Page 97 of Merciless Billionaire's Savage Desire

But she couldn’t speak. Not with his fingers curling inside her, filling her, stroking her in that maddening rhythm that stole every thought she had. Her skin burned beneath his touch, her hips moved against him on their own, and still he didn’t stop—his grip tightening around her wrists, holding her there like she was his to ruin.

He pressed her harder into the wall, claiming more of her space, her air, her sanity. One hand shifted to her waist, gripping tightly, while the other tugged her panties aside completely, baring her to the cold air—and to him.

He pushed two fingers into her again, harder this time. Each stroke was a demand, relentless and punishing, and every thrust made her shudder, her legs clenching around his waist in surrender and desperation. Her body burned, her mind screamed, but no words came.

Only the sound of her breath. Only the slick, wet rhythm of his fingers moving inside her. Only him.

And still—he didn’t let go.

She struggled to steady her breathing, chest heaving as heat coiled tightly inside her, threatening to break loose. Her fingers fisted his shirt, nails digging into the fabric—and into him—as if she could anchor herself to something, anything, before she unraveled completely.

“You’re so close,” he murmured against the side of her neck, lips brushing hot over her skin. His voice was a low, dangerous growl, heavy with promise. “Can’t you feel it? Just let go.”

She shook her head, barely. It was weak, trembling, full of denial—but her body was saying everything her mouth couldn’t. Her thighs trembled. Her breath hitched. Her hips pushed forward instinctively, chasing the pressure, chasing him.

Still, she said nothing. Couldn’t. Words were lost—burned out by the slow, aching fire building inside her. She hated how easily he read her, how completely her body gave in when he touched her like this. How the need twisted deep inside her until it drowned out everything else.

With deliberate slowness, he slid her panties down her thighs, dragging the damp fabric past her thighs. The cool air brushed against her now-exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat between them.

His grip on her waist tightened, possessive, claiming. With his other hand, he reached for the zipper of his pants.

The sound was sharp in the thick silence—metal teeth sliding down with slow finality. Then the soft hiss of fabric, the heavy pause as he freed himself, the slight tension in his muscles as he adjusted her against the wall.

He aligned himself with her entrance, the head of his rod nudging her slick folds—and then, with a hard, deep thrust, he drove into her.

She cried out, head snapping back against the wall as her body arched around him, the sudden fullness stealing the air from her lungs. He didn’t give her time to adjust. He filled her completely—hot, thick, pulsing—and it was too much, too perfect, too fast.

Her legs locked tighter around his waist, hips lifting to meet him, grounding herself in the only thing solid—him. Her hands gripped his shoulders now, desperate and trembling, nails scraping skin.

He didn’t hold back.

His hips moved with brutal precision, driving into her over and over again, each thrust slamming her back against the cold wall. The rhythm was fierce, relentless, dragging sounds from her lips she couldn’t control, couldn’t hide. A cry. A gasp. She wasn’t sure anymore.

Every movement was a demand. A punishment. A claim.

He growled low in his throat, lips finding hers in a rough, consuming kiss, swallowing her moans as he pounded into her, faster now. Harder.

Her breath hitched. Ragged, uneven. As if the air itself had turned too thick to swallow. Every nerve in her body screamed with sensation, her skin oversensitive to the slightest movement, her mind drowning in the raw, molten chaos he had dragged her into.

The world shrank. Nothing existed beyond the heat of his body pressed against hers, the rough cadence of their breaths tangled in the air, and the fire still flickering in her core, even as her body trembled from release.

His mouth moved along her neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses that left her skin flushed and marked. He sucked gently just below her jaw, making her twitch in his hold as if he hadn’t already shattered her.

His grip remained firm—one hand wrapped around her wrists, still pinned above her head, the other steady on her hip, grounding her as the aftershocks of pleasure rippled through her limbs.

She was shaking. Every inch of her. Not from fear, but from the raw aftermath of everything he had just done to her body. Her thighs were weak, her knees nearly giving out, but he held her there, watching her unravel.

And then he whispered, voice rough and dangerous against her ear, “I’m not done with you.”

Before she could even catch her breath, before her heart had the chance to slow down, he adjusted his grip on her hip. Tighter now. And without warning, he thrust into her again.

Hard.

A strangled cry escaped her lips, her body jerking in his grasp as he drove deep, filling her in one brutal stroke. Her back arched instinctively, but his hold was merciless, keeping her pinned to the wall with no room to run, no way to shield herself from the intensity of him.

“Too much?” he rasped, teeth grazing the shell of her ear. “Then say it.”

But she couldn’t. Her voice was gone—drowned in the moan that tore from her throat as he pulled back and slammed into her again, setting a rhythm that was nothing short of punishing.

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