I wake up to weight.
And intense pleasure.
I groan and shift, trying to bring my arms down. They’re stuck over my head.
Blank fear hits me for a moment, until I force my eyes open. Steele is over me, thrusting into me like he’s trying to wake me up. His cock stretches me, hitting a spot inside me that feels too good.
The pops of pleasure are addicting. Thrilling, even.
“That’s one way to wake a girl up,” I mumble. My mouth is dry. The more aware I become, the more I feel like something is wrong. Beyond Steele initiating sex before I was even awake…
He leans down and slides his arm under me, gripping me to his body. He buries his face in my neck, groaning and panting. “You came before you woke up,” he says in my ear. “But I think you want to come again, don’t you, sweetheart?”
How long has he been…?
My head swims, and I screw my eyes shut tighter.
I try to move my legs, to drag them up higher, but they don’t move.
“Breathe,” he groans in my ear. “Fuck, you feel so good.”
“Stop,” I say, trying to fight against him.
He’s just… everywhere. In me and around me. He’s all I can smell and see, and my heart is going to pound out of my chest.
“No.” His teeth scrape my neck, and then his lips are on mine. His tongue in my mouth as suffocating as a gag. He pulls back and looks down at me.
The light is on. The one on his nightstand.
“You thinking of what your father did to you?” His eyes bore into mine. “Because newsflash, Aspen. I’m. Not. Him.”
He punctuates each word with a thrust, and my eyes roll back at the feel of it. He shifts again, his movements getting softer.
There’s heat on my pubic bone. I don’t know why it catches my attention, but I focus on it for a second—until Steele’s fingers close around my nipple.
My back arches as much as I can—but we’re practically smashed together anyway. He kisses a path down my jaw, my throat, to my other breast. He sucks and licks at my nipple, and shocks of energy flutter straight to my core. He twists the other one, tugging on it.
Pain.
Pleasure.
I close my eyes and yank on my wrists again. “Tell me what you did.”
“Drugged you,” he admits to my chest. “Fucked you. Claimed you.”
The words bounce around my skull.
“You’re so fucked up,” I whisper.
“I know.”
His hand leaves my nipple and runs down my body. Over my curves, over my hip. He touches my clit just the way I like, and I curse him in my head for knowing my body so well. Like he really does own it.
He brings me to the cusp of an orgasm and then pulls away.
Entirely.
His cock slides out of me, his fingers leave my clit. He’s right over me, there but not. Not touching me at all.
“I need something from you, Aspen,” he says.
“What?” I gasp. I pull at my wrists, my legs.
Useless.
He touches my clit with the lightest brush, and I shiver. Goosebumps rise on my skin.
“Tell me that you’re mine, body and spirit. That you’re going to let me all the way in.”
My brows furrow.
Haven’t I done that? Haven’t I said I was his? And every time I do, bad shit happens. He can claim me all he wants, but this—drugging me—is going too far.
This is too much.
“You can’t torture me into agreeing to be yours,” I argue. “And every time you hurt me, it makes me hate you more.”
He smiles. “Hate? Your body has already admitted to enjoying what I do to you, little viper. It’s just a matter of your mind following… and if that means breaking it, I’ll do that.”
I shake my head.
He leans down and kisses my pubic bone, and I wince.
Why does that hurt?
I try to straighten enough to see it—stupid boobs, stupid stomach getting in the way—but the way he has me restrained, I can’t see it.
My heart thumps. Skips.
He moves lower. His tongue dances around, tasting me. My labia, my slit. His tongue pushes into me, and I try to get away. It’s all the sensation I want, but not where I need it. He continues to play with me until I’m squirming against the bindings.
“Please,” I whisper.
His tongue flicks my clit, and I gasp.
I’m right at that edge.
“Please, Steele, I’ll—” I press my lips together and squeeze my hands into fists. “I hate you,” I chant.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
Over and over.
He backs away from my clit and sweeps lower. He kisses my inner thigh.
I’m going to lose my mind.
“I hate you, fuck, I hate you so much,” I continue. “I don’t want anything to do with you. I don’t want to see your stupid face. Your touch makes my skin crawl. God dammit,” I yell. “Get off me, you ogre.”
I thrash. He wraps his arm around one of my thighs, keeping me contained.
It’s pointless to fight him, but—
“You’re wetter.” His finger dips into me. “The fight turns you on, but I know you’re only lying to yourself.”
He climbs up my body and thrusts back into me. Hard. I groan at the contact, but then his hand is wrapped around my throat, and his lips are on mine. Everything about this is aggressive. Like he’s stoking some fire in me, even when I can’t move.
Fuck that.
I bite his lip.
Blood coats my tongue. Then his, as he forces his tongue into my mouth.
I bite that, too.
I feel unhinged, feral. He bites me back. My lips, my jaw. We fight with our teeth. His hand at my throat captures my pulse, my breath. One squeeze and he could cut off my air, or the blood flow to my head.
He could make me pass out with just a twitch of his fingers.
Or kill me.
He lifts his head and stares down at me. His lips are red with blood. His tongue darts out and probes the wound. Another drop of blood oozes out, then drips down onto my cheek.
“Tell me again,” he whispers.
“No.”
He tsks. Rolls his hips. “Do you think I like torturing you?”
“I think you enjoy it, yeah.”
He shakes his head and climbs off the bed. I track him, licking my lips. His cock bobs in front of him, pointing in my direction. He gets back on the bed, but this time, he swings his leg over my face.
I shudder.
“Make me come, and maybe I’ll do the same,” he says.
He lowers his dick to my mouth. I open automatically, but I’m not prepared for him to thrust in as powerfully as if he were taking my pussy. The tip hits the back of my throat, then slides even deeper.
I choke around him.
His balls hit my face.
The humiliation is enough to strangle me—if we forget that I’m already suffocating on him. He pulls out, inch by inch, and I widen my jaw enough so I won’t bite his dick off. I inhale sharply through my nose, and then he’s filling my throat again.
My hands twist helplessly above me. There’s no way to help myself here—he’s making me take all of it.
And fuck if that’s not turning me on even more.
His fingers part my pussy lips, and I make some deep noise in my throat. A cry and a moan. Tears prick my eyes at his continued invasion down my throat. He gets into a rhythm that lets me take quick, shallow breaths. And after a minute, I suck and swirl my tongue around his shaft. Tasting him and myself.
And then his mouth is on me, and stars spark behind my closed eyelids.
He ravages me. Touching everything but my clit, while his own pace increases. His thrusts get jerkier, his control unraveling.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
He sucks my clit into his mouth.
At last.
The sensation decimates me. I lose it, everything pulsing inside me. My heart feels too big for my chest. He thrusts his fingers inside me, giving my cunt something to clench around. I scream around his cock, uncaring that my teeth scrape his length. That my throat is probably giving him some great vibrations.
Suddenly he pulls back until he’s only filling my mouth. He comes. Not down my throat, not on my face. Or my chest. It shoots across my tongue, his cock jerking with the force of it, and I automatically block my throat. It fills my mouth and drips out the corners of my lips, down my face.
I haven’t swallowed by choice since the summer. By choice.
And I’m not about to start now.
Except he’s suddenly spinning around and clamping a hand over my mouth, his face right there.
“You want me to leave you here until tomorrow morning? Bound up like the little slut you and I both know you are? Then spit it out. I fucking dare you, Aspen. Spit it out and I’ll treat you like a cheap whore. Maybe take some pictures while you’re tied up like this, or put a pretty gag in your mouth.” He glowers at me. “Swallow it and I’ll let you up.”
Not much of a choice here, is there? My eyes are still blurry with tears from the intense throat-fuck, and as I blink, they fall. They roll into my temple, my hairline.
He lifts his palm away from my lips, watching me closely.
I suck in a breath through my nose and weigh my odds.
I believe every threat he’s issued.
That’s my problem, isn’t it?
So I ball my fists and open my throat. And I fucking swallow.
“Good girl,” Steele croons.
He undoes my legs first, then my wrists. Quick, like he knew I wasn’t going to fight him on this. I pull my arms in, tugging his jersey—which has been around my neck this whole time—down over my breasts.
I feel… bare.
Bruised.
He helps me stand, then walks me to the bathroom. The hallway is dark, the rest of the house relatively quiet. There’s still music playing downstairs, and a light coming from the bottom of the staircase. No one’s up here, though, it would appear.
I don’t even know what time it is. Just that it’s dark out.
For a second, I’m delusional enough to think that he’s going to let me use it alone. Instead, he follows me in and flips the lock behind himself, sitting on the edge of the tub. He watches me closely.
“I have to pee,” I say.
He shrugs. “Go on, then.”
“Can you look away?”
“No.”
I glare at him.
He glares back.
But the urge in my bladder is more pressing than anything else, so I sigh and sit carefully on the toilet. I focus on my knees, waiting for my muscles to unclench long enough to go. It’s weird, with him in the bathroom like my own personal… prison guard.
That’s not normal, right?
And then my body cooperates. I close my eyes until I’m done.
It’s only then that I feel something odd between my legs.
Not like, in me, but…
I stand and lean over to examine myself. There’s a bandage taped just above my pussy. Over my pubic bone, which felt like it was burning earlier. I stare at it, then glance at Steele. He’s watching me with an intensity that makes my stomach flip.
“What did you do?” My voice is shaky. Raspier than usual.
I peel away the tape carefully, lifting the bandage.
Dark lettering sits on my skin.
In my skin.
I swipe at it and let out a hiss of pain. The skin is sensitive, red around the letters, even with the oily substance coating it. I look over at him again. I need my phone. My brain isn’t working, isn’t computing what the letters mean upside down.
“Tell me this is some sort of elaborate prank,” I whisper.
He shrugs. “If it’ll help you sleep at night.”
“Steele.”
“Aspen.”
“I—you—”
He rises and turns me around, facing the sink. I stare at our faces in the mirror, even as he tips me forward and dunks my hands under the warming water. He squirts soap into my palm, then guides my hands together. It suds, and his fingers move between mine. Guiding my movements.
He rinses both of our hands, and then he manually turns me around again. He kneels, even with my hips. He lifts the bandage back up and pats the tape into place.
“Keep it covered,” he orders. “For at least twenty-four hours. Then clean it with an unscented soap and water. No scrubbing. Aquaphor or unscented lotion to keep it hydrated after that.”
Tattoo care instructions.
What the fuck?
“What does it say?”
He looks up at me, frowning. Still on his knees before me. “It says you’re mine.”
