“Fuck you and your threats,” I snap, my mouth brushing his as I scowl at him.
He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, he just holds me there like he’s trying to read every wicked intention behind my eyes., but two can play this game.
“They told me you fuck dead girls.” I say, my face falling expressionless.
I shift, slow and calculated, my hips tilting just enough for my pussy to meet his crotch, dragging myself over the length of him.
His eyes drop instantly, zeroed in on the contact between us, and I see the muscle in his jaw twitch.
“You know what? You want me?” I breathe with venom-laced sugar. “Then take me. Right here, right now.”
His eyes dart back up to mine, wild and dangerous but I continue to grind against him.
“Bend me over, Wrath. Fuck me raw and hard but very much still alive. I’ll be a good girl and play dead for you if you want.” I add with a flutter of my lashes, leaning in until my breath grazes his lips again. “Or fuck off and stop wasting my damn time.”
His reaction is so quick and sudden, I barely have time to react.
One second, I’m sitting there, the next I’m yanked off the vanity with his hand tangled in the back of my hair, dragging me off it with a brutal grip.
Before I know it, I’m bent over and slammed frontally against the cold surface, the strength of him stealing my breath. A harsh gasp escapes my lips, heart pounding in my chest, my body already bracing for his next move.
Fuck. That escalated quickly.
I lay there, almost waiting for it with the threat hanging between us. He breathes heavily above me, a pulse of darkness rolling off him, and I hope, desperately, that he doesn’t actually do it.
His trembling hand leaves my hair, the touch lingering for just a second more before it gradually moves down my back. I side-eye him, catching the hunger in his wide eyes as they rake over every curve of me, taking it all in.
I’ve seen men crave what they can’t have before. They don’t try to hide it; some wear it proudly. The bold and entitled ones get nasty with it, like refusal is a personal offense. It’s familiar and disgustingly predictable.
But Wrath… he’s something else entirely.
He doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even move like the others. He just watches with eyes too steady, and far too intense.
In this split second, I realize it’s not just desire. It’s not even a twisted form of lust.
He admires me.
Not like just any man admiring a woman. More like a collector laying eyes on a delicate thing he thought he’d never see again. Or like I’m sacred and the last beautiful thing in a ruined world—too rare to touch, too dangerous to lose.And he’s already decided I belong to him.
It should feel flattering, but it doesn’t.
There’s something disturbed and unsettling in the way he stares at me. It’s as if his mind is someplace else entirely, playing out fantasies of me in positions I haven’t agreed to be in. And maybe it’s the trauma in me, but I can sense it even now.
He doesn’t just want to ruin me. He wants to fucking keep me, and he’ll break himself trying.
After a moment of silence, I feel he’s holding back, I’m not sure why, but that doesn’t stop his big hands from finding the small of my waist.
He grips me tightly with a growl and sharply yanks me downward, my ass slamming against his hips, offering us both a taste of what could be.
As soon as I feel his hard cock press against me, a throb of heat develops in my pussy, a feeling I haven’t experienced in years.
Shit, this is backfiring on me.
“Wrath…” I start, but his eyes flashing upward to my side profile, stops me.
His hand finds my hair again, but this time, he lifts my head, and I hiss as it pulls at my scalp. My eyes meet his in the mirror as he leans over my body, pressing his dick further against me.
Suddenly, a pen appears between his teeth and while our eyes stay locked, he bites the lid off, spitting it away. With his face beside mine, he brings the tip of the pen to the mirror and starts writing over my reflection in erratic script I can barely understand.