Page 29

H is fingers drive into me, hard and relentless, each stroke pushing me closer to the edge. The belt bites into my throat, cutting off my breath, making every gasp a struggle.

My pussy aches, still tender from Axe, and the burn from his rough fingers stretches me beyond what I can take. I want to scream, but it’s swallowed by the tape. the pain and pleasure twisting into one unbearable wave.

When he pulls his fingers out, the emptiness is almost agonizing. I should feel relief, but all I feel is a desperate, aching need. Whether it’s the alcohol or the adrenaline, I just crave more. His body presses against mine, his cock teasing at my entrance, and a thrill of fear races through me.

I’m scared, but the excitement is more powerful. The pain, the pleasure—I want it all. I need it to remind me I’m still alive, still fighting, still capable of feeling something, anything.

I should be horrified by how much I want this. But I’m not. This is who I am—dark, twisted, and craving the violence that matches my broken soul.

His jeans scrape against my bare skin, his cock sliding over my swollen clit, taunting me. My stifled cries intensify, the desperation clawing at me.

The tip of his cock grazes my entrance, and I brace myself. He pushes just the tip in, the sharp stretch sending a shock through me. I cry out, the sound muffled by the tape, but he doesn’t stop. He pulls back, only to slam into me with brutal force.

FUCK!

He yanks the belt tighter, the leather digging into my skin, cutting off my air completely. Tears spill down my face, but there’s no escape from the savage pace he’s set.

His cock fills me, stretching me to the breaking point, and I’m lost in the pain, the pleasure, and the brutal reality of who I am.

It hurts, and it feels so fucking good.

My face is buried in the mattress, his grip on my hips bruising. I’m pinned beneath him, silenced, unable to do anything but feel. His cock hits the spot inside me that sends shockwaves through my body, making me see stars.

My muffled cries only drive him harder, his grunts echoing in the room as he stretches me to the breaking point.

My pussy clenches around him, the pressure building with each desperate second.

I push against him, matching his furious rhythm, desperate to reach that peak. He pulls the belt tighter, cutting off my air completely, and it’s like a switch flips inside me. My vision darkens, the edges blurring as I teeter on the brink. His thrusts become frantic.

And then, at one last, deep shove, I shatter. The orgasm crashes over me like a tidal wave, my body convulsing, muscles locking up as pleasure and pain blend into something overwhelming.

The lack of oxygen burns my lungs, but I can’t scream—can’t do anything but ride out the wave until it consumes me completely.

He groans, deep and guttural, as his cock pulses inside me, spilling his cum into my trembling body. The darkness closes in, the last of my air gone, and I collapse onto the bed, sinking into the oblivion of unconsciousness.

When I come to, the room is silent, the chaos replaced by an eerie calm. The tape is gone from my mouth, the belt no longer constricting my neck. My head throbs, my body aches, but before I can move, his arm slides around my waist, pulling me close.

He’s still here.

His chest presses against my back, his arm draped over me protectively. I don’t speak, just lean into him, needing the solid weight of his body more than I want to admit. It’s strange—this warmth, this closeness.

His heartbeat thumps steadily against my back—a welcome change from the cold, empty space that is usually behind me.

His touch fills a void I didn’t even know I had, like a missing puzzle piece sliding into place. In this moment, everything else fades. Axe, my father, the Sovereign—it’s all gone. Right now, it’s just us.

When I shift to face him, he brushes a strand of hair away from my face. His touch surprisingly gentle, almost tender.

“Thanks for showing up,” I murmur.

He just stares at me with those dark brown eyes. His emotions are locked up tight, but I can feel the intensity in his gaze.

It’s enough for now. I roll onto my back, his arm still over me. The sensation is strange, unnerving—but comforting in a way that almost scares me. It’s been ages since anyone’s held me like this.

“My brother kidnapped me today,” I blurt out, grabbing the almost empty wine bottle from the nightstand and taking a long drink. “He literally drugged me and brought me here.”

The weight of everything that’s happened starts to settle in, and tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I blink them away and gesture around the room. “So, welcome to my prison. And thanks for, you know, fucking the hell out of me.”

He doesn’t say anything—big shocker there—but his arm tightens around me, pulling me closer. It’s almost enough to make me believe he cares, but I’m not that naive.

“Sorry for the wine,” I say, motioning to the bottle. “I couldn’t deal with this sober.” I take a deep breath, trying to pull myself together. “Your timing was impeccable, though. I needed the distraction.”

Silence hangs between us, thick and heavy. But for once, it doesn’t feel awkward. It just is.

I climb over him and straddle his hips. It’s weird, being completely naked while he’s still fully clothed, but I ignore it. He doesn’t stop me, just grips my waist like he’s keeping me right where he wants me.

My hands wander over his shirt, feeling the hard lines of his chest and abs beneath the fabric. He’s all muscle, and I bite my lip, trying not to get too lost in the thoughts running wild through my head.

I want him. Again.

“So, what’s your name?” I ask, tilting my head with a smirk. “Or are you just planning to keep playing the silent, brooding type?” I huff.

Nothing. Typical.

His hoodie’s pulled up, hiding his hair, and that mask of his is still firmly in place. The only thing I can see are his eyes, deep brown and unreadable.

“Why the mask?” I reach for it, just to see if he’ll flinch, but his hands shoot out, catching my wrists before I get close.

I pout, trying to look all sweet and innocent, but he’s not buying it. His grip tightens when his thumb brushes over an old scar on my wrist, and I try to pull back, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he brings my hand closer, inspecting the scar.

“It’s nothing.” I shrug, trying to sound casual, but the way his eyes lock onto mine makes my skin prickle.

He’s not just looking—he’s searching, digging for answers I’m not sure I want to give.

“It was a long time ago,” I mutter. “Just a stupid mistake.”

His grip tightens, and I realize I’m not getting out of this without saying more. “I wasn’t really trying to kill myself...I mean, I did try, but...” I trail off, raw and painful memories surfacing. “I was just a dumb teenager, desperate for attention, for someone to care. It was stupid.”

I can’t believe I’m sharing this with him, but maybe that’s the alcohol talking. His grip on my arm is firmer now, almost possessive.

“It’s just one of those things.” I sigh, trying to shake off the weight of the past. “You do something reckless, not thinking about what comes after. And the world just keeps moving on, while you’re stuck with the scars.”

I grab the wine bottle again, taking another long drink, hoping to drown out the memories.

“Father-of-the-year award goes to my dad.” I force out a laugh, but it’s as empty as his promises. “Instead of being worried when I landed in the hospital, all he did was get angry. Didn’t even bother to visit. Cold as ice, especially after my mom died…like I wasn’t even there.”

Why am I even talking about it? It’s ancient history, but the sting is still fresh.

“But he’s only that way with me. He loves my brother.” My eyes start to sting, tears threatening, but I blink hard, fighting them back. “Anyway, I’m sure you’ve got your own sad story. We all do, don’t we?”

I sniff, trying to shake off the vulnerability.

He’s silent. Of course.

“I mean, nobody wears a mask and screws…someone like me without dragging around a ton of baggage.” The word ‘whore’ catches in my throat, too bitter to say aloud.

His body tenses, and his eyes narrow.

“I’m not judging,” I rush to say, sensing the shift in the air. “We’ve all got our demons. I’m just saying, we’re not that different.”

Still nothing.

“Mine is daddy issues and a fucked-up relationship with men.” I laugh. “Yours? Probably something dark and dangerous.” I pause, waiting for any reaction, but he just stares, unreadable as ever.

I reach for the wine bottle, but his hand clamps down on my wrist.

“Oh, come on.” I pout, trying to play it cute.

I twist my wrist, but he’s too strong, not giving an inch. Frustrated, I lean in closer, pressing against him. “Let me have the wine.”

But he doesn’t budge, his eyes locked onto mine, challenging me.

“If you knew the shit I’ve been through, you’d let me drink,” I huff, trying to pull away, but it’s no use.

Rolling my eyes, I give up, sliding off him and flopping onto my side, staring at him.

“I want to know who you are,” I insist, reaching to lift his hood. But he grabs my wrist to stop me. “Fine, be mysterious. You’re good at it.” I sigh.

All I want is that damn wine. I could sneak another bottle, but waking Spencer isn’t worth it.

“You know what? I’ll tell you the messed-up reason I’m here,” I say, gesturing around the room. “In the Hamptons. And if you think it’s worth getting drunk over, I’ll finish this bottle with you.”

I take a deep breath, searching for the words to explain my fucked-up life with Axe without revealing the Sovereign or its secrets.

“I’m trapped in a relationship with a man who’s a total psychopath—abusive, manipulative, controlling. But the worst part? He doesn’t even want me. He hates me as much as I hate him.”

I pause, but he stays silent, so I push on.

“The only reason he’s hurting me is to get back at my dad. But he doesn’t know my dad couldn’t care less. He stopped loving me the second my mom died.”

The truth hangs between us, heavy and suffocating. His arms wrap around me, pulling me in, and I let him. Soaking in the comfort I’ve been starved for.

“He puts on this big show, pretending to be a caring father, but it’s all bullshit.” I sigh. “He blames me for her death. He hasn’t looked at me the same since. If what I’m about to say doesn’t make you hand over that wine, then you really don’t have a heart.”

I force a laugh, trying to dull the pain with humor.

Why the hell am I telling him this?

“I was there,” I whisper, “when she was murdered. I was only ten.” The memory crashes over me, as vivid and horrifying as the night it happened. Fear, panic, helplessness—it all drags me under. “Her screams woke me. I didn’t know what was happening. I tried to get to her, but my door was jammed. I was trapped.”

My voice shakes, the weight of it clawing at my chest.

“I heard everything they did to her. Her screams, the gunshots, her final breaths. I pounded on that door until my fists bled, but it wouldn’t budge. And then…they came for me.”

I swallow hard, his fingers combing gently through my hair.

“Two men kicked in my door. One of them was covered in her blood. He was hysterical, screaming about taking me, but the other man stopped him. They argued while I screamed for her, for my dad, for anyone. But no one came. The neighbors called the cops. When they heard the sirens, they ran. Left me alone…with her.”

My voice cracks. I see it all again—her body, her empty eyes, the blood on my hands. I shut my eyes, willing the images away.

“The police took me, and after that everything is just a blur of sirens, doctors, and therapists who couldn’t fix any of it.”

More silence.

“But that’s not the worst part,” I say, the alcohol loosening my tongue. “The worst part is my father blamed me. A few nights later, I woke up to him pacing in my room, crying. He was drunk; I could smell it. He pulled out a gun, pointed it at me…and pulled the trigger. It didn’t fire. Just a click. And I froze.”

The pain is still raw, still bleeding, even after all these years.

“I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. We just stared at each other. I thought he was going to kill me. But then...he just left. And the next morning? It was like nothing had happened. He acted normal, so I did too. Didn’t want to set him off.”

My voice wavers, but I push through it.

“A few days later, he shipped me off to boarding school. That was it. I was gone. He stopped being my father the moment she died. I lost both parents that night.” I swipe at a tear that escapes, frustrated.

The alcohol makes it worse, not better. It’s like…all the anger, the pain, everything I’ve buried is clawing its way out.

“But my dad? He’s a real piece of work. An Oscar-worthy performance, and no one sees through it.” I scoff, a bitter laugh slipping out. “So, there you go—the tragic tale of the woman screwing a stranger while being stuck in a relationship with a psychopath. If that doesn’t earn me the rest of this bottle, I don’t know what will.”

The humor is as hollow as I feel, but it’s the only defense I have left against the vulnerability I’m feeling. I glance at him as he silently offers the wine bottle.

“Thanks,” I murmur, taking a sip. The burn of the alcohol dulls the edges of my confession, but it doesn’t erase it.

I can’t believe I just unloaded all that, but weirdly, it feels good. Like ripping off a bandage.

“I haven’t talked about that in...well, ever.” I wipe away another tear. “Sorry, that was a lot.”

In his arms, I feel small, exposed—but safe. The kind of safety that makes you reckless. I shift, pressing back against him, feeling his hardness. His hands tighten on my hips, a low groan rumbling from his chest.

“Please,” I whisper, my voice raw. “I need this.”

His hand slides up my back, fingers threading through my hair before giving it a sharp tug.

“Ow,” I hiss, but the sting ignites something in me.

Then comes the sharp smack, his palm colliding with my ass. I yelp, but he’s already covering my mouth, his grip firm, commanding.

I push back against him again, his hold on my hip anchoring me in place. My muffled moan vibrates against his hand, the sound drenched in need.

His touch is relentless—rough, possessive, unapologetic. Every movement screams control, like he’s claiming me. When his fingers slide between my legs, I gasp, the sensation unraveling me. My hips move on instinct, grinding against his hand, desperate for more.

I bite back a moan as his fingers tease my clit, sharp sparks shooting through me. The leather of his glove presses against my lips, muffling my sounds as I arch my back, chasing more. But it’s not enough—I need him inside me.

I fumble behind me, seeking out his belt. I unfasten it, feeling the thick, hard heat of his cock in my hand. He tenses under my touch, his hold over my mouth tightening.

I guide him to my entrance, pushing back against him. The stretch burns, raw and thrilling, pulling a muffled cry from deep in my chest. My teeth sink into the leather covering his palm as he fills me completely.

His thrusts start slow, each one tearing the breath from my lungs. I rock back against him, begging for more, and he answers with a brutal rhythm that steals my thoughts.

He shifts his weight, shoving me into the mattress. My face presses into the pillows, every cry swallowed by the fabric. His hand is on the back of my neck, keeping me exactly where he wants me as he drives into me with an intensity that borders on desperation. Pleasure coils tight in my core, and I shatter around him, my body convulsing as I scream into the pillows.

He doesn’t stop—his thrusts grow erratic, punishing, until he buries himself with a guttural groan, his cum hot and searing inside me.

Collapsing on me, he holds me close, gripping my waist like I might vanish. His weight grounding me in a way I didn’t know I needed. The alcohol, the pleasure, and sheer exhaustion crash over me. I close my eyes, the heat of him and the ache he’s left behind pulling me under.