CHAPTER 13 #3
His mouth crashed down on mine, a brutal, desperate kiss that left no room for air, for thought.
His tongue plunged, dominating, demanding, sweeping away any lingering protest. My hands came up, not to push him away, but to grasp his shoulders, clinging to him as the kiss deepened, becoming a savage, possessive claiming.
He tasted of whiskey and raw hunger, and I, despised myself for the way my body arched into his, for the wet heat that blossomed between my legs.
He tore at my makeshift clothes, ripping the t-shirt, then the too-big sweatpants, exposing my naked flesh to the cool air, then to the searing heat of his hands.
He lifted me effortlessly, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, my arms circling his neck.
I cried out, a muffled sound against his mouth, as he slammed my back against the wall, holding me suspended, impaled against his hard body.
"Look at me," he commanded, breaking the kiss, his lips hot against mine, his breath ragged. "Look at the man you tried to defy. Look at the man who will remind you of your fucking place."
He pulled my hair back, exposing my throat, then bit down, not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to send a jolt of pain and pleasure through me.
His hand reached down, finding the slick wetness between my legs, plunging a finger inside.
I gasped, my body arching into his touch, a soft moan escaping my lips.
"So wet for me," he growled, his eyes burning into mine. "Even now. Even after your brave little escape attempt. Your body knows, Rose. Your body remembers who owns it."
He pulled his finger out, then, with a guttural growl, slammed his throbbing cock into me. I screamed, a sharp, piercing sound, as he filled me completely, stretching me, owning me, burying himself to the hilt. My tightness was exquisite, a hot, wet glove that squeezed him, demanding release.
He began to thrust, slowly at first, then harder, faster, his hips slamming into mine, the wall shaking with the force of our impact. My legs clamped around his waist, pulling him deeper, desperately.
"Nobody leaves my empire," he snarled, thrusting, burying himself deeper with each word. "Nobody escapes my claim. You are mine, Rose. My woman. My property. And you will fucking obey."
His words were harsh, guttural, mingling with my cries, with the desperate sounds of our coupling.
Each thrust was a declaration of ownership, a brutal reminder of my captivity, a desperate act of claiming.
My head fell back, hitting the wall with a dull thud, my eyes squeezed shut, tears mixing with sweat on my temples.
"Say it," he commanded, pulling out almost completely, then slamming back in, making me arch my back, my hips rising to meet his. "Tell me who you belong to, you stubborn, defiant slut."
"You," I choked out, my voice broken, desperate, on the verge of tears. "I'm yours, Liam. Yours."
A raw, animalistic roar tore from his throat as he pumped into me, harder and faster, pushing me past my limits, past my control.
My body convulsed around his, a shattering climax ripping through me, my screams echoing in the room.
He followed moments later, a guttural groan tearing from his chest as he spilled his seed deep inside me, hot and pulsing, filling me with his claim, his essence.
He held me there, impaled on him, his body heavy against mine, his breath ragged against my neck.
Our ragged breaths were the only sound in the room.
My heart hammered against his chest, slowly returning to a calmer rhythm.
My cock, still buried inside me, pulsed with the lingering aftershocks of our brutal union.
He lowered me to my feet, my legs buckling beneath me.
I stood, swaying, my body aching, my head spinning, the lingering wetness between my legs a stark, humiliating reminder of what had just happened.
He held me against the wall, his arms around my waist, keeping me upright.
My eyes burned, but I refused to meet his gaze.
He tipped my chin up, forcing me to look at him. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but a faint, chilling satisfaction glimmered within their depths.
"Remember this, Rose," he rasped, his voice calm now, but laced with an undeniable, chilling authority. "Remember how futile your struggle is. Remember who always wins. You tried to run. You failed. And you will always fail. You are mine. Now and forever."
He released me, and I slid down the wall, collapsing onto the floor, naked and broken. He stood over me for a moment, then turned, walking back to the window, his back to me once more, leaving me a crumpled mess of humiliation and raw desire.
I had tried. I had failed. And Liam had, once again, brutally reminded me of his absolute control.
The physical pain would fade, the marks on my body would heal.
But the deeper wound, the understanding of my utter helplessness, the futility of my fight against his all-encompassing power, that would fester.
He had closed a door, slammed it shut with his body and his words.
But even in the depths of my despair, a small, stubborn ember of defiance still flickered.
I couldn't run. But perhaps there were other ways to fight. Other ways to break free.
The game had indeed escalated. And I, Rose Collins, was still a player, even if I was a captive queen.