Mine
She’s limp when I lift her, ruined and trembling, body still quivering from what I’ve done to it. Her head falls against my shoulder as I carry her upstairs, each step deliberate, each movement a reminder that she isn’t walking away tonight.
“On your knees,” I order.
Her body jerks, every muscle screaming exhaustion, but she obeys. She always does.
“Hands behind your back.”
She clasps them, shaking. I bind her wrists with the belt, pulling it tight, leather biting into her skin.
“You’re going to learn exactly what it means to belong to me,” I rasp, stepping around her, circling like the predator I am. “No more games. No more pretending. Just obedience.”
I grab her chin, forcing her to meet my eyes. “Nod if you understand.”
She nods, breath shallow.
“Good girl.”
I push her back onto the mattress, straddling her bound arms, and slide the tie from my discarded jacket. With a swift tug, I blindfold her, cutting the world away. Her breath hitches, chest rising higher, panic and need twisting together.
“Now,” I murmur against her ear, letting my teeth graze her skin. “You’re mine to play with.”
I trail my fingers down her body slowly, teasing, stopping at her breasts. I pinch one nipple until she cries out, then soothe it with my tongue, alternating pain and softness until she’s gasping.
“Truth or dare?” I whisper.
She whimpers. “D-dare.”
“Hold still while I ruin you.”
I slide down, mouth finding her clit, tongue relentless, while my hand pins her hips to the mattress. She thrashes, moans, begs, but the belt keeps her restrained, the blindfold keeps her lost.
When she’s seconds from breaking, I pull back.
Her scream rips the air. “Please!”
I laugh darkly, licking her wet pussy from my lips. “You don’t beg yet. Not until I make you cry for it.”
I reach for the drawer beside the bed, pulling out the silver clamps. Her body stiffens as the cold metal grazes her skin.
“Relax,” I growl. “Or don’t. It’ll hurt more.”
One clamp bites down on her nipple, then the other, her strangled moan shooting straight to my cock.
I grab the chain between them and give it a slow tug, forcing her to arch. “Perfect. My little toy.”
Her legs quivered, wet with perspiration, and she was desperate. I press two fingers into her slick heat, curling them until she screams, body straining against the restraints.
“Say it,” I snarl, pumping harder. “Say who owns you.”
She shakes her head, defiance breaking through the haze.
I bared my teeth in a feral grin. “Wrong answer.”
I shove her legs wider, lining myself up, and slam into her in one brutal thrust, making the clamps rattle against her chest.
The pillow muffled her scream, but her body gives me the truth her mouth refuses. She’s mine.
And I’ll break her until she admits it.
Her body bows under me, bound and blindfolded, every inch straining against the belt biting her wrists. The clamps rattle when I thrust deeper, the chain digging into her chest.
She gasps, sobs, shakes her head, but she doesn’t tell me to stop. She never tells me to stop.
“God, look at you,” I growl, voice rough, lips at her ear. “You’re soaked. You’re trembling. And you’re still fighting me like you’ve got a choice.”
Her mouth opens, some broken denial spilling out, but I cut it off with another thrust that makes her scream.
“Say it,” I snarl, dragging my hand up her throat until I’m squeezing lightly, just enough to make her swallow hard under my palm. “Say who owns you, baby girl.”
She chokes on a sob. “N-no.”
I laugh, low and cruel. “Stubborn little thing. That’s fine. I enjoy breaking you slow.”
I pull almost all the way out, leaving her empty, trembling, and then slam back in so hard the headboard cracks against the wall. She cries out, her legs kicking uselessly, trying to close, but I shove them wider.
“Feel that?” I whisper, teeth grazing her jaw. “That’s me splitting you open. Filling you. No other man will ever get this deep, baby girl. No one else will ruin you like this.”
Her lips tremble. “Stop calling me that.”
I grin against her skin, feral. “That’s what you are. My baby girl. Soft. Sweet. Made to take me. Made to obey me.”
I tug the chain between the clamps, making her arch and cry out, the sound breaking into a moan.
“God, you love it,” I taunt, thrusting faster, harder. “You’re dripping down my cock, clenching like you’re begging me to never leave your body. But your mouth? Your mouth’s still fighting me.”
I release her throat, sliding my hand between her thighs, pressing against her clit while I fuck her hard enough to rattle the frame.
Her scream shatters the air, high-pitched and desperate, hips bucking wildly.
“Say it,” I snarl again, punishing her with merciless thrusts, fingers working her clit until she’s shaking violently under me. “Say you’re my baby girl, or I’ll edge you all fucking night.”
She’s sobbing now, blindfold damp with tears, body convulsing as she tries to hold on, tries to deny me. But she’s breaking. I feel it in every shudder, every ragged breath.
Her voice is a cracked whisper. “Yours.”
I growl, primal satisfaction ripping through me. “Louder.”
Her head jerks side to side, like she can resist, but then — “Yours, I’m yours. I’m your baby girl.”
The words nearly undo me. I slam into her with everything I have, a feral rhythm that leaves us both raw, my name spilling from her lips like a prayer and a curse.
I bury myself deep, chest pressed to her back, lips at her ear. “That’s right,” I rasp, broken and dark. “Mine. Forever mine. My baby girl.”
And when she shatters, screaming under me, her wet pussy gripping me so hard the need to cum slivers up my spine, desperate, her pussy clenches around me like it was always meant to, I finally let go too—claiming her in every sense of the word.
She’s still shaking when I untie the belt from her wrists, the leather leaving angry red lines in her skin. I rub the marks slowly, coaxing blood back into her hands, my chest rising and falling like I’ve just gone to war. Maybe I have.
She slumps against me the second she’s free, blindfold pushed up to her hairline, eyes glassy and wet. She looks wrecked, mine, and she knows it.
I stroked her hair, my lips brushing her temple. “Breathe, baby girl. Just breathe.”
Her chest hitches, and for a moment, she lets me hold her. Lets me soothe the fire I set.
Then her voice breaks, raw and hoarse. “You said you didn’t want this. You didn’t want… a relationship. So what the hell is this?”
The question slices through me sharper than any blade.
I tip her chin up so she has to look at me, even though her gaze flickers, wary and defiant all at once.
“What I said,” I murmur, low, “was that I don’t do relationships. I don’t play house. I don’t promise fairy tales. That hasn’t changed.”
Her eyes glisten, throat working. “Then what are you doing to me? What was that? You can’t—” She swallows hard. “You can’t break me open like that and pretend it means nothing.”
My jaw tightens. I drag my thumb over her split lip, watching her tremble under my touch.
“It doesn’t mean nothing,” I admit, each word dragged from somewhere deep I swore I’d never touch again. “It means everything. But not in the way you think.”
She stares, confusion flashing through the exhaustion in her face.
I lean closer, breath hot against her ear. “I don’t want to date you. I don’t want to wine and dine you. I want to own you. To keep you exactly where you are now—fucked out, marked, mine.”
Her body jerks, her lips parting with a sound between a gasp and a sob. “That’s not love.”
I laugh, bitter, dark. “No, baby girl. That’s obsession. And it’s all I’ve got to give.”
I press my mouth to her shoulder, biting down just hard enough to leave another mark, another reminder she won’t escape.
She shudders under me, torn between pulling away and sinking closer. “And if I don’t want to be owned?”
I lift my head, eyes burning into hers. “Then you’re lying to yourself. Because your body already gave me the answer your mouth is too afraid to say.”
She clutches the surrounding sheets, like they can hide what we just did, like they can erase the bruises I left across her throat and chest. Her breath is still uneven, lips swollen, hair tangled from my hands.
She looks like sin and confession all tangled in one body, and it makes my pulse pound harder than it should.
Her voice is small, trembling, but sharp enough to cut me open. “Do you have any idea how guilty I feel? She’s my best friend, Dean. And I just—” She swallows hard, eyes glistening. “I just fucked her dad.”
The words hang heavy in the air, like smoke from a fire neither of us wants to put out.
I should tell her she’s right. That it’s wrong. This is exactly why I tried to keep her at a distance. But I don’t. I can’t.
Instead, I drag my fingers across her jaw, forcing her to meet my eyes. “You think I don’t know? You think I don’t hear that same voice every time I look at you, every time I imagine what my daughter would say if she saw you on your knees for me?”
She flinches, shame flooding her face. But her thighs press tighter together under the sheets, and I see it—the guilt tangled with desire. The ache she can’t kill, no matter how much she hates herself for it.
I lean closer, my voice low, deliberate, dark. “Guilt doesn’t stop me. It won’t stop you either. You’ll keep coming back, baby girl. Because no one will ever fuck you like I do. No one will ever make you feel like this again.”
A tear slips down her cheek. She tries to blink it away, but I catch it with my thumb, smearing it into her skin like another claim.
Her voice cracks when she speaks. “And what if… what if I fall in love with you?”
The words hit me harder than any blade, harder than any enemy ever could. For a second, I can’t breathe.
Her eyes lock onto mine, wide, terrified, pleading. She wants an answer. She wants the truth.
I grip the back of her neck, pull her forehead to mine, my voice a growl through clenched teeth. “Then you’re more fucked than you already are.”
Her lips part, like I just told her she’s standing on the edge of a cliff and I’m the one who’ll decide if she falls.
Her voice is barely there, shaky, almost breaking. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say? That I’m fucked?”
I cup her jaw, forcing her to look at me. “You are fucked, baby girl. You’ve been fucked since the second you walked into my office in that little dress and made me want you more than I wanted my next breath.”
Her chest rises fast, unevenly. “That’s not the same as love.”
I laugh darkly and bitter. “Love? You really think I’ve got that in me?
I’m not some boy you can save. I’m not gonna write you poems and pick you flowers.
What I feel for you…” My thumb brushes her lip, presses just enough to remind her who owns her body.
“…it’s not soft. It’s not safe. It’s not love. ”
Her eyes glisten, but she doesn’t flinch away. She leans into my touch, like she’s begging me to keep cutting her open.
“Then what is it?” she whispers.
My hand slides down her throat, feeling her pulse kick under my palm.
“It’s hunger. It’s possession. It’s knowing that even if you hate yourself for it, you’ll crawl back into my bed again and again.
Because I’m the only one who sees you—the real you.
Not the mask you wear for your friend, not the smile you fake for the world. Just you. Broken. Mine.”
Her breath hitches. A tear streaks her cheek, but her thighs shift under the sheets, betraying her.
“And what happens,” she says, voice cracking, “when it’s not just my body that’s yours? What happens if I can’t stop myself from… from giving you more?”
I drag my mouth close to hers, so close she can taste my words. “Then you’ll suffer. The more you give me, the deeper I’ll bury myself in you. Until there’s nothing left of you that doesn’t belong to me.”
Her lips tremble, caught between fear and surrender.
“And you,” she whispers, “what happens to you if you fall in love with me?”
The question guts me. For the first time, I hesitate. My jaw locks, my grip tightens on her throat, and I press my forehead hard against hers like I can crush the thought out of existence.
“I don’t fall in love,” I snarl, low and broken. “I ruin. I destroy. And baby girl, if you make me fall…” I press a kiss to her tear-stained cheek, almost tender, almost human. “…I’ll burn us both alive.”
Her question lingers like smoke, clinging to the walls of my chest no matter how hard I try to breathe it out.
I don’t answer it. I can’t. If I do, the whole facade I’ve built—the coldness, the distance, the hard line I’ve tried to draw between us—shatters.
Instead, I shift her closer, sliding under the sheets until her head rests against my chest. My heartbeat betrays me—too heavy, too fast — and I know she can hear it. Her fingers curl there, tentative at first, then tighter, like she’s holding on to the one truth I can’t hide.
For a while, we just lie there. The room smells of sex, sweat, and something too human for me to name.
My hand strokes lazy patterns down her spine, nails grazing her skin.
She shivers every time, and I tell myself it’s just because she’s sensitive, not because she wants me to keep touching her even now.
She tilts her head up, studying me in the shadows. Her eyes are still wet, her lips bruised from my mouth. “You don’t look like a man who feels nothing.”
I let out a slow breath, pinching the bridge of my nose with my free hand. “You shouldn’t read into me, baby girl. You won’t like what you find.”
She bites her lip, stubborn. “Maybe I already do.”
The words stab deeper than they should. I should laugh it off. I should mock her, remind her this is nothing but a dirty mistake between us. But when she presses her face back into my chest, breathing me in like I’m safety instead of the danger I am, something inside me fractures.
My hand fists in her hair, not to pull, not to dominate, but to keep her there. To stop her from slipping through my fingers the way everything else in my life has.
“You think this is love,” I whisper into the dark. “But it’s not. It’s a sickness. You’ll see it sooner or later.”
She muffled her reply against my skin. “Then let me be sick with you.”
My chest aches. I close my eyes and hold her tighter, knowing damn well I should let her go. But I don’t. I can’t.
Because for the first time in years, maybe decades, the silence after sin doesn’t feel empty.