Page 125 of What You left in Me

“I claimed you when you were engaged,” I say, my voice harsh, cutting through the haze. “I took you and marked you. You’ll never escape me.”

She tries to shake her head, but my hand pins her against the cold tiles, holding her still. Her body betrays her, slicking my fingers, and I bury my face in her hair, groaning low. “Feel that, baby? Your body craves me. How can you fight what’s meant to be? You were made for me, Ariane. Admit it.”

“No!” Her voice is muffled against my hand, which is covering her mouth, but the denial makes me hornier. I pull back, studying her face, lit by slivers of moonlight slicing through the window. My own face is cloaked in shadow, but I see her, every flicker of fear, every spark of desire she’s trying to bury.

“You fight me, but you’re fighting yourself harder,” I murmur, my fingers slowing, stroking now, coaxing. Her claws dig into my wrist, but I don’t stop. “You were so scared of what people will think, you’d rather have denied us both.”

I twist my fingers just right, and she whimpers, the sound shooting straight to my core. “I’m not that selfless, Ari. I would’ve done anything to get you.”

I scissor my fingers, and she jerks like she’s tethered to me, a puppet dancing on my strings. “You play the good girl, but you love it like this. Rough and filthy. How can something this perfect be wrong? Feel me. You love it, don’t you? I taught you to need me.”

Her hands grip my wrist, her hips rocking before she catches herself and freezes. I catch the glint in her eyes, and a grin splits my face. “That’s my girl.”

I pull my hand free, ignoring her gasp, and press my palm to her chest, pinning her to the wall. With a rough tug, I drag her jeans down, her stance widening to stop me, or at least pretending to, but I’m stronger.God, I love that she plays along.I tip her off balance, yanking the denim off one ankle, and shuffle her toward the bathroom.

“Finn!” Her voice echoes in the room, high and desperate, but there’s no one to hear her. The hiss of my zipper cuts through the silence, and I bend her over the sink, my hand firm on her back. She grips the porcelain, mouth opening to scream, butshe’s not ready for me. I slam into her, hard enough to make her lurch forward, her head nearly hitting the mirror. She yelps, slapping a hand on the dusty glass as I let go, no restraint, no mercy.

She can’t catch her breath, not with me fucking her like this, relentless, consuming. I fist her hair, yanking her head to the side, scraping my teeth along her shoulder before biting down. My other hand roams, grabbing her breast, pinching her nipple until she screams and bucks against me.

I lap at the bite, move to her earlobe, and bite again.

“Stop!” she cries, but my hand clamps over her mouth, squeezing until she claws at me in panic. I ease up just enough for her to breathe, her hands splaying on the mirror. Our reflection is raw, primal—me, fully clothed, dominating her smaller frame. Her shirt’s rucked up, her nipples hard, my arm locked around her waist, holding her where I want her. Our eyes meet in the glass, mine burning with a feral hunger I can’t contain. She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to block me out, but I’m not having it.

I pull out, spin her, and press her back against the wall, lifting her up and sliding back inside. She’s disoriented, and I take advantage, my tongue plunging into her mouth. She tastes like coffee and chocolate, and I groan, rocking into her, my body trembling with the effort to hold back. I kiss her cheek, her shoulder’s bite mark, suck on her neck, and return to her lips, open and panting.

She’s pliant in no time, her body pulsing, her mind a wreck.

“I need you with me, baby,” I whisper, desperate. She pretends to turn away, but I hold her face, kissing her hard, stealing her breath, giving her mine. It’s raw, needy, stirringthings in her I know she doesn’t want to feel. Her nails dig into my chest as my hand slips down, finding her clit. She mewls, angry but undone, and I smile against her lips. When she fights, I keep her mouth busy, overwhelming her until her brain shuts down. Her orgasm hits like a storm, her body bucking, nearly throwing me off. I growl, pinning her to the tiles, thrusting harder, making her pleasure ungraciously and brutally. As she spasms, I bury my face in her hair and roar, slamming into her as I come, her ass hitting the wall.

Her ears must be ringing as she comes down, her breath ragged. I feel her legs, wrapped around me at some point, drop to the floor. My hand grazes her trembling ass, pulling her closer as I hum in satisfaction. I pull out, and she sucks in a breath as my fingers slide back inside, coating them in our release. I spread it over her belly, marking her with the evidence of our mating.

“I’d do anything for you,” I say, voice low and rough. “You know that. Would you?”

She hesitates for a micro-second before nodding. Her eyes lock on mine, wide, uncertain. I drag my cum-slick fingers over her lips. “Taste us,” I order. She sucks in a breath and when she opens to protest, I slip my fingers inside. “Suck.”

She hesitates, then obeys, her lips closing around my fingers. I watch her, my voice hoarse. “I told myself you couldn’t be as perfect as I remembered, that it was just some teenage obsession I’d get over.”

She sucks my fingers, her hands grabbing my arm and her lips lifting up in desire. I pull my fingers free, cupping her face, kissing her slow, deep, tasting us both. Her breathing’s uneven when I pull back, holding her gaze.

She shivers as my hand slides to her breast, cupping gently, a contrast to the roughness before. She braces against my chest.

“Stop,” she whispers, voice shaky, like she’s trying to reclaim control.

I don’t stop. My hand massages as I lean in, kissing her with a focus that makes her tremble. She pushes for space, but my hand on her hip keeps her pinned. I kiss her like she’s all that exists, softening it when she starts to shake. I murmur against her lips, “Say my name.”

“Finn.” It comes out like a sin.

“Louder.” I press her down. She arches into my body like I’ve got gravity on a string.

“Finn.” She’s furious with herself for how hard she’s shaking.

For how much I’ve studied her body like it’s the only subject I ever cared to pass.

“You wanted the truth?” I rasp against her mouth. “This is the only thing that never felt like a lie.”

She bites my lower lip, hard enough to warn, not enough to draw blood. “Don’t use poetry to justify being a bastard.”

“I’ll use whatever works. Tell me.”