Page 183 of His To Erase

The second the words leave my mouth, he’s inside me—one brutal, punishing thrust that rips the air from me.

“Yeah you are,” he growls. “My perfect fucking brat.”

He grabs my hips and drives into me again like he’s claiming every inch and carving his name into my goddamn bones.

“You’ll never let anyone else touch you here,” his pace turns vicious. “Not your cunt. Not your ass. Not your fucking soul. You hear me?”

“Yes—yes—Steven, I?—”

“Say it again, sweetheart.” Another savage thrust.

“Yours,” I sob. “Yours—all of it—fuck?—”

My orgasm hits and I can feel him follow me right over the edge. I seize, knees giving out. I’d drop if he weren’t still holding me—still fucking me through it like he owns every broken, burning piece I just gave up.

He leans over me, still buried deep, both of us wrecked and panting over the counter, but he hasn’t let go. His lips brush the sensitive spot on my neck.

My body jolts. It should be too much—should terrify me—but instead, I feel myself getting turned on all over again, even when I can barely hold myself up.

God help me… I want that. I want him again.

Even now, with my sticky thighs, and lungs trying to reboot—I’d let him flip me over and ruin me again without question.

Ani

Ishift, trying to stand and pull my sweats up, which apparently is a mistake. His hand snaps out and clamps around my hip like a fucking leash.

“No.”

I freeze, turning to look at him. “What?—?”

“You can stay like this.” His voice is calm. Almost gentle. But there’s nothing soft about it. “No pants. No panties. I want my cum dripping down your thighs while you eat.”

My cheeks flame. The humiliation is instant, crashing into the raw aftershocks still pulsing through my core. “You’re not serious.”

He grabs my chin and forces my head back, eyes locking with mine. His stare is lethal.

“I’ve never been more serious.”

I don’t breathe for a full five seconds, and when he finally releases me and turns toward the fridge, I realize how hungry I am.

“Mac and cheese?” he mutters, opening the fridge and tossing ingredients on the counter. “Fucking hell. If I’d known you had the taste of a frat boy on house arrest, I would’ve let you starve.”

I shoot him a look, too dazed to fire back properly. I’m still bare from the waist down, and still very much pulsing and flushed. I can feel his cum sliding slowly between my legs.

He glances over his shoulder and he’s smiling.

“Stay there. I'll feed you.”

My stomach flips.

A few minutes later, he sets a plate in front of me—grilled chicken, roasted sweet potatoes, and sautéed vegetables.

“You’re such a weirdo,” I mutter, dragging the plate closer with shaking fingers.

“If anyone’s wrecking your insides tonight, it’s gonna be me—not whatever powdered chemical shit that was.”

I nearly choke on a bite. “Jesus. You’re the one who had it.”