Taming the Bitch (COMPLETED)

Chapter XLVI - TEARS

"Gabby..." His tears fell on the bridge of her nose—he realized just now that it was bleeding. She trembled uncontrollably, gasping for air.

"Don't...please..." he begged, moving gently over her, withdrawing his punishing maleness only to push back again, as if he could somehow erase her pain.

He tilted his head, lips brushing her ear.

"Stay...with me..." he whispered, kissing her softly, trying to anchor her to consciousness. His hands roamed her fragile body, caressing and massaging her sore muscles as he thrust in and out ever so slowly, attempting to soothe her.

But every movement only deepened her misery. He neared his climax, and she felt as though she were dying, pain shooting through her torn soul like fire.

Gabrielle jerked with every thrust, her right fist pressing against his chest, pushing him away, while her hips resisted his full, relentless motion.

"S...t--op... P-pl-lease..." she begged, lips quivering, eyes wide with terror. She had never felt such fear—except that day when she'd heard her father say he could not save her from her kidnappers. She had never been this hurt... and now, Vincent, the man she loved, was doing this to her—physically, sexually, emotionally, mentally, spiritually.

He had violated her body and ripped open her soul, spitting accusations that tore at her very being.

She flinched at every word he had said before punishing her, before claiming her virginity with ruthless selfishness.

"Gabby, please..." he begged again, caressing her bruised body, lost in the twisted pleasure he felt coursing through his bones, continuing to claim her.

No matter how slow, how gentle he tried to be, she remained silent, crying, pushing him away helplessly—but he could not stop. Alcohol and anger fueled his obsession, warping his desire into selfish, destructive madness.

The thought of being the only man in her life, of losing everything he could never bear to lose, drove him forward regardless of the fear and pain etched across her fragile face.

"Come with me, Gab..." He wrapped his hands around her bruised body and thrust hard, making her groan and sob.

"Please...l-look at me..." he whispered, holding her aching jaw. She flinched, and when their eyes met, the guilt in his chest swelled at the fear reflected in hers.

"You're mine..." he muttered, disbelief in his voice. He could not believe he had said it, could not believe he had lost control, could not believe he had refused to let her go after discovering the accusations were false.

He snapped at himself, recalling the heated scene in the video sent by her ex-boyfriend, raging again at the swine who had deceived him. Not Gabby. Never Gabby.

And yet, in his anger, he hurt the woman who had only ever been innocent. Anger built within him like a storm, and, unable to restrain himself, he thrust again—hard, fast, desperate.

With all his strength, he tried to soften it, to make it bearable—but another second of restraint could drive him to madness. And as he held her fragile body, lifting her small back while thrusting hard and fast, he came... at the very moment she collapsed beneath him.

She wished she could die. She felt hollow, empty, as if her soul had already left her body. The weight of him crushed her weak, wounded form against the bed. Her left eye, swollen from his hands, throbbed painfully. Breathing as hard as she could, she pushed him off, sobbing for help.

God, she wished he had killed her. What he had done was worse than death. He had torn apart her body and soul with his hands, with his words, with his accusations. Every friction, every motion, every caress was a reminder of her violated innocence.