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He kept her wrists locked tight above her head, fingers curled around them like shackles, while his hips snapped forward with raw power, each thrust harder than the last. Her body jolted with every movement, the wall cold against her front, the heat of him burning into her from behind.
“You feel that?” he growled, his breath ragged now, matching hers. “The way you tighten around me? Like your body’s begging even when you won’t.”
She whimpered in the helpless need building all over again. She couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t stop the flush that crept up her chest and neck. Her legs gave out, but he didn’t let her fall, he only pressed in deeper, harder, keeping her pinned between him and the wall.
His pace grew rougher, relentless. Skin slapping skin. Her gasps turning to broken moans. Her body completely wrecked, taken, trembling.
“Say my name,” he hissed against her neck, dragging his mouth down her throat, biting at the skin hard enough to make her cry out. “Say it while I ruin you.”
She tried. She really tried. But the only thing that left her lips was a shattered moan that barely resembled language.
Her release hit again, violent and overwhelming, stealing the strength from her limbs and the air from her lungs. Her hands flexed in his grip, and she cried out his name, breathless and desperate.
That was all it took.
He cursed under his breath and drove into her one last time, burying himself deep as he came with a sharp groan against her neck, his entire body trembling with hers.
For a moment, neither of them moved. The only sounds were their gasps, heavy and uneven, and the faint thud of her heartbeat echoing in her ears.
Then, slowly, he released her wrists. Her arms dropped like dead weight, too weak to support themselves, and he caught her before she could slide down the wall. His hands were gentler now, though his touch still burned. He pressed a kiss to her neck, as if trying to steady the storm he had just created. His hips still moved, slow, tingling strokes that drove her wild.
She clenched her eyes shut, a helpless moan tearing from her throat as he drove her higher, faster, rougher—until nothing else existed but him.
Just as the tension snapped in her belly and she shattered once more in his arms, the knock came again.
A louder one.
And a voice, sharper this time. “Hey! We heard something—do you need help? Is there someone inside?”
Anya's eyes flew open.
Panic hit like ice.
Anya immediately pushed at his chest, roughly falling out of his arms. She immediately adjusted her clothes, and rushed toward the door even as her legs trembled.
Behind her, he took a frustrated breath, and zipped up his pants, his hand clenching into a fist, and jaw clenching hard.
Anya rushed forward instantly, grabbing the doorknob and shouting, “Yes! Yes, please open it!”
He stilled for a split second, breath ragged, before he slowly pulled back, not gently, not carefully—like a man who didn’t regret a damn thing.
She sagged against the wall, barely catching herself. Her hands fumbled with her clothes as he stood behind her, zipping up like nothing happened, his eyes still burning into her.
With a click and a slight groan of the hinges, the door finally opened—and she found herself staring at a slightly confused security guard.
“How did you both get locked inside?” he asked, furrowing his brows as his eyes darted between the two of them.
“That’s what I should be asking you!” she snapped, voice sharp with irritation. “Isn’t it your job to check before locking people inside?!”
The guard scratched his head awkwardly and let out a nervous chuckle. “Maybe the guy on the last shift was in a bit of a hurry to go home… Sorry about that.”
And with that, he turned and walked off like it was no big deal—leaving them alone again.
Dante stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, his chin resting lightly on her shoulder. His voice dropped low, sincere. “Anya, let’s make up, alright? I messed up. I’m sorry. Let’s just talk properly, without fighting this time.”
But she stiffened in his hold. Her heart was still racing, but not from what he wanted to believe. Not from longing. Not from love. From fury.
She pushed his hands away with force and turned to face him, her voice shaking with restraint. “I told you already, didn’t I? I’m not interested. Not in your apologies, not in this talk, and definitely not in being with you anymore. But you—” she could barely breathe through the anger and frustration burning in her chest, “you just don’t stop. You push and push, like my decisions mean nothing.”