Emilia
His footsteps are slow. Heavy. The sound vibrates through the floorboards, through my knees. He stops in front of me. I don’t lift my head. I don’t speak. I just kneel.
He exhales. “This won’t fix anything about us.”
I glance up at him. “I know.”
His jaw tightens. “So why do it?”
I shrug slightly. “Because I don’t know what else to do.”
There’s a pause—long enough to stretch into pain. Then his hand tangles in my hair. Hard. He yanks my head back until I’m looking up at him, his jaw clenched, his eyes dark and savage.
“If I start this,” he growls, “I’m not stopping until you break.”
My breath catches. “Then break me.”
His mouth crashes onto mine with zero mercy. Tongue. Teeth. Fury. He devours me like he’s starving. I gasp as he lifts me effortlessly, my thighs wrapping around him without thinking. I don’t get a second to breathe—he throws me on the bed, and my tank top tears straight down the middle.
I barely feel the fabric rip. My wrists are pinned above my head before I can reach for him. The leather cuffs click into place against the headboard, cold and final.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he says.
“I wasn’t planning to.” My voice is trembling and strong all at once.
He steps back just long enough to drink me in—naked, spread, cuffed, flushed. “You have no idea what you just asked for.”
He climbs on top of me, straddling my thighs. His hand trails from my throat down to my chest, then lower. He doesn’t rush. He drags it out, lets the air between us burn.
“Beg,” he orders.
I hold his gaze. “Please.”
He tightens the cuffs slightly. “Again.”
“Please, Vincent.”
He lowers his head to my chest, kisses down to my ribs, my stomach. His teeth graze, then bite. I cry out. He doesn’t stop.
“Louder.”
“Please, I need you—”
“Wrong answer.” He bites the inside of my thigh. I jerk.
He grips my hip so hard I’ll bruise. Then his voice turns to smoke. “Tell me who you belong to.”
I can’t speak. I’m panting. Shaking. He moves between my legs, but doesn’t touch where I need him. Not yet.
“Say it,” he warns, lips brushing my inner thigh.
“You,” I gasp. “Please. I’m yours.”
He groans like the words crack something in him. Then he’s inside me in one brutal thrust.
I cry out, wrists straining. He doesn’t let me adjust. He fucks me like a command—deep, fast, merciless. My body is shaking, screaming, pulsing around him.
His hands are everywhere—gripping my ass, fisting my hair, holding my jaw as he whispers filth against my mouth.
“You wanted this.” Thrust. “You begged for this.” Thrust. “You’re mine.”
“Yes,” I choke out, tears sliding down my cheeks. I don’t even know if they’re from the stretch, the pressure, or the overwhelming truth that I’ve never felt this wanted in my life.
He slows just long enough to drag it out. His hand presses against my throat again, not choking—just holding me there. Held. Owned.
“Don’t come until I say.”
I nod, whimpering.
He drives into me over and over, relentless. His name falls from my lips like a mantra. I’m gone. I’m wrecked. My body is right on the edge.
“Now,” he says. One word, deep and hard.
I shatter. I scream his name, back arching, legs trembling, every muscle locking then giving out. My vision whites out.
He groans something guttural, raw, and spills inside me with a violent thrust.
For a moment, there’s only breathing. Panting. Skin against skin. Then he collapses on top of me, his forehead pressed to mine.
He doesn’t say anything. Just breathes with me.
When he finally moves, he doesn’t leave. He uncuffs one wrist at a time but pulls me into his arms instead, wrapping around me like armor.
I bury my face in his neck. “I didn’t think you’d touch me like that.”
His voice is a murmur against my ear. “I told you. I don’t touch things I don’t plan to keep.”