Page 16 of Malicious Claim

She shuddered. “Makros...” It was barely a whisper, soaked in surrender. “I hate you...”

I grinned, teeth grazing her throat. “Then why do you come for me like I’m the only man you’ll ever need?”

She didn’t answer, she couldn’t. Her body already had.

I leaned over her, pressing my lips to the shell of her ear. “You feel that, wifey?” I whispered darkly, nipping at her earlobe. “The way your body begs for it, the way you squeeze me every time I take you?” Without warning, my palm cracked down against her ass again but this time, sharper. Not enough.

The sound echoed, a brutal rhythm to her cries. Her skin flushed red beneath each strike, blooming like war paint across pale silk. She jolted, her body clenching tighter around me with every punishing thrust.

Deeper. Harder. Mine.

Her breath turned ragged, moans tangled with gasps as my hand met skin again and again. She was falling apart, unraveling for me, because of me. I dragged my teeth along her skin, slow and deliberate.

“Tell me again how you planned to kill me. Or are you too busy coming undone on the man who owns you now?”

She shuddered, nails clawing into her bound hands, back arching with every punishing snap of my palm. Her body jerked like a livewire, breath catching on a gasp that spilled out as a moan—raw, broken, and needy.

She was on the edge, unraveling. I could feel it in the way her thighs quivered, her breath hitched in ragged pants, her headfalling forward like she was trying to hold herself together. But she couldn’t. Not under me.

Not when she was mine.

Her hands fought the restraints, not to escape but to hold on. She was slipping, surrendering to the chaos I lit inside her. Exactly how I wanted her.

I gripped her hips and slammed into her harder, relentless, brutal, a man chasing the high of absolute ownership. Her strangled cry shattered in the air as her body gave in, trembling around me, wracked with pleasure that bordered on pain. She shattered and I followed, burying myself deep with a savage growl as the rush tore through me, raw and consuming.

We stayed like that, tangled in sweat and sin, her body twitching from aftershocks while I brushed my fingers down her spine, marking every inch of her as mine.

She whimpered, voice wrecked. “Makros... I still feel you. Every inch. God...And I hope you rot in hell.”

I leaned in, dragging my mouth to her ear. “That’s right, my good little whore. I want you sore every time you think of me and I’ll make sure to greet your family on my arrival.”

I kissed her shoulder, lips grazing hot skin but she used her feet to push me off the bed.

“And baby...” I smirked. “That was just the beginning.”

“Psychopath!!!” She screamed at me and this made me so angry.

I slapped her so hard she knew and felt a ringing sensation in her ear. She held her red cheeks, pushing me again to the hard tile floor but this time with more anger, with no desire left in her eyes.

She looked at me like I was dead.

“You... you...” Her voice cracked, trembling. Her fists beat against my chest, weak but desperate. “You killed my entire family... You monster!”

Her scream echoed in the room like a curse. She was breaking—no, she was already broken. I could see it in her eyes and I should have felt something. Guilt, maybe. Pity. But I didn’t.

I looked down at her and spoke calmly, with venom wrapped in silk.

“And what will you do about that?”

Her body stilled. And then it hit her. The realization. That I’d taken everything. She stumbled back a step, like the weight of her grief had finally crushed her spine.

“You killed my brothers... You killed them on my special day,” she cried. “You took everything I loved. You don’t have a soul. What did my family ever do to you?!”

Her voice was cracked glass—painful, sharp, and impossible to ignore.

I stepped forward.

“Makros,” she breathed, voice filled with hate and heartbreak. “Makros Crete, the man who wears blood like a suit of armor...”