
At her vibrant, messy hair, still damp with sweat. Her lips, red and swollen from all the things I made her beg for. The bruises blooming on her hips, the faint prints on her thighs—my fingerprints. Markers. Warnings. Proof.
Mine.
I tug the comforter higher over her bare skin, but my arm stays wrapped around her waist. She fits so perfectly there, like the universe finally gave me something I didn’t have to fight to the death for.
But I will if I have to.
And if Jasper walks in? Let him. I want him to see.
Hell, maybe that’s sick. Maybe that’s fucked up. But the truth?
I don’t care. I don’t care what he thinks. She’s not just a game to me. Not some trophy to toss around between us. She’s the first thing in a long time that has made me want more than chaos.
And yeah, I’m cocky enough to stay in her bed.
Cocky enough to let the sheets tangle around our bodies, to breathe her in until the world outside this room doesn’t exist. To fall asleep with her still on my skin, her nails scored down my back, my cum leaking from between her thighs—a mark, a memory, a fucking warning for anyone who thinks they can have her without going through me first.
To be here when she opens those beautiful blue eyes in the morning.
And I hope she knows. I hope she feels it—that I’m not going anywhere. That I want every piece of her, broken and beautiful, twisted up with mine.
I lean in, brush a kiss against her temple, soft as a prayer, and whisper against her skin—
“Sweet dreams, baby. I’ve got you.”
Then I close my eyes and wait for the sunrise.