Page 63 of His To Erase

“I want one thing that’s real,” I say, quieter now. “Just one. I want to know if I’m fucked up because someone made me that way… or if I’m just broken.”

His eyes flash with something dark and dangerous.

“You’re not broken.”

“No?” I laugh, but it comes out bitter and raw. “Then why the hell do I keep choosing men who treat me like property? Like I’m supposed to bleed gratitude just for being seen?”

I can see that it hit him like a slap in the face. He leans forward slowly, but no less lethal.

“I don’t treat you like property,” he growls, each word edged in steel.

“No,” I whisper. “You fuck me like you own me. Then vanish like you don’t.”

My pulse is a riot. His eyes flare—and there it is, the shift. The moment he stops pretending to be calm.

“You want to play that game?” he growls, voice dark and smoky as he grabs my jaw, forcing my face up to his. “You want to act like this doesn’t mean anything? Like I don’t already own every inch of you?”

I blink up at him, mouth curling into something jagged. “I think you like the chase. I think you like pretending I’m the one running.”

His grip tightens—just enough to make me gasp. “You think I won’t remind you?” he rasps. “That I won’t drag you back and fuck the attitude out of you until you forget your own fucking name?”

I don’t answer—not out loud. But my body does. My pulse surges, and my thighs clench like they know what’s coming.

“I fucking warned you,” he mutters, spinning me around and shoving me hard into the nearest wall. And I can feel him pressed into my back. “You push, I push back harder.”

“Fucking do it then, Steven.”

His hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back until his mouth is flush with my ear.

“You wanna bait the monster?” he growls. “Then don’t cry when he breaks you.”

My breath shatters as his palm presses flat between my shoulder blades, pinning me like prey. My shirt’s halfway up, and the cold bite of the wall is shocking against my front.

“You think I haven’t seen this act before?” he sneers. “The brat who talks shit so she doesn’t have to admit she’s desperate to be claimed?”

“I’m not—” I start, but his fingers slide between my thighs, dragging through the soaked heat there—and I choke on the lie.

“You’re fucking soaked,” he snarls. “Came in swinging, all attitude and fire—like you weren’t already aching for me to shove you against the wall and ruin you again.”

Two fingers push in—deep—and I gasp as my cheek scraps against the plaster as my knees buckle.

“Keep fighting. It won’t change a thing.” His voice drops. “You want to be used like a toy? I’ll play rough. But we both know you’re already mine—you’re just too stubborn to admit how much you love being owned.”

He thrusts his fingers harder, grinding his palm into my clit while I whimper—legs shaking, every inch of me unraveling against the wall.

I don’t want to talk, I don’t want his comfort right now, I want this. His control, his hands, and his fucking wreckage.

“That’s it,” he snarls. “Cry for me, sweetheart. Beg. Show me how much you hate this.”

I whimper again—louder this time. Because I don’t hate it. I crave it. I ache for it.

He drags his fingers out, smearing my arousal across my inner thigh like a brand. Then comes the low rasp of his zipper.

“You baited me,” he growls, lining himself up. “Now you’re gonna take every fucking inch like a good girl.”

He slams in hard—and I scream. My body shatters against the wall, spine arching like he’s splitting me in half. His hand wraps around my throat, holding me still while he fucks me with pure, punishing purpose.

“This what you wanted?” he grits out. “To see what happens when I stop holding back?”

“Yes,” I say breathlessly.

He drags his cock out slowly before slamming it back in, hard enough to jolt my whole body.

“You’d rather be fucked like a toy than admit anything I said was right.”

I arch my back trying to get closer, to feel him deeper. “Shut up.”

“Hit a nerve there, dear?” He taunts. “Or are you just too busy coming undone to keep up the act?”

I whimper, the walls of my cunt fluttering around him, right at the edge—and then he pulls out. Completely. I let out a strangled cry, and my body’s still trembling. God, why does he have to be right. Why do I hate that I’d still fucking crawl back for more.

“No,” I breathe, hips grinding back instinctively, needing him closer. “Steven—”

“On your knees,” he growls.

I turn, blinking up at him as he fists his cock in one hand, while it glistens with my slick.

“You want to drown instead of talk?” His hand tightens around the base of his cock. “Then open that pretty mouth and I’ll fill it with something else.”

I drop to my knees, palms braced against his thighs, lips already parting. I’m not thinking, or fighting. I just need this—need him—more than I need air.

He stares down at me, dark and unreadable. “Open your mouth.”

I do. I tilt my head back and open my lips wide, breath stalling in my throat. And he spits straight into my mouth like he’s marking what’s his.

A sharp jolt shoots through my chest, ricocheting down to where my thighs clench so hard it aches. Because fuck, I wanted that. I wanted the filth, the control, the ownership. I want him to claim me so completely there’s no room left to feel anything else but him.

“Look at you,” he mutters, dragging his cock over my tongue. “Drooling for me. Desperate to erase the past.”

And he’s right. I am. I want this more than I want answers. More than I want the truth. I want to be ruined so thoroughly, there’s no room left to remember what I was afraid of.

He feeds it to me slowly while I moan and gag and fucking take it.

“Deeper,” he hisses, both hands in my hair now, controlling the rhythm. “Eyes on me. I want to see how beautiful you look, choking on me.”

I look up—and his whole body jerks. Tears spill down my cheeks while spit drips off my chin, my throat works around every inch he gives me.

“Fuck—just like that,” he snarls. “Keep going. That’s it. So fucking messy—just how I like you.”

My throat tightens, and I moan around him, licking and swallowing, giving him everything I have.

His hips stutter—once. Then again. A raw sound punches out of him as he pulls back just far enough to slap the head of his cock against my cheek, groaning when I chase it with my tongue like I need it to breathe.

“You want it?” he rasps.

I nod, gasping. My thighs are clenching like I can pull him back in through will alone.

“Then beg for it.”

“Please,” I whisper, broken and breathless. “Please come in my mouth—I need it. I need to taste you—”

That’s does it. That’s what fucking wrecks him. He fists my hair tighter, snarling something feral as his release hits. The growl that leaves his throat sounds like it’s been buried for years—raw and guttural—as he spills down my throat with a curse so filthy it makes my toes curl.

I swallow everything, and eventually he pulls back slowly, still breathing hard, staring down at me like he’s not sure what’s worse—what he just did, or how much he liked it.

I drag the back of my hand across my mouth, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, and my knees aching. My body’s still trembling from the edge he ripped away—and the fact that I want it again.

He leans down, grabbing my chin in one hand, and tilts my face up until our eyes lock.

“Remember what I told you,” he says, keeping his voice low. “Orgasm for talking. Not lying.”

Then he walks off—like he didn’t just leave me ruined on the floor.