"What the hell is that noise, Lucia?"
The voice, low and laced with pure disdain, cut through the haze of her headphones. Lucia's eyes snapped open. Fuck. She ripped the earbuds out, but it was too late. The tinny, intimate whisper of a male ASMRtist promising to be her "good girl" echoed for a second in the sudden silence of her lavish bedroom.
Eli King stood in the doorway, a mountain of a man silhouetted against the hall light. At thirty-six, his fame and physical presence were equally immense, and he made her average frame feel ridiculously small, like a doll in a giant's house. He took a step inside, his expensive cologne invading her space before he did.
"Is that what you do all day?" he said, his voice a low, mocking rumble. "Listen to some pathetic man pretend to fuck you through your headphones while your actual husband is downstairs?"Her cheeks burned. "Get out, Eli. This room is the only thing in this mausoleum that's mine."
He ignored her, moving further in, a predator circling. He plucked the phone from her trembling hand, his thumb scrolling through the playlist. "'Spicy Boyfriend Roleplay.' 'Daddy's Dirty Whispers.' Jesus, Lucia. Are you truly this fucking desperate?"
"Give it back!" She lunged for it, but he simply held it up, high above his head, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. She bounced uselessly against his chest, her small fists meeting the unyielding wall of his torso.
He looked down at her, his eyes dark with a new, unsettling interest. "All those arguments. All that fire and fucking rebellion. I thought you hated me. But this..." He shook the phone. "This tells a different story, doesn't it? You don't hate me. You're just a frustrated, horny little brat who doesn't know how to ask for what she really wants."
"That's not true," she breathed, but the protest was weak, her body already betraying her, a traitorous heat pooling low in her belly.
"Isn't it?" He dropped the phone on the bed and his hands came down, not to push her away, but to grab her ass, pulling her tight against him. She could feel the hard, thick line of his cock straining against his trousers. Oh, God. "You want a man to tell you what to do? To use that filthy mouth of yours for something other than backtalk?"
He didn't wait for an answer. His mouth crashed down on hers, not a kiss of tenderness but one of pure possession, a claiming. It was bruising and deep, his tongue plunging past her lips, tasting her, dominating her. And Lucia, to her utter shock, melted. Every argument, every resentful thought, evaporated under the raw, primal force of him. Her body arched into his, a soft, whimpering moan escaping her throat.
"That's what I thought," he growled against her mouth, tearing at her silk camisole. The delicate fabric gave way with a rip. "Such a beautiful, deceptive little cunt. All that anger just hiding this..." His calloused palms scraped over her nipples, making her cry out. "Hiding these perfect, needy little tits."
He backed her toward the massive bed, his strength absolute. She fell against the duvet, and he was on her in an instant, his weight pinning her down, a delicious prison. He stripped her bare with brutal efficiency, then tore his own clothes off. And then he was there, naked, looming over her. His cock was huge, thick and veined, jutting proudly from a thatch of dark hair. It looked impossible. Terrifying. Irresistible.
