Page 197 of Broken by my Bully
Fucking her would bring all of this to an end. Render her useless.
The pleasure is in the chase. In the foreplay. It ends once I’ve sunk my cock into her.
After that, the thrill’s gone, and what arrives in its place is something I wouldn’t wish on Haven in a million years.
Something awful, yet damn near inevitable, if I don’t get my fucking head straight.
“You’re angry,” she says, breaking the silence.
I glance at her, quirking an eyebrow. “Am I?”
Her hands wring in her lap. “That guy, Milo. He pissed you off.”
Perceptive little thing.
“He wanted you,” I say simply.
“So?”
I pull over. Right there on the side of the road. Put the car in park and turn to face her fully.
“So?” My voice is soft. Dangerous. “You think I’m the sharing type, Haven?”
She swallows hard. “We’re not...I’m not yours to share or not share.”
I laugh. Actually laugh. Because she still doesn’t get it.
“Sweet girl, you became mine the moment you walked into my classroom. Everything since has been foreplay.”
Her breath catches. “You’re insane,” she scoffs.
“That wet pussy that’s been aching since I touched you begs to differ.”
Her eyes go wide, but she seems at a loss for words.
I start the car again, pulling back onto the road. “You’re going to the gala tonight. You’re going to wear the dress I bought you. And eventually, you’re going to beg me to fuck you.”
“Never,” she mutters.
That word hangs between us for the rest of the drive.
A challenge. A lie.
A promise waiting to be broken.
Just like her.
Haven
Never.
The word hangs between us like a dare I already regret making. But instead of the reaction I expect—another threat, another promise to break me—Bastian just...exhales.
Long. Slow. Like he’s releasing something toxic from his lungs.
Me. I’m the toxin.
His shoulders drop a fraction. His death grip on the steering wheel loosens. The predator settles back into his skin, satisfied with whatever point he’s proven.
