Page 15 of The Castle (Endgame 3)
He thrusts two fingers inside me, sudden and blunt. I whimper at the intrusion, the stretch of my tender flesh around his unforgiving entry. He licks the side of my neck. It could be soothing, but it inflames me instead. Then he bites down on my skin, and I know that’s what he intended. He wants me to burn as much as he does. It’s a kind of retribution, a punishment for turning him to ash.
His fingers twist inside me, finding that secret spot, and I moan.
As if he was waiting for that, he pulls away. My inner muscles clench around nothing.
“Please. Please, Gabriel.”
“That’s right. Beg me. That’s all I want to hear from you. Begging. Crying. I want you broken at my feet.”
“You’re crazy,” I finally whisper, but what I really mean is: I’m crazy.
My reward is his cock—large and hot at my entrance. “Again,” he says.
I push back, fighting for him to fill me. His large hands hold my hips steady, as easily as if I’m a doll. He moves me when and where he wants me. And right now he wants me to suffer.
“You’re crazy,” I say, and this time I mean it.
He pushes inside me with a violence that pushes me against the inside door of the car. Cool curved glass presses against my cheek. The smooth wood and leather padding the door cradle my breasts. My sex pulses around his cock, shocked anew at the size of him, the width. He never gives me time to adjust—or maybe it’s not possible. Maybe he wants me small and tight, meant to stretch on every entry, to squeeze him with every twitch. Isn’t that why men want a virgin? So they can hurt us?
I want you broken at my feet.
“Harder,” I whisper, and I’m not sure who I’m saying it for—him or me. I’m not sure it matters. We’re the same being when he’s inside me. Moving toward one goal.
He pulls back. There’s a brief moment of respite, a cold reminder of the space he’s claimed. Then he’s deep inside me, his invasion thorough, his cock pulsing in cruel pleasure. I release a pent-up sound of grief, but I don’t know whether I want him to stop or start again—whether I could go back to a time when he didn’t use me this way.
My breath leaves a cloud on the window, transient proof of what we’re doing, the only mark we’re leaving on the world outside. Through the tinted glass I can still see the men in suits, standing at attention. Waiting. Guarding. They must know what’s happening inside.
All of them answer to me.
Gabriel speeds up, fucking me with rough intent, every thrust pushing me against the window, marring my makeup, loosening my hair, pushing my breasts from the confines of the twisted, bunched emerald fabric. As if every sparkle, every neat line stood as a taunt to Gabriel—a threat that he needs to subdue.
He fucks me like I’m the enemy, like he can vanquish me. And maybe he can. He can invade my slick channel, forcing me to take him, giving friction and heat, pleasure and pain. It swirls ever higher, tighter, sharper—until I’m mindless on the end of his cock.
“Please,” I whisper.
“Promise me.”
“Anything,” I moan, and that’s the sad truth. That’s crazy. That’s me.
His voice is harsh, roughened by sex, but determined. “Promise you won’t try to leave. I’m letting you out of my house. Letting you out of this car. You have to stay with me. Behind me. At all times.”
My mind is drenched with need. It’s hard to think. Hard to speak.
It feels like I haven’t spoken in a thousand years. My mouth struggles to form words. “I promise.”
His hand moves to the ledge of the car door in front of me. Leverage. I realize it when he manages to move deeper inside me, the force pushing a whimper of pain from me.
His other hand wraps around my neck like he had before. From behind this time. His mouth lowers to my ear, his whisper like a dark dream. “He won’t stop, understand? The man who’s hunting you. If he gets his hands on you, he’ll squeeze and squeeze until you long for death. Understand?”
To make sure that I do, he squeezes. Black spots dance in front of my eyes.
“Do you understand what I’m saying?”
I can’t speak. Can’t even nod my head. Can’t even beg, and I think this is what he wanted all along. My body convulses, on the verge of an orgasm, on the edge of passing out, torn between pleasure and pain.
On the next thrust he releases my neck, and the rush of air burns all the way down my throat, all the way through my lungs, bursting in a fire of oxygen and arousal, my climax hitting me with the encompassing flare of a forest fire. I press uselessly against the cool glass, desperate for relief, tears slick against my cheeks. The sound that emerges from me is rough and uneven, more object than animal, something being torn apart. He plunges deep and holds there, grip piercing on my hips as he holds me steady, his halted breath the only sound of his orgasm.
