Chapter 3 #2
My body arched, the pleasure so intense it almost bordered on pain. I hated it. I hated how good it felt, how my body responded so eagerly to his rough treatment. I hated the way my hips lifted to meet his, the way my nails dug into his back, the way my breath hitched with every thrust.
I hated that I was like putty in his damned hands.
He pulled back onto his knees, dragging my hips with him without missing a stroke.
Lifting my leg with one hand, he delivered a quick, sharp smack to my ass with the other.
The sting was immediate, a hot, tingling sensation that spread through my entire body.
I yelped, more from surprise than pain, and he did it again, harder this time and I bit my lip, trying to keep myself quiet.
“You like that, don’t you?” he grunted, resuming his rhythm. “You like being put in your place.”
“Fuck you,” I gasped, even as my body betrayed me, clenching around him.
“That’s the idea, sweetheart.”
He spanked me again and again, each one harder than the last. The line between pleasure and pain blurred, my mind going hazy with sensation. I was going to come soon, and he knew it. I could see it in his eyes, in the smug, self-satisfied way he watched me.
So I allowed a slow smile to take over my lips and slid my hand down his back. Without warning, I smacked his ass. Hard.
It was pure impulse, the rebellious act of a woman losing control. My hand connected with the firm muscle of his butt, the sound loud in the quiet room.
He froze. His thrusts stopped. He pulled back slightly, a look of disbelief on his face. “Did you just spank me?”
“You started it,” I shot back, my voice breathy and defiant.
A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face now. “Oh, you are going to regret that.”
He flipped me over before I could react, pulling me up onto my hands and knees. He grabbed my hips, his grip bruising, and drove into me from behind. The new angle was devastating, hitting a spot inside me that made me see stars on the very first thrust.
And then he started spanking me in earnest.
His hand came down again and again, a relentless, punishing rhythm that matched his thrusts. The sting was intense, a hot, throbbing sensation that spread through my entire body. I buried my face in the silk sheets, my cries muffled by the fabric.
Despite my mind fighting against it, I could feel my orgasm building, a tidal wave of desire threatening to pull me under. He spanked me harder and harder, his hand connecting with one side of my ass and then the other as his cock drove into me again and again.
I cried.
I yelped.
I moaned.
And then, I came.
My back arched and I threw my head back, a strangled cry tearing from my throat as the pleasure washed over me, intense and all-consuming.
My vision went white, my body trembling with the force of it.
I bit my lip, trying to keep quiet, but it was like holding back a freight train barreling down its tracks.
When I finally came back to myself, he was still moving, his thrusts slower now, controlled.
“That was just the beginning of your fucking, sassy girl. You’ve got a long way to go before I put you to bed, thoroughly used and dripping,” he murmured, leaning over my back so that his voice was a low, raspy growl against my ear.
I was furious.
Furious at him for making me feel this way.
Furious at myself for letting him.
And furious that my body was still humming with an ecstasy so profound it felt like betrayal.
He stayed there for a moment, buried deep inside me, his weight a heavy, grounding presence that was both infuriating and intoxicating. My mind was a mess of ARCHEON protocols and shattered composure, the mission files a distant flicker in a haze of pure euphoria.
He was stroking long and slow and deep, an easy, unhurried rhythm that was somehow more seductive than the frantic pace before. Each thrust was a statement, a reminder that he had taken something from me I hadn’t been entirely willing to give.
“You have a great ass,” he said, his voice low and thick with satisfaction. He ran his hand over the heated skin, a proprietary caress that made my teeth clench. “Especially when it’s been spanked bright red.”
I turned my head, glaring up at him over my shoulder. “Glad you’re enjoying yourself.”
“Oh, I am,” he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to my shoulder blade. “But I think you’re enjoying it more.”
The sheer arrogance of this man.
He slapped my ass again, just to prove a point, and chuckled.
“I felt that pussy clench, Kara-with-a-K.”
And damn him, it had. My body had tightened around him, a traitorous, visceral response to the sharp sting. The heat from his hand spread, a constant, radiating hum that seemed to connect directly to the still-smoldering embers of my orgasm and straight to my throbbing clit.
“You’re a bastard,” I gritted out, but the words lacked any real heat. They sounded more like a concession than a curse.
He chuckled again, a dark, dangerous sound that rumbled through his chest and into my bones.
“Maybe,” he said, his pace picking up again, his hips slamming against my reddened ass. “But you’re the one who’s soaking my cock.”
He wasn’t wrong. I was slick and swollen, my body immersed in pleasure that felt alien and unwelcome, a constant steady current that threatened to pull me under again.
I hated it. I hated him. I hated my submissive pose, head down and ass up, and the way my hips were tilting back to meet his, the way my fingers were clutching the silk sheets, the way my breath was catching in my throat.
He grabbed the hair at the back of my scalp, yanking my head back. The sudden pain was a shock, a jolt of clarity that cut through the haze.
“Say my name,” he commanded.
“Go to hell.”
He yanked harder, his grip tightening. “Say. It.”
“Roman,” I finally gasped through clenched teeth.
“That’s my girl,” he purred. He released my hair, his hand returning to my hip, his grip bruising. He started fucking me again, his thrusts harder, faster, a relentless, punishing pace that was designed to break me. “Now, tell me what you want.”
I didn’t want to answer. I wanted to cling to the last vestiges of my sanity, to the mission, to the reason I was here, but his body was a weapon and he knew how to use it. Each thrust was a blow to my defenses, a chipping away at the walls I’d built so carefully.
“Tell me you want me to fuck you,” he grunted. “Tell me you want my cock.”
“Fuck you,” I gasped, but it was with weak resistance.
He spanked me again, a harsh, stinging blow that made me cry out.
“Wrong answer,” he growled. He spanked me twice more, each one a punishment for my defiance. My ass was on fire, the heat radiating through my entire body, a stinging, throbbing reminder of his dominance. “Say it, Kara.”
“No,” I sobbed, my resolve crumbling.
He spanked me again, harder and faster than ever. White-hot flashes of pain shot straight through me to my core, making my pussy clench around his thick cock.
“Say it,” he demanded, his voice a low, demanding growl.
“I want you to fuck me,” I whispered in defeat. “I want your big fat cock.”
A triumphant purr rumbled in his chest. He rewarded me with a particularly hard thrust, hitting that deep, hidden spot inside me that made me see stars.
Then he leaned down, his breath brushing my ear and whispered the words that set my soul aflame.
“Good girl.”
Those two words shattered something inside me.
It was a victory for him, a concession for me.
My body bucked, my back arching as a second, more powerful orgasm ripped through me.
I screamed into the sheets. The world narrowed to the feeling of him inside me, the sting of his hand on my ass, and the guttural sounds he made as he chased his own release.
He didn’t stop. He just kept fucking me, hard and fast, his hips a blur of motion, his cock a merciless, pounding force.
He was using me, taking his pleasure, and in that moment, I let him.
I was a vessel for his desire, a body to be claimed, and the thought was both terrifying and intoxicating.
The mission, the needle, the files—it all dissolved into a distant, irrelevant memory.
There was only this. Only him. Only the overwhelming, all-consuming ecstasy and agony that was destroying me and remaking me all at once.
I expected him to slow down. I expected him to tire.
But he didn’t.
Not even a little bit.
The rhythm stayed brutal, punishing, a raw, animalistic claiming of my body that left no room for thought, for resistance, for anything but sensation.
He was a machine, a force of nature, and I was caught.
Another orgasm built, a slow, creeping tide of need that was impossible to fight.
My hands fisted in the sheets and my knuckles went white.
My breath caught in my throat and became a series of short, ragged pants.
I was going to come again.
I was going to come so hard I was going to break for him.
And he knew it.
“Look at you,” he grunted, leaning over me and dripping sweat onto my cheek. “So greedy for my cock. You’re going to come again, aren’t you, Kara?”
I couldn’t answer. I could only whimper, a pathetic, pleading sound that was completely out of my character. I was lost in the riptide of his body and his will, and I didn’t know if I could make my way back to the surface.
He spanked me again, an agonizing, crashing blow that was the final straw.
The pleasure crested, a tidal wave that washed over me, pulling me under into a sea of white-hot sensation.
I came with a strangled cry. The world dissolved into a haze of light and color, a symphony of pure bliss that was so intense it was almost painful.