Chapter 22 #2
God help me, I love it. Hate it. Need it.
I want her to break—but not because I enjoy the power. Not because I want to win. I want her to trust me enough to fall apart. To give in. To know she’s safe in unraveling with me.
But she’s still fighting me, still locked behind those burning eyes and bitten lips. Still telling me without a word: You want my submission? Get fucked.
My palm comes down again, hard and fast, the sound sharp against her skin. She flinches, but she doesn’t pull away—and I don’t stop.
“Don’t you ever put yourself in a situation like that again,” I growl, my voice rough, shaking with adrenaline and something darker—fear. “What the fuck were you thinking?”
I keep going, not just to punish—but to anchor myself. To make her feel what I can’t say without unraveling.
Because the moment I thought she might be in danger, my mind short circuited. Rage, panic, helplessness—I couldn’t breathe through it. So now I breathe through this. Through the heat of her skin, the sound of her breath, the way her body responds to every strike.
I can hear my own breathing, ragged and uneven, and I know—I know—this isn’t just discipline. It’s control. It’s me reminding her that her life fucking matters. That she’s mine and I won’t lose her because she forgot how much that means.
Her thighs are slick, her body trembling. She's as wrecked by this as I am, but she’s letting me take it—letting me carry the weight of what could’ve been.
Because she knows this isn’t about power.
It’s about fear.
It’s about love that doesn’t always come gently.
“Promise me, Louisiana! Promise me you won’t fucking do that to me again!” I growl as I palm her hot ass cheek giving it a squeeze.
“I promise!” She sobs into the thick night air.
I reach for her cuffs and flip her over, and she hisses when her fiery ass meets the cold metal of the hood. The sound slices through me sharper than it should, but I swallow it down. This is what she asked for. What we asked for.
My thumbs brush over her pierced nipples, slow, deliberate, and just like that—she shudders. That full-body tremble I know like a fucking prayer. She doesn't even realize she gives it to me every time.
I keep my promise—touching her whenever I want, claiming her in all the ways she lets me. But I never let her touch me. Not once. Not because I don’t crave it, don’t ache for her hands on me—but because I need something more than just her body.
I need her to choose me. Freely. Not just in the heat, not in surrender. I need her to want this—the fire, the chaos, the life that terrifies her just as much as it calls to her.
Because the truth is…if she reached for me and didn’t mean it—if she touched me and still ran—I don’t know if I’d survive it.
I pull the flashlight off my belt, and her eyes widen. “Henry…”
“Shhh baby,” I tell her as I take the end of my flashlight and press the cold black metal against her throbbing clit making her cry out. “Fuck, you like that don’t you, little viper? You like being spread out where anyone can drive up and see how wet and greedy this pussy is for me?”
I drag the flashlight in slow, deliberate circles over her clit, the warm metal humming against her slick skin.
Her back arches off the hood with a sharp gasp, the tension in her spine drawn tight like a bowstring.
Every shift of her hips is a silent plea she doesn’t voice, but I feel it in the way she moves—chasing pressure, chasing more.
My free hand trails lower, fingers gliding along the slick heat of her center. She’s soaked—fucking drenched—and the second I dip into her, her whole body shudders.
I bring my fingers to my mouth without breaking eye contact with her reflection in the windshield. Savoring her. Tasting her.
“You know what you’ve done to me? I’ve had this sweet little pussy on my tongue, on my fingers, and still—it’s never enough.
Never fucking enough,” I tell her as I slowly ease the end of the flashlight inside her.
I’m not lying, I have been driving her crazy burying my tongue and fingers in her every chance I get.
Hell, just yesterday I had those long legs bent around my head while I sat on the couch, she leaned back, palms bracing on both my knees while I spread her wide and made her watch as my tongue worked her clit back and forth edging her to no end.
Her whole body trembles, legs barely holding her up, her arms stretched tight across the hood, fingers clenching useless at the windshield.
“Henry,” she sobs, voice hoarse, throat raw from holding it in. “I—I can’t, please—”
“You can,” I growl, the flashlight buried deep inside her, soaked and sliding easy from how desperate she’s gotten. “You will. You don’t come until I fucking say so.”
I press the flashlight in deeper, slow and deliberate, watching the way her body takes it—like she’s starving for it. The wet sound of her pussy swallowing every inch echoes in the dark, louder than it should be.
“You know how fucking loud you are right now?” I murmur, slowly fucking her with the flashlight. “Anyone could come down this road, see your legs spread wide as I fuck you with this flashlight.”
She sobs, wrecked, pushing back against me, needing more.
“You want to come?”
“God—yes—”
“Are you going to make a mess for me?”
“Please,” she sobs, “please let me—”
“Then fucking come,” I snarl, lips brushing hers, breath hot and shaking. “And you better ruin my uniform, baby. Mark me with that pretty little pussy so I wear your mess like a badge.”
I fuck the flashlight into her with one last hard thrust, and she breaks—loud and raw, back arching as she comes with a scream, soaking the hood and her thighs, writhing in the cuffs as the sound of it echoes through the night.
“God damn,” I growl, holding her tight as she rides it out. “Look at you. Look what a good fucking girl you are.”