Page 7 of The Cruel Heir
He yanked my panties down.
I tried to crawl away, tried to protest, but my ass was up and my mind was gone, stuck between trauma and twisted arousal. His tongue hit my clit and I moaned.
I didn’t want it.
I didn’t ask for it.
But my body betrayed me anyway.
“Please,” I gasped. “Stop-”
He growled and slapped my ass.
I cried out, the sound echoing in the drum.
“Stay still, or I’ll make you cry harder,” he warned.
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
His mouth was on me again, eating me like it was his last fucking meal. Beard scraping. Tongue invading. He sucked and licked until my thighs trembled.
I hated him.
I wanted more.
“Sterling,” I whimpered. “Please-”
“Tell me you want this,” he growled.
I shook my head, tears hot on my cheeks.
“You’re soaked, hummingbird. That mouth lies better than your body.”
He paused, holding himself at my entrance.
“One word, Zara. Say it and I’ll ruin you, my sweet.”
My voice broke. “Yes.”
It wasn’t a choice. It was survival. I sobbed into the drum, hoping it drowned out my forced consent. It felt so good. He shoved inside me, and my scream was swallowed by metal.
“Tight,” he grunted. “Like you’ve been waiting.”
His cock filled me with punishing strokes, hips slamming into me like vengeance.
“Fuck, little hummingbird. Take it. Take all of me.”
I sobbed, hips rocking involuntarily. I should hate him. I did. But for one breathless moment, I remembered what it felt like to be wanted. Desired. Even if it was built on control.
I was gone. Lost. Floating. My mind broke into shards, and scattered around the dryer.
He branded himself inside of me, marking every inch.
“You were made for this,” he murmured, voice filthy and reverent. “Made for me.”
I screamed his name. And with it, I screamed every truth I couldn’t bear to say aloud. I hated him. I wanted him. I was his.
STERLING
