Page 19 of Breaking Ophelia

My control snaps.Just a taste.Before I can stop myself, I press her against the shelf again, pinning her with my body. The little gasp that falls from her lips almost has me coming undone. I slide my palm up her thigh, slow and unhurried, mapping the way her skin shudders under my hand.

She hisses, “Don’t—”

But I do. I push my fingers under the hem, find the edge of her panties. The fabric is thin, the elastic already frayed. I hook a finger under the band and pull until it bites into her skin.

She grabs my wrist, tries to pry me off. Her nails leave crescents in my flesh, but I don’t stop. If anything, I press harder.

“Please,” she whispers, but I can’t tell if it’s a plea to stop or keep going.

I tilt her chin up with my free hand, forcing her to look at me. “This is how you survive here, Morrow. You fight, or you take it.”

She glares at me, pure hatred, but she doesn’t look away.

I push inside her, two fingers, rough. She’s wet. That surprises us both. I can feel her body tense, trying to force me out, but I don’t let her. I curl my fingers, find the spot, and grind my palm against her clit.

She bucks, swears under her breath. I slap my hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. She screams anyway, but it’s swallowed by the shelves, deadened by the old wood and the secrets pressed into these walls.

I fuck her with my hand, relentless. Her thighs clamp around my wrist, trying to block me out, but I force them open. Her cunt clenches, hot and angry, but I’m stronger. I set the pace, and she has no choice but to follow.

Her breath is a hurricane in my palm, every exhale a new curse.

“You’re going to come for me,” I say, voice low, teeth bared. “Right here, where anyone could see.”

She shakes her head, but her body betrays her. She’s so close, I can feel the tremors start in her stomach, the ripple through her thighs.

I shove her harder against the shelf. A book falls, lands beside her foot. She almost collapses, but I hold her up with one arm, the other still fucking her.

She comes. It takes her by surprise, a shockwave that knocks the air from her lungs. Her eyes roll back, mouth open under my hand. I watch every second, memorize the shape of her pain and pleasure.

When she’s done, I don’t let go right away. I keep her pinned until she stops shaking.

Then I pull my hand out and wipe it on her skirt. I want her to remember this, every time she looks at the stain.

“You’re mine,” I grit out.

She sags against the shelf, one hand pressed to her mouth, the other clutching the wood like it’s the only thing holding her up.

I leave her there, ruined and radiant, her scent on my fingers and my name echoing through her head.

As I walk away, I hear her collapse to the floor, the books and her body hitting at almost the same time.

She didn’t break.

But I did.

I want more.

I want all of her.

Chapter 5: Ophelia

Ispendtenfullminutes sitting on the tile, listening to my pulse thud in my ears and hating the silence that follows. I don’t dare cry—he’d probably sense it through the walls, come back, and make me say thank you. Instead, I smooth the skirt back down over my knees, gather the spilled books, and stack them in a neat row, like corpses waiting for burial. If the bastard wanted me shattered, he should have sent something stronger than fingers and words.

I tell myself this three times before I believe it.

But fuck… I’ve never cum so hard.

The thought almost makes me break down.