Chapter 28 #2
“You feel that,” I tell her, thrusting deep and hard, her back and neck arched from my grip on her hair, her arms straining against the ropes that pull her tight. “You feel how hard you make me?” She moans my name. “You feel how crazy you drive me?”
I increase my pace, my balls hitting her clit on every thrust now. It’s frantic. It’s brutal. It’s ugly. And it’s about to make me come completely undone.
My mind races, my blood boiling with disdain over how this woman has so much power over me.
How this woman has wreaked havoc on my self-control.
She’s obliterated that lid I keep on my temper, on my urge to be destructive, and that need rears its ugly head.
That need to break something. That need to make someone bleed. That need to be destructive.
I give in. I give in to all the hatred and lust I’ve had for her. I give in to all the forbidden temptation, letting it fuel me, letting it burn through me as I take her. As I slam into her over and over again like a man possessed. Like a man out of control. Like a man fated for hell.
The desk rattles beneath her from my punishing pace, the heavy weight of the solid wood the only thing keeping it from sliding with each thrust. The ropes hold her arms tight, her body an offering for me to corrupt.
To ruin. To take the payment she owes me for the turmoil she’s caused since the day she walked into this office.
“I fucking hate you,” I hiss, slamming into her.
“I fucking hate that I can’t stop thinking about you.
I hate that you think you can just barge in here and get your way.
” I let go of her hair to grip her hips again, and her head falls forward, her cheek hitting the wood and sliding as every thrust of my hips sends her body forward and her hips into the edge of the desk.
“And I fucking hate that I can’t get enough of this. ”
“Blake, wait…”
“I hate that every night when I go to sleep, it’s you I’m thinking about.” Thrust. “I hate that every time I fuck my hand in the shower, it’s your body that I’m picturing.” Thrust. “I hate that you fight me every step of the way. And I hate that I love your fight. I hate that I can’t stay away.”
“Please, slow down…”
“Shut the fuck up,” I tell her, grinding my teeth as I try to hold on to the last remaining thread of self-control that I have. “And don’t you dare fucking come.”
Tracy whimpers her protest, but she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t object. She just fists her hands and takes it. Takes everything I give her.
Her ass waves as I slam into her over and over again. Those curves rippling as I grip her hips, and fuck me, it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
My orgasm rips through me like a storm, lightning running through my veins as I spill my release inside of her.
I slow my thrusts, riding out the pleasure for as long as I can.
The feel of her around me, holding me so tight as I fill her with cum, is the best goddamn thing I’ve ever felt in my life.
“Blake, you’re hurting me,” she says, her voice so soft, so timid.
My heart hammers, my mind finally coming back to me as I realize what the fuck I just did, and when I look down, I realize I have her hips in a death grip.
I let go of her and she sags, her body spent from the punishment I just gave her. When I pull out, my cum runs from her pussy. It should excite me, but it doesn’t, because all I can focus on is how I hurt her. How I lost control and let that ugly, dark urge take control.
Her ass is red, her hips will probably bruise from my fingers digging into them and from being slammed into the desk, and her wrists are rubbed raw from the ropes.
Tucking myself into my pants, I make quick work of untying her hands. When I see the burns on her skin from the ropes digging in, my heart falters.
Fuck.
I wasn’t careful. I was so fucking caught up in making her pay, giving in to all the animosity I’ve been harboring toward her, that I wasn’t making sure she was safe. Even when she told me to fuck her, I should have slowed down. I should have checked in. I should have made sure she was still okay.
“Trace.” I round the desk toward her, and she takes a wobbling step back, pulling her wrists into her chest.
“Don’t touch me,” she says with tears in her eyes and mascara running down her face. “Don’t you dare fucking touch me.”
“Trace, I didn’t—”
She runs from my office, cradling her hands to her chest and leaving me standing here feeling like an absolute piece of shit.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I tuck my shirt in, grab my keys, and head for the door. I might be able to catch her in the parking lot, but if not, I can wait for her at her place.
Jogging down the stairs, I run out the front door just in time to see Tracy pull onto the street.
I’m about to head to my truck when someone grabs my arm.
Now is not the fucking time. I fist my hand, ready to lay into whoever the fuck is bothering me right now, when I turn around to find Whitney looking at me like she wants to murder me.
“What the hell did you do?” she seethes.
“Not now, Whit.” I pull my arm from her grip and turn toward my truck.
She grabs my keys from my hand before I can even take a step. “Oh, no, you don’t. I don’t know what the fuck you did to her, but she just ran out of here sobbing, Blake.”
“I’m aware,” I snap. “Now give me my fucking keys.”
Whitney, the little shit, shoves them into her bra. “You’re not going anywhere near her until you calm the fuck down.”
And with that, she flips me off—with both fucking hands—then heads back into the office.
I run my hands through my hair. “Fuck!”
She’s not wrong. I need to calm the fuck down before I go see Tracy, or I just risk making things worse.
I sit down on the curb, the cement hot from the sun beating down on it, but the burn is nothing compared to the fire in my veins.
I lost control. I let that dark, ugly part of myself to the forefront, and I took advantage of Tracy in her most vulnerable moments. I let my frustration with her—with myself—dictate my actions. I reverted to that hot-headed kid who didn’t—who still doesn’t—know how to handle his emotions.
And I hurt her.
This woman who I can’t stand and can’t get enough of. This woman who sucks the air from my lungs every time she waltzes into my office. This woman who took my heart and my mind and fucking melded them to herself, to the point that every waking moment I have is consumed by her.
I wanted to ruin her. I wanted her to pay. I wanted to punish her for everything she’s done, all the turmoil she’s caused.
But the sight of her hurt? The sight of her tears? That wasn’t something I was prepared for.
Turns out her pain is the one thing I can’t bear.