Page 49 of His To Erase

“You’re scared you’ll like it,” I say in her ear, letting the words sink into her skin. “Scared you’d crawl for it.”

Her fingers twitch at her sides, and I just know her nails are curling like she’s fighting the urge to either touch me or claw me open, so I lean in—close enough to feel her breath, to see if she’ll flinch.

She doesn’t.

Stubborn little brat.

She’s stands there in nothing but leggings, my shirt, and that fucking chain she’s too scared—or too stupid—to take off. Still pretending she’s not already mine. That will make breaking her so much sweeter.

"You gonna hit me, sweetheart?" I murmur against her mouth, close enough she can taste the threat in the air between us.

"Maybe," she breathes back.

I smile because if she thinks she can start a fire and not burn for it, she’s wrong. I’d love to see her try though.

"You can try," I say. "But we both know you’re not gonna lift a finger."

Her body tenses—trembling with the effort it takes not to break first. I want her sobbing into my palm while I wreck every fucking inch of that smart, reckless mouth. I lift my hand and drag the back of my knuckles lightly down her cheek, just enough to make her shiver.

"You want to be a brat?" I murmur. "You want to pretend you don’t already know how this ends?"

Her chest rises sharply against mine, but I don't miss the way her nipples pebble beneath the thin fabric of my shirt—and how her thighs shift, squeezing together like she can smother the heat building between them. She might walk back to him when this is over, but she’ll be dripping my cum down her thighs—and he’ll know he’s getting nothing but my leftovers.

"You can run your mouth all you want," I say, trailing my fingers down to the chain around her throat. I hook a finger under it, feeling her pulse hammering against the delicate skin there.

"But we both know you're two dirty words away from begging me to ruin you."

She gasps, and it’s the prettiest fucking sound I’ve ever heard.

"You’re disgusting," she spits, but her voice cracks.

I chuckle. "You haven't even seen disgusting yet," I rasp. "But keep talking. Keep lying to yourself. See how long you last before you’re on your knees, cum dripping down your thighs, begging for the monster you swore you hated."

Her face flames with fury and want. All tangled together into something messy and broken and perfect. I step even closer, pressing her back harder into the wall, making sure she feels the thick, hard length of me against her stomach.

It only takes a second before she arches against me—the moment she tips her chin up like she’s daring me to do it—I almost lose it. Her breath stutters against my chest, and her body goes stiff with something I’m sure she doesn’t want to name.

Good.

I hope it eats her alive, because I’m done playing nice. I’m done pretending I don’t want to ruin her. And she’d love every fucking second of it.

My hand slides lower, still holding the chain. I drag the metal slowly along her throat and I feel her breath catch like a fucking prayer.

"Open that filthy mouth," I rasp, my knuckles grazing her pulse. "Give me a reason to break you faster."

Because I will. And she’ll thank me for it—whether it’s through tears or bitten-off moans. She’d look so fucking beautiful with my cock down her throat, tears streaming from her eyes. Fuck. I want to do things to this woman even the devil would whisper about.

Her eyes flash, and there she is. The girl who doesn’t know how to quit, even when her body’s already halfway mine.

“In your fucking dreams. You can eat shit,” she fires back, sharper this time. But it only makes my cock harder. I love it when my girl bites.

I lean in, brushing my nose along the curve of her jaw, breathing her in like a death sentence I’ve already written.

“Yet you still haven’t told me to stop,” I murmur, my voice low and filthy.

She jerks in my grip, and I know she’s fucking drenched.

“Has Frank ever made you this wet without even touching your pussy?” I growl, savoring the way she flinches.

She makes a sound that’s part rage, part humiliation—and shoves at my chest. I let her pretend she has a choice, then I grab her wrists and slam them over her head, pinning her to the wall in one brutal move.

She gasps, her body arching trying to get out of my grip, making her tits press against my chest. Her whole body trembles under the weight of everything she’s trying not to feel.

“Keep fighting,” I rasp, grinding my cock against her stomach. “I like it when you lie to yourself.”

“Go to hell,” she breathes, voice frayed and trembling.

“Only if you’re on your knees when I get there, sweetheart.”

Her eyes widen with fury, fear, and want—bleeding together so fast she can’t hide it.

Having an idea, I let her wrists go and step back. "On your knees.”

She doesn’t move though, of course she fucking doesn’t. That’s my girl. She just stares at me like I’ve lost my goddamn mind. And then—she laughs. The kind of laugh that tastes like gasoline right before the world catches fire.

“You really think I’m gonna crawl for you?” she flips her hair like she’s not already halfway wrecked.

“Is that how it works in your sadistic little fever dream? You bark, I beg?”

She steps toward me with her chin up, and her mouth twisted in that perfect fucking snarl. She’s so fucking hot when she thinks she’s the one holding the leash. I just might let her hold onto it for a few more seconds.

“You must’ve mistaken me for one of your other girls,” she sneers. “The ones who moan when you tell them to heel.”

I smile.

She’s exactly where I want her. All fire and venom and fucking delusion. And I want every second of her fight. Because once she breaks—she’s not getting back up without my hands on her throat and my name in her mouth.

I step back into her space, crowding her until her back hits the wall again, with a soft thud.

“They beg with their mouths. You do it with your cunt.”

Her nostrils flare when I fist the hem of her shirt and shove it over her hips. I’m about to lose what control I have left.

She slaps my hand away, and I grip the front of her throat, "You gonna slap me again?" I murmur. "Kick me? Scream?"

She doesn’t speak so I drop my voice lower, filthy enough to brand her. "Or are you gonna be a good little bitch and crawl?"

She jerks her chin back and fire flashes in her eyes. "Try me."

She's still fighting. Still lying to herself with every breath. But the tremble in her hands and the flush on her chest isn’t fear. It’s surrender trying to claw its way out, she just hasn’t figured out who she’s giving it to yet.

I grin. "Oh I plan to, on every surface in this house."

Her hands fist again. She’s flushed, and I’d bet my life she’s so fucking wet for me. I can see it in the way she bites her lip.

I close the distance in one brutal step, my fingers threading through her hair like a snare, while my other hand finds her throat again, pressing just enough to promise what I’ll take if she keeps testing me.

Her hands fly up to grab my wrist, and her nails dig into my skin. I feel her panic, her pride, and her need all pulsing against my hand but she doesn’t say stop.

“You think this is a game?” I growl, keeping my face inches from hers. The air between us hums, and it’s suffocating. “You think running that bratty mouth makes you brave?”

Her eyes are glassed over, shimmering with tears she’s too fucking stubborn to let fall. She blinks like if she fights long enough, she won’t come apart in front of me, But I’ve already carved my name into whatever’s cracking inside her.

She’s trying so fucking hard not to break—and I love that I’m the one making her. I press into her harder against the wall, my grip tightening around her throat and her knees tremble.

“Let me teach you how this works, sweetheart,” I rasp. “You don’t get to fight and stomp and scream and think there’s no cost. You mouth off? You pay for it.”

She makes a sound—gutted and raw. Part want. Part fear. And all fucking mine.

I lean in, dragging my mouth over hers and catch her bottom lip between my teeth and I bite enough to make her gasp. I swallow it, like her breath is mine to fucking own.

Her fists land against my chest—more instinct than intent—but her fingers twist in my shirt like she doesn't know if she's fighting or clinging. She moans into my mouth rubbing that sweet pussy on me.

I deepen the kiss, devouring her, grinding my cock against her stomach so she feels exactly what she’s done to me. How hard, how furious, and how far past the point of patience I am.

I pull back just enough to growl against her lips. “You think being loud makes you powerful?”

Her breath stutters like her body’s unraveling before she’s ready to admit it, but she stays quiet. And I fucking love how her body begs to be used and she moans like she hates how much she needs it.

“You want power?” I rasp, sliding my hand beneath the hem of the shirt she's still fucking wearing. My fingertips skate over hot, trembling skin. “You’re looking at it.”

I drag my hand higher— over her ribs, until I’ve got one perfect, aching breast in my palm. I squeeze hard enough to make her gasp and arch off the wall.

She’s fucking perfect. Every part of her. From the way she shakes to the way she fights it—her body already knows it belongs to me.

“You’re gonna beg,” I whisper into her mouth. “And you’re gonna thank me for it.”

She shudders as her nails bite into my chest, fisting tighter in my shirt like she's bracing for impact—or chasing it.

I can tell how needy she is, so I shove my thigh between hers, spreading her open until she’s straddling the pressure.

"Ride it," I order. “Show me how bad you want it.”

Her eyes snap open—furious and burning—but her hips twitch like they’ve made the decision for her.

"Fuck you," she breathes, but she’s already grinding against my thigh in tiny, frantic circles—like her cunt’s too desperate to wait for permission. There it is. That war between pride and need.