Page 121 of The Drama King

"Get your hands off me," she said, but her voice was breathless, her pupils already dilating from my proximity.

"No," I growled, pressing closer until she was trapped between the desk and my body. "I'm done playing games. Done pretending this is negotiable."

"It's not about proving a point," she said quietly. "It's about choice. Autonomy. The right to determine my own future rather than having it dictated by coincidence."

"There's no choice when it comes to biology," I insisted, my hands tightening on her waist. "Fighting it only causes unnecessary pain."

"Maybe pain is necessary sometimes," she countered, her voice steady despite our proximity. "Maybe some prices are worth paying for self-determination."

The words sent ice through my veins, confirming my worst fears. She wasn't establishing boundaries or processing trauma. She was genuinely planning to reject the bond, to fight the imperative regardless of physical consequences.

And if anyone was stubborn enough to succeed where all logic said failure was inevitable, it would be Vespera Levine.

The thought made something desperate and primal take over. I couldn't lose her. Wouldn't lose her. Not after finding her, claiming her, recognizing her as the one perfect match biology had designed specifically for me.

My mouth crashed down on hers, all pretense abandoned. This wasn't about romance or seduction. This was about ownership. About reminding her exactly what she belonged to, what she was trying to throw away.

She fought it for exactly three seconds before biology took over. Her hands fisted in my shirt, pulling me closer even as she bit my lip hard enough to draw blood. The pain only made me harder.

"I fucking hate you," she gasped against my mouth.

"Good," I snarled back, dropping to my knees and pushing her skirt up. The scent of her arousal hit me like a drug. Sweet slick and jasmine and mine. "Hate me all you want. Your body knows better."

I ripped her panties away, the fabric tearing with a sound that made her gasp. She was already wet, already responding despite her protests, and the sight made something feral take over completely.

"Look at you," I growled, spreading her thighs wider. "Already dripping for me."

"Don't—" she started, but the word dissolved into a cry when I put my mouth on her.

She tasted like everything I'd been craving for two weeks. Slick and need and perfect compatibility. I lost myself in it, in her,tongue working her clit while she fought between pushing me away and pulling me closer.

"Mine," I said against her, the word vibrating through her core. "All fucking mine."

Her hands tangled in my hair, and I couldn't tell if she was trying to stop me or hold me there. Didn't matter. I was drunk on her scent, her taste, the way her thighs trembled around my head.

When she came on my tongue, her back arching off the desk, I wanted to stay there forever. But I needed more. Needed to be inside her, needed to claim her completely.

I stood up, my chin wet with her slick, and she was already clawing at my belt.

"That's it," I said, lifting her properly onto the desk. "Show me how much you hate me."

When I thrust into her, she screamed. Not in pain. In pleasure so intense it bordered on violence. Her nails raked down my back hard enough to leave marks, hard enough to claim me while I claimed her.

"Mine," I snarled, establishing a brutal pace that had the desk slamming against the wall. "Fucking mine."

"Never," she gasped, but her legs were wrapped around my waist, pulling me deeper.

I bit down on her claiming mark, and she shattered around me, her body convulsing as she came with a cry that echoed off the classroom walls. The sound of her surrender, the feel of her clenching around my cock, pushed me over the edge.

My knot started to swell, and for a moment I considered staying locked inside her, claiming her so completely that anyone who walked in would see exactly who she belonged to. But even through the haze of claiming instinct, I had enough sense to pull out, spilling across her bare thighs instead.

Reality crashed back like ice water. I looked down at her. Skirt pushed up, thighs marked with my release, her eyes already hardening as the haze cleared.

I'd fucked my fated mate on a desk like an animal. Proved every point she'd made about me being unable to control myself, unable to respect boundaries, unable to see her as anything more than something to own.

The satisfaction I'd felt moments before curdled into something that tasted like failure.

"Get away from me," she said, her voice dead calm. Scarier than screaming would have been.