June's POV:
The mont I stepped into the room, he was there—waiting. Tall, dark, unreadable behind his mask. My heart slamd against my ribs, not from fear but from sothing far more dangerous. Need.
I didn't say anything. We never did.
Instead, I moved toward him, tilting my chin up in silent permission. His fingers brushed my jaw, a single mont of restraint before he grabbed and turned around, shoving hard against the cold wall.
Yes. This was what I needed.
Not soft. Not careful. Not sweet.
His hands were rough as they gripped my hips, pushing flush against the unyielding surface. My breath hitched when I felt him press against , his heat searing through the layers between us. I arched instinctively, craving more, craving everything.
My bra was gone in a flash, discarded like it was nothing. His mouth was everywhere—biting, sucking, branding. A sharp gasp tore from my lips as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin of my shoulder before he soothed it with his tongue.
The wall was hard against my cheek, grounding as his hands road lower, dragging my skirt up roughly. He didn't ask. He never did. Because he knew—knew what I ca for, what I needed.
One sharp tug, and my underwear was gone.
My body burned, my skin electric under his touch. I pressed harder against the wall, desperate to erase the filth, to replace it with sothing else—sothing real.
His fingers dug into my hips as he positioned himself behind . The anticipation was unbearable, my body strung tight, aching.
Then, without warning, he thrust—deep, brutal, raw.
A strangled cry left my lips, my nails scraping against the wall as he set a punishing pace, each thrust forcing the air from my lungs. There was no gentleness, no hesitation. Just heat, just power, just the kind of ruthless domination I craved.
The filth was gone. The mories erased.
There was only this.
The relentless rhythm, the pressure building, the way he gripped like he owned —like he was the only thing that existed in my world right now.
And maybe, for these fleeting monts, he was.
He didn't slow down—not even for a second.
With a firm grip, he pulled out almost completely, leaving trembling, then slamd back into with a force that made my knees buckle. My palms flattened against the cold surface, trying to steady myself, but he wasn't having it.
Strong hands grabbed my waist, spinning around in one swift, effortless motion. My back hit the wall, my chest heaving, eyes wild as I stared up at him. The mask concealed his face, but I didn't need to see it. I felt him—his dominance, his need, his silent understanding of why I was here.
He gripped my thigh and lifted it, hooking it around his waist before plunging back inside , deeper this ti, forcing a gasp from my throat. The angle was different now—intense, raw, perfectly devastating.
My head fell back against the wall as he owned , each thrust sending shockwaves through my body, unraveling everything that had tainted my skin before. The filth was gone, erased by the brutal, overwhelming pleasure of this.
He didn't let up. His hands were everywhere—gripping, claiming, branding. His teeth found my neck, biting down just hard enough to blur the lines between pain and pleasure, making feel sothing other than the ghosts in my head.
I clawed at his back, my nails dragging down on by his hair, needing sothing to hold onto, to ground as he fucked deeper, harder, completely.
The room was filled with our ragged breaths, the sharp sound of our bodies colliding, the desperate, aching rhythm that neither of us tried to control.
I was close. Too close.
And he knew it.
He always knew.
His grip tightened, his pace relentless, and then, with one last brutal thrust—
Everything shattered.
The tension snapped, the pleasure crashed into like a tidal wave, dragging under, drowning out everything. My legs trembled, my vision blurred, my mind went blank.
His hands gripped my thighs—tight, possessive—before lifting off the ground like I weighed nothing. My breath hitched as my back slamd against the wall, the cold surface a stark contrast to the heat burning between us. My legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, locking him in, trapping him against .
But he wasn't the one trapped. I was.
He didn't hesitate. Didn't give a second to catch my breath before thrusting back into , deeper than before. My head hit the wall, my nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure ripped through .
I gasped—no, I scread—but the music outside drowned out everything. It was just us. Just this. Just the brutal rhythm of his body taking what I offered and giving exactly what I needed.
His grip on my thighs tightened, bruising, grounding. He held up effortlessly, fucking into like he had all the ti in the world, like he was determined to make sure I never thought of anything else but him.
"Forget," his voice was low, almost a growl, sending a shiver down my spine.
And I did.
I forgot everything. The filthy hands that had tainted my skin. The monster who haunted my nights. The pain. The sha. The past.
The only thing that existed was the way he owned , how his cock filled , stretched , drove to the edge of pleasure again and again—relentless, unforgiving, addicting.
My body tensed, toes curling as my second orgasm slamd into , stealing my breath, my thoughts, my very soul.
But he wasn't done.
Not even close.
He pulled back, letting feel every inch of him sliding out, before slamming back in so hard I nearly saw stars. I clung to him, legs tightening around his waist, arms wrapping around his neck, desperate, helpless against the way he wrecked .
His pace was brutal, his thrusts deep and rciless, like he was chasing sothing—like he wanted to bury himself so deep I'd never forget who made feel this way.
"Mine," he murmured, voice rough, possessive, filled with sothing dark.
I moaned—no, I sobbed—because I needed this. I needed him.
And when he finally shattered inside , his growl vibrating against my throat, his body shaking with release—
I knew I'd never be the sa.
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