Page 77 of His Forced Bride

The insult dies in a moan as he drags me down onto him in one brutal motion.

I gasp, nails clawing at his scalp and the back of his neck as he stretches me wide.

The fullness steals my breath, but his bandaged hands hold me steady until I find my balance.

“Move,” he growls.

“Show me how much you hate me.”

I brace on his chest and lift, then slam back down.

The shock of it tears another cry from my throat.

He groans a deep, rough sound as I begin to ride him.

Each rise and fall grinds him deeper, the friction unbearable, addictive.

“Good girl,” he mutters, head falling back.

“Take what’s yours. Take all of it.”

My body obeys before my mind can protest, bouncing harder on his cock, chasing the release building again inside me until I can barely breathe.

His bandaged hands squeeze tighter at my hips, dragging me down harder, guiding every thrust, using me with a roughness that leaves my thighs trembling.

The wet slap of our bodies colliding fills the room, filthy and relentless, and still I don’t care.

I’m too far gone, grinding and fucking him with abandon, as if I’ve needed this punishment and pleasure my entire life.

The pressure crests until I am shuddering, my climax ripping through me in waves.

My cries spill into his mouth when he drags me down against him and kisses me, swallowing every desperate sound.

He thrusts upward in savage rhythm, hips driving into mine until he follows me over the edge.

His groan is guttural, his body jerking as he empties himself inside me.

Heat floods me while his grip locks me against him, holding me tight as if he could fuse us together.

I sag against his chest, still trembling, and his breath rasps hotly at my ear.

For a long moment we stay there, joined, both shaking, both unwilling to release the other.

Finally, his hand strokes down my spine, steady and possessive.

“You fight me,” he murmurs, lips brushing my temple, “but you come for me every time.”

“You’re insufferable,” I whisper, though my voice has no bite.

My cheek rests against his shoulder, my body still clenching weakly around him.

“And yet you’re here.”

He tips my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes.

"I still hate what you represent," I tell him, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck as I melt a little.

I haven't spoken to my friends or family, my staff, or even my lawyer, so maybe I'm going a little crazy here.