muehhehehe
"Still not sorry," he whispered against her ear, biting down on the lobe until she gasped. "Then we're not done."
He shoved her forward again-onto her knees this time, her face against the cold wall. One thigh shoved between hers, spreading her wide. Exposed. Aching. Marked.
And then he slid back inside her-slow, just to make her feel every inch, every throb, every desperate twitch of her own soaked body betraying her.
"You were made for this," he growled, fisting her hair as he drove into her again. "Made to take what I give you. Even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts."
His hand moved down her spine, fingers digging in, leaving hot trails of pain and ownership. And when he wrapped that same belt around her neck-tight but controlled-her moan turned guttural. Her body went slack, obedient. Perfect.
He fucked her with feral precision-one hand choking her into silence, the other slapping her ass raw until she was gasping between broken sobs and soaked, whimpering need.
"Louder," he growled. "I want the whole fing building to hear who's using you."*
And she did.
She screamed his name. Over and over. Even when her legs gave out. Even when her mind slipped past the pain and into the haze of raw, primal surrender.
But he wasn't finished.
He flipped her again-onto her back, her wrists bound by the belt now. He pinned them above her head, leaning down, his lips barely brushing hers.
"One more," he whispered, almost gentle. "And you're mine again. Every broken little piece."
And then he drove into her again, harder than before-like claiming territory that had always belonged to him. Her back arched, her bound hands clenched, and when the climax tore through her like a wildfire, he didn't stop.
Not until she was wrecked. Wet. Bruised. Owned.
He collapsed over her, breath ragged, his body pressed into hers, the air thick with sweat and sex and something deeper.
Control.
Punishment.
And something that tasted a little like love.