Page 75 of Little Spider

“You’ll never be free of me,” he whispers, his mouth brushing over my pulse. “Because you don’t want to be. You like the way I make you feel. You love knowing you’re caught.”

His hands slide under my shirt, pushing it up, exposing more skin to the chilly night air. His lips trail down, bitingand sucking, leaving marks that burn and throb. I can feel his possessiveness in every touch, like he’s trying to mark every inch of me.

“You could have screamed for help,” he murmurs, dragging his mouth over my collarbone. “Back there in the parade. You could have begged someone to save you. But you didn’t.”

I bite my lip, trying to keep silent, but he notices, and his hand wraps around my throat, not squeezing, just holding—reminding me who’s in control.

“You’re not fooling anyone,” he growls. “You wanted me to find you. You wanted me to catch you. You just didn’t want to admit it.”

His hand trails down my body, slipping under the waistband of my pants, and I can’t help the way my hips buck against his touch. He smirks, his thumb brushing over my clit, slow and teasing.

“Look at you,” he purrs. “Already soaked. You’re pathetic. Pretending to hate it when your body’s begging for more.”

I gasp, trying to twist away, but he holds me steady, his grip firm but not painful. He leans in, his lips brushing over mine, his voice dark and soft.

“I’m never letting you go,” he whispers. “You belong to me now. And I’ll remind you every single day if I have to.”

My mind spins, and I can’t think past the way his touch sets my skin on fire. I hate him. I hate him for making me feel like this—for making me want something so twisted and wrong.

But deep down, I know I’ll never be able to break free.

Even now, with his hands on me, his mouth claiming mine, I can’t stop wanting more.

And he knows it.

He knows he’s already won.

My body betrays me—arching into his touch, even as my mind screams to get away. Damien doesn’t miss a singlereaction, his eyes glinting with a dark, triumphant satisfaction. He presses me harder against the wall, his fingers digging into my waist, holding me there like I might vanish if he loosens his grip.

“You keep fighting me,” he whispers, his lips dragging down my neck, biting and sucking until I know he’s leaving marks. “But you know it’s pointless. I’m not letting you go. I’ll never let you go.”

I grit my teeth, trying to ignore the way his touch lights my skin on fire. His hands slide up my thighs, pushing my legs wider, and I can’t help the way my breath catches.

He tilts my head back, his mouth capturing mine in a brutal, consuming kiss, his teeth scraping my lips until I taste blood. I try to twist free, but he just smirks against my mouth, one hand still wrapped around my throat, keeping me pinned.

“You can fight all you want,” he taunts, his voice low and rough. “It just makes it sweeter when you give in.”

I turn my head to the side, gasping for air, and he doesn’t let up—dragging his lips down to my collarbone, biting down hard enough to make me cry out. His hand slides under my shirt, pushing it up, exposing my ribs to the cool air.

His fingertips trace over the bruises he left earlier, and he hums, pleased.

“You’re marked up so pretty,” he murmurs, pressing his thumb to one of the darker spots. “I want everyone to see how I claimed you.”

A shiver runs through me, and I hate that it’s not entirely from fear. My body now automatically responds to his touch because it is too used to it, as if someone trained it to crave him.

He leans down, kissing the bruise softly, almost tender, and it makes my stomach twist because I don’t know how to reconcile the way he switches between violent and gentle.

“You ran from me,” he growls suddenly, his teeth grazing my throat. “You made me chase you through that fucking crowd. You made me lose my goddamn mind, thinking you were slipping away.”

I try to push him back, but he catches my wrists again, pressing them against the wall, his body pinning mine.

“You don’t get to leave,” he snarls, his voice raw. “Not after I gave you everything. Not after you screamed my name like you couldn’t breathe without me.”

His lips are on mine again, bruising and desperate, and I can’t help the way I kiss him back—hating myself for it even as I do. He notices, of course, and his smirk returns, his hands sliding down to my thighs, lifting me higher up against his body. “That’s right,” he whispers, dragging his tongue over my jaw. “You’re done pretending. You belong right here, wrapped around me, begging for more.”

I say nothing, but he doesn’t need me to. His hands slip under my waistband, fingers brushing over my soaking pussy, and I can’t hold back the whimper that breaks free.

“Already soaked again,” he taunts, his breath hot against my neck. “You’re addicted to it. To me. No point in denying it anymore.”