Page 59 of Fractured Loyalties (Tainted Souls #2)

He doesn’t give me time to adjust. His hand knots in my hair again, yanking my head back as he pounds into me, deep and merciless. Every thrust slams me into the wood, rattling drawers, scattering whatever control I thought I had left.

And I can’t fight anymore. I can only take it.

His thrusts are merciless, each one dragging a cry from me that I can’t contain.

The wood of the dresser bites into my ribs, my breasts flattened against the hard surface, my wrists straining uselessly against the belt cinched tight above me.

The bunched hoodie and shirt press into my arms, suffocating, holding me down as much as he does.

He grips my hip, fingers digging bruises into my skin, using me as leverage to drive deeper. His cock fills me in ways that make my vision blur, stretching me, burning in the most unbearable, perfect way. I can feel him everywhere, inside and outside, every inch of me owned and forced open.

“You feel that?” he snarls against my ear, slamming into me so hard the dresser scrapes an inch across the floor. “That’s what you need. Not safety. Not distance. Me. All of me.”

“Yes—fuck—yes!” The word rips out of me, hoarse, raw. My hips push back against him on instinct, begging for more even as the pain twists into pleasure so sharp I can hardly breathe.

He laughs darkly, low in his chest, and his hand abandons my hair only to wrap around my throat. He squeezes just enough to make my pulse race harder, the air catch shallow. The pressure turns every nerve alive, amplifying the drag of his cock inside me until I’m trembling.

“That’s it,” he growls. “Take me. Take what you’ve been craving since the day you looked at me like you wanted to run and wanted to fall at the same time.”

Tears sting my eyes from the sheer force of it, from the way my body betrays me—clenching, wet, desperate. I moan against the dresser, open and broken and alive in ways I never thought I’d allow again.

His thrusts quicken, savage rhythm pounding into me, shaking my bound arms, making the fabric bite deeper into my skin. His thumb finds my clit again, ruthless, circling and pressing as if he knows exactly how to tear me apart.

“No—” I choke, trying to resist the surge building inside me, too much, too fast.

“Yes,” he snaps, voice like steel. “You’re going to come for me, Mara. Right here, tied and helpless, because you belong to me.”

His hips slam forward, burying him deep enough that I swear I can’t hold myself together anymore. My body clenches tight, the wave ripping through me so violently my scream echoes in the room. My orgasm detonates, muscles seizing around him, white-hot and endless.

He doesn’t stop. He rides me through it, fucking me harder, stretching out every shudder until I’m clawing at the wood with bound hands, my voice ragged, my legs shaking uncontrollably.

And then he breaks. His grip on my throat tightens as his rhythm falters, a guttural sound torn from his chest. He drives into me, deep and punishing, and I feel the sudden hot spill of him filling me, pulsing inside as his release hits.

His groan against my neck is raw, unrestrained, like he’s surrendering just as much as I am.

He collapses against me, chest heaving, cock still buried deep, while my body twitches around him in aftershocks. The belt bites into my wrists, hoodie twisted, shirt tangled, the dresser cold and unforgiving beneath me.

And all I can think, all I can feel, is the truth I swore I’d never admit.

I need him. Even when he breaks me. Especially then.

I lay flat against the dresser, every nerve wrecked, shaking around him, but Elias doesn’t move. He stays deep, filling me, his chest pressed to my back. His hand pins mine harder into the wood, his hips locked in place as if he’s claimed the right to remain inside me until he decides otherwise.

I whimper when he shifts slightly, the thick weight of him dragging against my swollen, overstimulated walls. My legs nearly buckle, but he keeps me pinned upright, his chest pressed hard to my back.

He doesn’t soften right away. He stays rigid, cock still pulsing inside me, hand heavy on my hip as though he’s planting a flag.

“Don’t move,” he murmurs against my ear, the words softer now but no less commanding. “You stay right here. My cock is buried inside you. You don’t let go until I do.”

The sound that escapes me is broken, helpless. My body clenches tight around him without permission, and the groan that rumbles through his chest tells me he feels every flutter.

“Too much?” he asks, rocking the smallest fraction inside me, slow enough to make me tremble.

“Yes,” I gasp, my voice shaking. “I can’t—”

“You can,” he answers, his tone dark but gentler than before. His hand spreads over my hip, steadying me. “And you will.”

He starts to move—not the brutal thrusts from before, but a steady grind, slow and deep. Each stroke drags against nerves already raw, and I moan, broken, my body caught between pain and unbearable pleasure.

“Elias….” My whisper is a plea I don’t even mean to give him.

“That’s it,” he says, nipping my shoulder, voice thick. “Let it come. Let me feel you fall apart again.”

Every shift of his hips is careful now, savoring instead of punishing. The dresser groans under us as he drags me back onto him, filling me with a rhythm that builds differently—slow fire instead of lightning strike.

My walls flutter, clenching around him, the sensation spiraling sharp and wet. I writhe against him, bound hands useless, body begging for more friction. His hand slips lower, finding my clit again, teasing in time with his thrusts, gentle circles that make me gasp.

“Please,” I whisper, tears stinging my eyes from how badly I need more.

He groans into my neck. “Beg prettier than that, Mara.”

“I need it,” I choke, pressing back against him, hips grinding helplessly. “I need you. Please don’t stop.”

“That’s better.” His words are a growl, but his movements stay slow, indulgent, drawing it out until the knot inside me bursts. My orgasm hits softer but deeper, rolling through me in waves that make me sob against the wood. My body clamps around him, pulsing, milking him with every shudder.

Elias groans, his pace faltering, then he buries himself fully, grinding deep, keeping me stretched and filled while his own release spills hot inside me again. He curses against my shoulder, his voice wrecked, and I feel him throb against my walls until he’s spent.

This time, he doesn’t collapse into me. He holds me steady, his chest pressed to my back, his cock still nestled deep, his hand smoothing over my hip in a slow, possessive touch that feels almost…tender.

I think he’ll let go then. Instead, he leans in, lips brushing the shell of my ear, voice all command. “This is where you belong, Mara. Pinned. Filled. Mine. And it doesn’t end when we walk out of this room.”

My heart kicks hard. The last of my release shakes through me, tangled with dread.

Finally, he eases out, slow enough that my oversensitized body spasms at every drag, making me feel each inch like a burn I can’t escape.

My body spasms at the loss, slick heat running down my thighs. He undoes the belt binding my wrists, the leather sliding free. My arms fall limp, heavy and trembling, but before I can even straighten, he turns me, trapping me against the dresser with his body.

His thumb presses under my chin, tilting my face up. His eyes burn, unwavering. “You’re not leaving me again. Not your apartment. Not your little life you think is safe. You’re staying where I can watch you. Where I can protect you. That’s not up for debate.”

I try to shake my head, but his grip tightens, holding me still. My voice comes out hoarse, fragile. “You don’t get to decide that.”

He leans closer, the scent of sex and leather and sweat wrapping around me. His words are a growl against my mouth. “I just did.”