Page 24 of Stranded with the Resort Owner

And still, he doesn't stop.

This isn't about pleasure—it's about power, and for the first time in my life, I feel it the way I need to from a man.

Real. Raw. Right.

When I come, it's violent. My orgasm slams into me like a freight train, stolen from my body with precision I can't defend against. A sob rips from my throat, my whole body seizing, held up only by the wall and the man I said didn't matter.

I cry out his name—his fucking name.

"You said it didn't mean anything." He snarls. "Yet, you're sobbing my name."

And that's when he lets go, spilling into me with a groan that's anything but impersonal. Lucas comes with a raw, broken sound; one hand braced against the wall, the other still clamped tight to my hip.

He doesn't pull out right away. Just stays there, forehead pressed to the back of my neck, breath ragged.

The silence is deafening.

Just our breathing. Rough. Ragged. Syncing too fast.

I don't know what to say.

Because nothing about that was impersonal.

And we both fucking know it.

Chapter 6

The Cost of Control

Lucas steps back slowly,the separation sudden and sharp. I feel empty in more ways than one.

He tugs his jeans up, runs a hand through his hair, and doesn't look at me.

"I shouldn't have done that." His voice is rough, full of something he rarely shows—regret. "That's not who I am." He mutters, shaking his head. "I lost it. I—fuck."

He rakes a hand through his hair, pacing the narrow space like he can outrun the guilt. "That was too far. I crossed a line. I knew you were spiraling, and I used it. I used you."

I try to catch my breath, but he's not done.

"It was wrong. And I'm sorry." He stops and turns to face the wall, jaw clenched. "It won't happen again."

Still no eye contact.

Still not looking at me.

"I promise you—whatever that was—I won't let it happen again." He's unraveling, words tumbling out fast and jagged. "I push, but I don't push like that. I don't take like that without checking in or asking. I turned sex into a weapon, and that's not fucking okay." His voice cracks, barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry."

I cross to him. One hand rises, hesitates, then lands on his shoulder.

He tenses beneath it. Like he doesn't think he deserves the touch.

"You weren't wrong," I say quietly.

His head turns slightly. Just enough that I know he heard me.

"You're right about all of it."

His shoulders rise and fall.

---