Page 64 of His Forced Bride

“You’ll come for me,” he mutters, lips wet against my flesh, “because you can’t help yourself.”

“God damn you,” I gasp, and then the wave crashes over me.

My thighs clamp around his head as his mouth drags me under.

Pleasure shreds me, and I cry out his name.

He doesn’t let me go until I’m convulsing, shuddering, begging wordlessly for a break.

When he finally lifts his head, his mouth glistens, eyes blazing.

“Undone,” he says simply, and then he rises, and before I can recover, he’s clearing the desk.

Papers scatter, monitors rattle, and his hand forces my back down flat.

With one savage thrust, he drives into me, filling me to the hilt.

The sound I make is broken, but he’s already fucking me hard, hips slamming into mine, the desk groaning beneath us.

His hand grips the back of my neck, holding me against him while the other fists in my hair, jerking my head back just enough so his words burn against my ear.

“Do you feel what you hate? Do you feel who owns you?”

Each thrust is punishing, the stretch brutal and perfect, driving me to the brink again.

“I hate you,” I sob, but my body clenches around him greedily as I desperately claw at his chest.

He snarls, a raw sound deep in his throat.

“Then hate me while you come on my cock.”

His hand abandons my hair, sliding around my hip to find my clit.

The rough rub against the swollen bud is too much. I break, shattering with another orgasm that tears through me so violently, I nearly collapse.

He follows, hips pounding faster, groans ragged against my shoulder until he buries himself deep and his release crashes with mine.

The heat of him floods me, his grip crushing, his body pinning mine as we both convulse in the wreckage of it.

Breathless, ruined, still trembling, I realize with sick clarity… I may despise him, but my body belongs to him all the same.

The shame of my utter failure crushes me the instant he pulls out and uses the back of his hand to wipe his face clean.

His still-dripping cock stands proudly on end as I sit up, tugging my dress back into place, avoiding his gaze.

I still hate him—I think.

And I still want him to stay away from my businesses.

That much I know for certain.

"You disgust me," I snarl.

"Do I?" he asks with a smirk.

I stand, smoothing my hair with shaking hands.

"You and what you've turned me into."