His strong hand grabbed my ankle, drawing me back to him. I clawed at the floor, but I already knew it was hopeless. Not because he was stronger than me, but because he knew what I really wanted—that I wanted him to overpower me.
He stretched out over me, holding me to the floor, both my hands pinned above my head with one of his. He nipped at my ear. “God, you are so maddening. How can I want you so much when you drive me so insane?”
Using his whole body, he turned me underneath him and crushed his mouth to mine in a fierce kiss—a kiss that was forceful and dominating and full of so much emotion.
I resisted at first, turning my head away from him. But he was relentless and his unusual display of emotion disarmed me. My head was overruled by my body—by my heart—and I surrendered to him, giving in to his demanding mouth and the masterful hands that had already freed his rock-hard cock.
He reached down under my dress, moving the flimsy thong material out of the way to stick a long finger inside me. If he didn’t understand my need before, he did now. I was wet and swollen for him.
He groaned in satisfaction.
“It doesn’t mean I’m not mad.” It was my last attempt to state my case before he replaced his finger with his cock.
I cried out at the exquisite bite of pleasure, the incredible feeling of fullness, almost too much yet also not enough. I needed him to move, to thrust, to ride me.
“Fine,” he said, jabbing deeper into me, still not moving the way I ached for him to. “Be mad. Take it out on me. I’m planning to take out my emotions on you.”
And he did. He drew himself out almost to the tip. It must have taken more control than I could imagine, his contorted expression showing the strain of the slow retreat. Then he let go, pounding into me with thick, insistent stabs. My hips bucked at each deep plunge in rhythm with his primal grunts. Even the sound of his loose belt buckle slapping against the floor added to the animalistic way he took me, as if it were a whip driving the beast, urging him on.
I moaned and tightened around him within minutes, surprised to feel the build of orgasm so quickly with only vaginal stimulation. It was the whole scene, the depravity of it, the utter baseness. It was wild and feral and uncontrolled. I hated that I loved it—loved it so entirely.
He wrapped his loose hand in my hair, yanking at it with just the right amount of pleasure and pain. My eyes began to close.
“Look at me,” he snapped.
My eyes flew open, meeting his.
“Can’t you see?” I was surprised he could speak through his exertion. “Can’t you see what you do to me? Can’t you see how you make me feel?”
He shifted, and I gasped as he hit a particularly tender spot. “Do you feel how hard you make me?”
I didn’t know if he wanted an answer, didn’t think I could speak if he did.
But he tugged again at my hair. “Do you?”
“Yes,” I cried out.
He picked up his speed, reaching a frenzied pace that threw me over the edge. “You do this to me, Alayna.”
I struggled to keep my eyes on him, to focus on his words through the rapturous haze that enveloped me. His words were important, and I wanted to hear what he said as much as I wanted to lose myself in the ecstasy he’d bestowed on me.
He was on the brink, too—I could read his body like it was my own—but still he kept his gaze connected to mine. “Even when you’re petulant and contrary, I still want you. Always, I want you. I want to give you everything. All of me. Why can’t you take it? Take it.”
He delivered one more elongated thrust, burying himself deeply as he poured into me with a low groan. “Take it!”
I whimpered as his release shuddered through me, extending my own into a second wave of euphoria that sent chills down my spine. Lost in the fog of post-orgasm, my ears still thrumming with the pulse of my heartbeat, I had a brief moment of clarity—what if it wasn’t Hudson that was incapable of being loved fiercely, but me?
The thought was fleeting, gone as soon as it had come. Of course, I could take his love. It was he who didn’t know how to show it.
He’d rolled off me by then and was sitting with his back braced against the sofa. Only traces of the wild passion he’d displayed a moment ago were present in his features, his shortness of breath one of the only indicators that he’d ever lost control.
Suddenly I was angry. Angry with him for resorting to fucking as a way to end our disagreement like he always did. Angry that he expected it would change anything. Angry at myself for being seduced.
I propped myself up on my elbows and glared.
“Now, come on, Alayna.” His eyes narrowed. “You can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it.”