Chapter Twelve

“You are mine, Ella. Understand that.” His voice was a low growl, a promise and a threat.

He didn’t wait for an answer, his mouth descending again, this time trailing down her jaw, tasting the faint salt of her tears.

He reached her bruised cheek, his lips brushing over the tender skin, a bizarre combination of apology and assertion.

His hands moved, deftly unbuttoning her blouse, his fingers brushing against her skin, sending goosebumps dancing across her flesh.

She shivered, a mix of fear and arousal. He pushed the fabric from her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in a silken heap.

Her bra followed, and her breasts, heavy and sensitive, spilled into his waiting palms. He cupped them, his thumbs circling her nipples, which instantly hardened into tight peaks.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire, a stark contrast to the harsh words of the previous night.

He lowered his head, his mouth closing over one engorged nipple, suckling deeply. A gasp escaped her lips, a raw, involuntary sound.

His tongue swirled, teasing, pulling, sending waves of pleasure through her. He worked his way from one breast to the other, making her arch into him, her fingers tangling in his hair.

He lifted his head, his eyes dark with lust.

“You want this, don’t you?” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, a challenge.

Her breath hitched. She couldn’t deny the truth. The humiliation, the pain, the fear it all receded under the relentless assault of his desire, her own body betraying her with its urgent needs.

Her hips instinctively pressed against his, seeking the hard ridge of his cock already pressing against his trousers.

He groaned, a deep, guttural sound, and swept her into his arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her skirt riding high on her thighs. He carried her through the house, his steps purposeful, towards their bedroom.

The journey was a blur of sensation, her breasts bouncing against his chest, her bruised cheek pressed against his neck, the scent of him filling her senses.

He laid her gently on the bed, then knelt between her legs, his eyes never leaving hers. He shed his clothes quickly, efficiently, revealing his powerful, sculpted body.

His cock, thick and engorged, sprang free, pulsing with a life of its own. It was a magnificent, intimidating sight, a testament to the raw power he exuded.

He reached for her skirt, pulling it up and over her hips, then her panties, discarding them with practiced ease.

Her legs parted slightly, revealing the dark, damp curls of her pussy, already slick with anticipation. He leaned down, his tongue tracing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, making her gasp.

“So wet for me,” he rumbled, his voice husky. His fingers found her clit, circling it lightly, then pressing down, sending a jolt of pleasure through her.

She squirmed, her hips lifting instinctively, begging for more. He watched her, a predatory smile playing on his lips, enjoying her surrender.

His fingers delved deeper, finding her wet opening, spreading her folds, then sliding inside.

One finger, then two, stretching her, preparing her. He moved them in and out, slowly at first, then with increasing speed, his thumb still teasing her clit. Her breathing grew shallow, ragged.

“Please, James,” she whimpered, her body trembling, on the verge of unraveling.

He finally positioned himself, his hard cock pressing against her swollen lips. He paused, looking into her eyes, a silent question passing between them.

A question of dominance, of submission, of where her boundaries lay. She met his gaze, her own eyes wide, a silent plea for release.

He thrust forward, a slow, deliberate push, his cock filling her completely. A moan tore from her throat, a mixture of pain and exquisite pleasure.

He was large, stretching her, but the feeling of being so utterly full, so completely possessed, was intoxicating. He paused again, letting her adjust, letting her body acclimate to his invasion.

Then he began to move, a slow, rhythmic thrusting that quickly gained momentum. Each stroke was deep, powerful, driving into her core.

The bedsprings creaked in protest, the sound of their bodies slapping together, skin against skin, growing louder. “Schlick, schlick, schlick”went the wet friction of their bodies.

His balls slapped against her ass with each deep penetration. Air escaped from her pussy with a soft, wet sound as he pulled back, only to plunge back in with renewed force.

Her legs wrapped tighter around his waist, her heels digging into his lower back, pulling him deeper still.

She arched her back, her fingers clawing at his shoulders, her head thrown back, lost in the escalating sensations.

He leaned down, his mouth finding hers again, kissing her with a desperate hunger, his tongue dancing with hers, exchanging saliva, a primal exchange of fluids.

He sped up, his thrusts becoming a relentless rhythm, pounding into her with an almost violent passion.

Her body bucked beneath him, meeting his every thrust, her pussy clenching around his cock, milking him with every movement. She could feel the pressure building, a sweet, agonizing tension coiling in her belly.

“James!” she cried out, her voice raw, on the brink.

He groaned, a deep, guttural sound, his body tensing. He pulled back almost completely, then drove into her one last, impossibly deep thrust.

Her climax erupted, a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure that shook her to her core, her muscles clenching violently around him, convulsing around his throbbing cock.

She screamed, a long, drawn-out cry of release, her body arching high off the bed.

He followed moments later, a guttural roar tearing from his throat, his body shuddering as he emptied himself deep inside her, hot, thick cum pulsing into her womb.

He collapsed onto her, his weight heavy, his breath ragged, his heart hammering against her chest. The room smelled of sex, sweat, and him.

They lay there for a long time, entwined, the aftershocks of their shared release still rippling through their bodies.

The pain in her cheek was a dull throb now, overshadowed by the lingering sensations of his potent claim. He shifted, pulling her closer, pressing a kiss to her hair.

He still said nothing, but the silence was different now, heavy with a complex mix of desire, possessiveness, and a strange, unsettling tenderness.

Days later, the bruise on Ella’s cheek had faded to a yellowish-green, still noticeable if one looked closely.

She covered it with a thick layer of foundation, hoping to conceal the last vestiges of his anger.

She moved through the house with a quiet caution, her interactions with James polite, almost formal.

The intense passion of that night had created a new, unspoken dynamic between them a fragile truce built on the raw power of his dominance and her own confusing, undeniable response.

Aria’s text flashed on her phone: Coffee? My place?

Ella hesitated. She hadn’t seen Aria since their café encounter, the one where Aria had expressed her concerns about James.

The thought of facing her, of trying to conceal the lingering evidence of James’s harsh lesson, filled her with dread. But Aria was persistent, and Ella knew she couldn’t avoid her forever.