Page 51 of His Forced Bride

“This pussy’s mine to ruin.”

I open my mouth to spit venom, but the words vanish when he lifts me by the hips and slams into me.

My scream rips the air, half fury, half desperate pleasure, as he buries himself to the hilt.

My nails dig into his shoulders, clinging to him as the wall rattles behind me.

“Fuck,” he snarls, pounding me hard and fast, each thrust brutal, merciless.

“So tight, little wife. You were made for this cock.”

“Bastard,” I gasp, though my walls clench greedily around him, betraying me with every wet slap of our bodies.

His hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back so he can bite my throat, his teeth leaving marks that will brand me as his.

“Hate me all you want. You’ll still come on my cock. You’re dripping for it already.”

My hips buck against him, shame and hunger tangling until I can’t separate them.

The stretch burns, the pressure unbearable, every savage thrust driving me closer to the edge.

My body betrays me, pulsing, slick, desperate for release.

“Take it,” he groans, grinding deeper, the head of his cock battering that spot inside me until stars explode behind my eyes.

“Come for me. Let me feel you fucking break.”

My scream tears from my throat as climax detonates through me, my pussy spasming around him.

My body writhes against his, clenching, sucking him deeper, milking every inch.

“Fuck yes,” he growls, teeth scraping my jaw as his thrusts turn ragged.

“Come on my cock while I fill you.”

One last brutal drive and he shudders, groaning into my mouth as he floods me.

Heat spills inside, his cock twitching as he pumps me full.

My body seizes around him, locked in aftershocks, and all I can do is hang on while he spends himself deep inside me.

We’re both panting, sweat and sex between us, my body trembling in his grip.

His chest presses to mine, his cock still buried in me, and even with the taste of blood and bile in my mouth, I can’t deny how badly I wanted that release.

When I come to myself and realize what I've done, I push him away with shaking hands.

He's breathing hard, his hair mussed, his shirt hanging open.

He looks satisfied and dangerous and completely unrepentant.

"Get out," I whisper.

Shame burns in my cheeks, and I feel moisture on my cheeks.

I'm crying.

He studies my face, taking in the tears I can't stop, the bruises his mouth left on my throat.