Page 12 of Arranged Bullied Mate
My stomach flips, my thighs clenching together as though I can somehow stop the wetness gathering there, but it’s useless. My body is already claiming him, mindless and hungry. I shake my head once, desperate to communicate something—I don’t know what. I’m afraid that I can’t take it. That if he touches me now, something inside me will break apart forever, and I’ll never get back to Sophie.
He just watches, nostrils flaring, reading every note of my scent. “Why are you fighting it?” His voice is a low, dangerous growl, the words a harsh snap. “You know what you are. You know what I need.”
I try to answer, but the words never make it to my lips. The only sound I manage is a soft gasp, the air catching rough in my throat. My head feels like it’s splitting, thoughts comingapart in the friction of his attention and my own body’s frantic revolt. I want to tell him it isn’t about him, that I have to keep my mind clear, that I can’t afford to lose myself to this, but the explanation is as useless as my resolve. I can’t even will my legs to get off the bed, let alone form defiance with my tongue.
I squeeze my eyes shut and clutch the edge of the towel, but the motion only draws his gaze. He crosses the room in three huge steps, heat rolling off him in a tide. When he’s close, the air thickens, every molecule charged with the threat of what’s coming—and the promise that I’ll want it, no matter how much I beg myself not to.
I try to stand, to retreat before he reaches me. But as I do, my trembling legs give way and the room tilts, the world blurring at the edges. Ronan’s hand catches my arm before I hit the floor; for a second, I think he might shake me, but instead, he just hauls me upright, his grip bruising and hot.
He looks furious, but not at me; it’s as if my body’s surrender is a personal insult, and he’s determined to drag me through it on his terms. My towel unravels, and his eyes snap down, devouring the sight of my skin. I’m so hot I could melt, my breasts painfully tight and peaked, the ache between my legs so raw it might as well be open flame. His nostrils flare, and for a moment, neither of us moves.
The scent in the room is staggering. I feel slick pooling at the seam of my thighs, and even though I want to be disgusted, the need is so strong I almost sob. I try to push him away with my trembling hands, but he just catches my wrists in one of his, pinning them easily above my head. The motion pushes my chest out, and I hate how my body arches into the exposure, how my nipples throb at the chill of the air and the heat of his gaze.
He leans in close. “Let me fix it so you can cool down. Take the edge off.”
He doesn’t wait for my answer. He doesn’t need it. He’s already moving, the force of his body pinning me to the bed in a single, practiced surge. The towel falls away completely, and the sudden draft across my skin intensifies the ache. His hand pushes hard between my shoulders, forcing my cheek to the bedspread, the rest of me completely exposed.
I hear the scrape of his zipper, the rough drag of denim, but he doesn’t undress. He’s too impatient, too hungry. One big hand clamps my hip, the other shoving my knees apart until the inside of my thighs is slick and trembling. There’s no gentle caress, no preamble—just the hot, shaming rush of his fingers sliding through the slick between my legs. The sensation is so intense I buck, but he just holds me there, spreading me wider, as the first two fingers breach me before I can even gasp.
The stretch is instant, the fullness shocking. My channel clamps down, greedy and helpless, and the sound it makes is of wet, obscene noises that echo around the room. He pumps his fingers once, twice, and then adds a third, making me cry out into the sheets. He holds his fingers there as my inner channel cramps and pulses around them. Reaching around, he grabs one of my huge breasts that are hanging low and squeezes roughly, causing me to cry out.
Eventually, he releases his grip on my breast, and the sensation lingers, throbbing all the way to my core. His hand moves to his own cock, and I hear the slick, animalistic sound of his palm working up and down the shaft. Even as I gasp for air, shoving my face deeper into the bedding, I can’t help but twist around, desperate to see. He’s huge, so hard it looks painful, the head swollen dark, and already leaking precum.
His three fingers inside me flex, and he fucks them in and out with deliberate, ruthless force, grinding the heel of his palm against my clit just enough to make me cry out. Each thrust is so much, so fast, it blurs the world to color and heat. “You want more?” he growls.
I shake my head, but my body betrays me. I clench down, greedy for every inch, and he laughs, low and mean. “You’ll take more,” he says, and before I can even process it, he shoves a fourth finger in, stretching me so wide I nearly scream. The pain and pleasure are indistinguishable now, one white-hot knot in my gut. I arch, my thighs shaking so hard I think I might black out from the pleasure.
I am so full I can barely breathe, but still, the ache in my belly gnaws at me, hollow and frantic. Every time he pushes deeper, my vision whites out at the edges, my limbs going numb with shock. I can feel my own slick gushing around his hand, the evidence of my need too much to hide, and the humiliation of it makes tears spring to my eyes. My entire body is burning, shuddering, desperate for relief, but I know it’s not enough. I can’t cum like this. My body won’t let me.
“Ronan, please…” I gasp, unsure if I want him to stop or do more. My voice is a rasp, barely more than a sob. My mind is a tangle of shame and need, both emotions are so strong that I can’t tell them apart anymore.
He drags his hand out of me, so slowly I feel my walls clutch at his knuckles, unwilling to let him go. I can hear the obscene sound of it, and the slick on his hand shines in the harsh light. He brings his fingers to my lips, smearing them across my mouth, his eyes locked on the way my lips part, eager and mindless. I taste myself, sharp and salty, and my tongue flicks out to clean them.
“You’ll do anything for it, won’t you?” he says, voice thick with contempt and something rawer. “God, look at you. You’re a mess.”
His fingers linger at my mouth, thumb pushing past my lips, making me suck it clean. My body is shaking now, wracked by waves of need so overwhelming I can’t keep my hips from grinding into the bed. I want to tell him to stop, but the words refuse to come. He knows it. He leans over me, his body a cage, and the smell of him is so dense it’s like breathing in smoke.
“You want my knot?” he taunts, hand fisting in my hair to yank my head back so I have to look straight at him. “You want to be filled so bad you can’t think straight?”
I can’t answer, not with dignity, not with anything but the truth, so I just nod, tears streaking down my face.
He laughs, the sound low and cruel, and shoves me onto my back. I’m spread out, legs open, body wet and trembling. He stands over me, not touching, just letting me feel how little power I have.
He fists my hair, yanking my head back so I have no choice but to look up at him. "You want my cock, omega? Then open your mouth." His voice is feral, halfway between man and wolf.
I open my mouth because the truth is I want it, I want him, and the more I want to resist, the more desperate my wolf is for the taste of him. He doesn’t hesitate, shoving the head of his cock between my lips, pressing it past my teeth until the heavy, salty weight hits the back of my tongue. I gag, the thickness of him choking me, but he just holds my head in place, eyes locked on mine, daring me to fight.
“Take it,” he snarls, and thrusts deeper, the blunt pressure of his cockhead stretching my jaw to the limit, fillingmy throat until I choke around him. My eyes water, tears streaming down my face, and I can’t breathe, can’t even think around the overwhelming fullness. He rocks his hips, fucking my mouth in short, brutal strokes, his hand twisted in my hair.
I’m sobbing, tears hot on my cheeks, but the humiliation of it is nothing compared to the way my cunt clenches with every thrust, my body betraying me over and over even though I still can’t cum. He thrusts it right to the back of my throat as he cums with a roar. I struggle as my mouth fills with his seed, and it spills out all over my face, dribbling down my chin.
When he pulls back, he stares down at me for a moment before turning away. I can’t believe he’s just going to leave, “W-why didn’t you knot me?” I ask weakly.
He simply laughs. “You’re not fertile yet, I’d smell it,” he sneers. “This was just to stop you burning up all over my house.”
He slams the door on the way out, and I’m left with a different kind of desperation—one that knows I’m utterly powerless against him.
Chapter 9 - Ronan