Wrong Kind Of Right #2
I cup her jaw, forcing her gaze back to mine, pinning her under the weight of it. “You think this ends when I’m done fucking you tonight?” My voice dips into a growl, the threat thick in every syllable. “No, baby girl. This is the start. You just handed yourself over to me.”
Her breath shudders, chest heaving. “Dean…”
“Yeah.” I bit the word off against her mouth, crushing another kiss to her lips, harder, deeper. My hips grind into hers slowly, deliberately, teasing the line of no return. “Say my name like that again, and I’ll make good on every filthy thought I’ve had since last night.”
Her legs part around me, a helpless invitation, and that’s it—thread snapped, game over.
I tear the blanket the rest of the way off, dragging her bare body flush against mine, every inch of me pressed to her as I murmur against her lips, “You’re mine now. And I don’t fucking share.”
Her legs are already spread for me, but I make her wait, anyway. I drag my palm down her chest, over the soft swell of her stomach, stopping just shy of where she’s wet for me, teasing the edge of her desperation.
She squirms under me, breath stuttering. “Dean—”
“Patience,” I snarl, pinning her hips to the mattress with my weight. “You don’t get to beg until I say you do.”
Her nails bite into my shoulders, and, fuck if that doesn’t make me harder. I catch her wrists, slam them above her head, pinning her with one hand like she weighs nothing, my other sliding down between her thighs.
She’s soaked. Of course she is.
I laugh low in my throat, curling two fingers against her heat, dragging slow circles that make her back arch off the sheets.
“You act like you hate me. Like you don’t want this.
But look at you, baby girl.” I press harder, rubbing, circling, pulling another helpless sound out of her.
“Your body tells the truth your mouth never will.”
“Stop—” she chokes, but her hips betray her, grinding against my hand.
“Say that again,” I taunt, sliding two fingers into her in one sharp thrust. She gasps, eyes going wide, lips parting on a broken moan. “Say stop while you’re gripping me so tight I can barely fucking move.”
Her head tips back, throat bared, breath caught between denial and surrender.
“Yeah,” I whisper darkly, curling my fingers until she’s clawing at the sheets. “That’s what I thought.”
I tear my hand away before she can fall apart, earning a strangled cry of frustration, and shove my pants down just far enough to free myself. My cock drags hot and heavy against her, slick from her soaked pussy, the head pressing right where she wants it most.
Her eyes snap to mine, pleading without a word.
I lean down, lips at her ear. “You’re not ready. You haven’t earned it.”
“Please,” she whispers, breaking, her voice a raw thread.
I bit her throat hard enough to bruise. “There’s my good girl.”
And then I slam into her in one brutal stroke, burying myself in her tight, wet pussy. Her scream shatters in my mouth as I kiss her deeply, swallowing every sound, every curse, every desperate plea.
She’s so tight around me I see stars, and I lose the last shred of control I was clinging to.
I fuck her hard, relentlessly, every thrust a claim, every drag of my cock inside her a promise she’ll never forget who she belongs to. Her nails rake my back, her cries echo through the room, and I don’t let up, not even when she falls apart, clenching around me like she was made for this.
I drag her through it, keep her pinned, keep taking until she’s sobbing against my mouth, wrecked, trembling.
When I finally spill inside her, it’s with a guttural growl against her lips, a brutal surrender I never wanted to give.
I collapse over her, breath ragged, voice raw. “Mine,” I rasp, kissing her jaw, her throat, her swollen mouth. “All fucking mine.”
Her chest is heaving under mine, slick skin pressed to slick skin, sweat cooling too fast in the dark. I’m still buried inside her, throbbing, twitching with aftershocks, and she’s clenching around me like her body doesn’t know how to let go.
Neither do I.
I should pull out. I don’t.
Instead, I drag my mouth across her cheek, down to her jaw, teeth scraping lightly as she trembles. “You feel that?” I mutter against her skin, pushing my hips deeper, grinding just enough to make her whimper. “That’s me inside you. Filling you. Claiming every fucking inch.”
Her hands, shaky, fist at my shoulders, not pushing me away—holding me there. Needy. Desperate.
“You said you didn’t want this,” she whispers, voice broken with exhaustion and something heavier. “Said you didn’t want me.”
I laugh, bitter and low, my breath hot against her ear. “I lied.”
She gasps when I shift, still hard enough to drag another cry out of her, her thighs tightening around my hips like she’s the one caging me now.
“You’ll never walk away from me,” I tell her, rough, too raw. My forehead presses to hers, sweat sticking us together. “Even if you try, Brooklyn—you’ll still feel me. Right here.” My hand slides down, palm spreading over her belly, pinning her in place.
Her eyes flutter shut, lashes wet. “Dean…”
The sound of my name on her lips nearly undoes me all over again.
I thrust shallow, lazy, messy. Just to feel her walls grip me. Just to remind her who owns her body now. She gasps, shudders, her nails dragging red lines down my back.
“I shouldn’t…” she breathes, eyes darting away like she’s afraid to say it. “God, I shouldn’t—”
“But you did,” I cut in, biting the words against her swollen mouth, kissing her hard enough to silence the guilt. “And you’ll do it again. Don’t pretend otherwise.”
Her broken moan is the only answer I need.
I slow, rocking into her until it’s unbearable, until she’s trembling beneath me again, overstimulated but helpless. Her tears streak her temples, and I lick one away, tasting salt and sin.
“Baby girl,” I murmur, softer now, my voice almost dangerous in its tenderness, “you’ll never escape me. Even if you wanted to. Especially if you wanted to.”
I stay inside her, cock softening but refusing to leave, like my body knows what my mind won’t admit—that I’m already too far gone.
And when her shaking finally stills, when her breath evens out beneath me, I just hold her tighter, my mouth pressed to the crown of her hair.
I don’t say it out loud, but it claws at the back of my throat, anyway.
Mine.
Always fucking mine.
She shifts beneath me, trying to ease out of my hold, but I cage her tighter, arm locked around her waist, cock still inside her like I refuse to give it up. Because I do.
“You’re heavy,” she whispers, breathless, voice cracking from what I’ve already taken from her.
I nuzzle into her hair, lips brushing the damp strands. “Good. Means you can’t run.”
She goes still, chest rising sharply under mine. “I wasn’t going to.”
I smile against her temple, but it isn’t kind. “You think I don’t notice the way you look for exits, baby girl? Even while you’re begging for me to ruin you—you’re always calculating. You are always fighting yourself.
Her throat works as she swallows, and when her eyes tilt up to mine, they’re glassy, stubborn. “And you’re not?”
The jab hits deeper than I expect. My laugh comes out low, jagged.
“Sweetheart, I stopped fighting myself the moment you opened your mouth and mouthed off to me. You think I’m proud of this? You think I wanted to want you?”
Her fingers twitch against my chest like she’s not sure if she wants to claw or soothe. “You don’t even know what you want.”
I grab her chin, forcing her eyes back on mine. “Wrong. I know exactly what I want. You. Naked. On your knees. In my bed. For as long as I fucking decide.”
Her lips part, trembling. “That’s not a relationship, Dean. That’s possession.”
“Exactly.” My voice drops, dangerous, final. “And possession lasts longer.”
She shivers, a mix of fear and heat, and I feel her walls tighten around me again, a traitorous little squeeze that gives her away.
“See?” I murmur, grinding just enough to make her gasp. “Your body doesn’t hate me half as much as you pretend.”
She claws at my chest now, angry, wild. “And what if I fall in love with you? What then?”
I freeze. She already asked this. The words cut through me sharper than any blade.
Her eyes are wide, challenging, like she regrets saying it but refuses to take it back.
I lean closer, lips brushing hers, voice low enough to burn.
“Then you’re fucked.”
And I kiss her like I mean it—feral, bruising, too much—because if I don’t, I might say the thing that scares me more than her threat of love.
That I already am.