Page 72 of Betray Me
It’s an incredible feeling to have him use me like this. To claim me for his own and not care if I come or not. It’s been too long, and this feels… dirty. But also, meaningful. All those things we’ve lost because we weren’t safe. Because of a dark world that wanted to swallow us whole.
“Touch yourself,” he commands, thrusting a bit deeper.
Despite the uncomfortable angle, my left hand finds its way between my legs, dancing along my slit, coating my fingers with the proof of my desire. Max is watching with almost clinical detachment, and that makes it so much hotter. I match my strokes to his thrusts, sliding my fingertips along the smooth hardness of my pleasure button. Pleasure spears through my body, and fireworks dance across my closed eyelids.
Just when I’m about to ask for more, just when the pressure building inside me is about to explode, Max pulls back, and I cough a bit.
“Good girl.” He releases me, then grins down at me and wipes a tear from my eye. “On your knees, Belle. I’ll fuck you from behind now.”
I scramble onto all fours, glancing over my shoulder as he lines himself up with my slit. He’s standing behind me, muscles tensed, face creased in concentration, and his cock drips precum.
God, he’s huge. I never really noticed before. Maybe because I was so focused on the pain, trauma, and the terror when we’d been together before. But now…
“Take a deep breath.” He leans forward to place a kiss on my spine. “I’m about to fuck you senseless, and that isn’t going to be easy on you. But tell me if you need me to stop, okay?”
A shiver passes through me. Not fear, not hesitation. Anticipation. I swallow the fear and nod, turning my head to glare at him over my shoulder. “Don’t you dare fucking stop, Max Brooks.”
“Oh, it’s on now.” He smirks and places a hand on my lower back, flattening me to the blanket, and after a moment, he positions the tip of his cock between my entrance and drags it up and down, until the shaft is slick with juices, and then he slowly presses it against my pussy.
He grabs me by my hips, nails digging into my flesh, and buries himself inside me with one forceful thrust.
I inhale sharply at the invasion—not painful, exactly, but an acute reminder of how little patience I have for restraint or kindness in this moment. Need coils through me, hot and sharp and wild, my mind falling away as my body takes over.
But Max doesn’t move, doesn’t let me escape into the physical. He holds me there, impaled, my heartbeat pulsing around his cock.
“Ask me for it,” he whispers, and I can hear the strain in his voice. Every muscle tenses, holding the line. Holding onto control.
I squeeze my inner walls, trapping him inside me, and moan, an inhuman sound that turns into a sob. It’s not enough. It’s not nearly enough. My back arches, offering my body for his possession, but still he doesn’t move.
“Ask for what you want,” he repeats, his voice tight with effort.
“Fuck me,” I whisper, the words coming unbidden, a desperate prayer I can’t hold back. “Max, fuck me. Claim me. Mark me as yours, even if it ruins us. Even if we never come back from it. Please. Please.”
“This isn’t about ruined lives or lost dreams,” he groans, pulling out and slamming into me again. “It’s about saving each other. About claiming this moment for us, the only part of our lives that doesn’t belong to them. Here. Now.”
With that, his hands tighten on my hips, he yanks me upright and drives himself in, until his cock is deeper inside me than I ever thought possible. He’s rough and possessive, fucking me harder than we’ve ever fucked, making my skin burn where he slams into me. There’s no finesse here, no expert skills. Just us. Two hearts exposed and broken, and his need to make me whole.
My nerves scream at the sudden stretch, but he’s right: this isn’t about pain or sorrow or suffering. It’s about giving each other something untouchable, something honest. So I relax into it, even as my inner walls rebel against the violent intrusion.
“More,” I gasp, folding myself over the edge of the cushion, burying my face in the tattered fabric. “Fuck me harder, Max. Make me yours.”
“Oh, I will,” he growls, his pace increasing. I can feel my blood beating at my temple, the pressure inside threatening to explode. “Grab your throat. Do it now.”
My hand rises to my throat on instinct, and he wraps his palm around my wrist, digging his fingers into my pulse point. He holds on, steadying my neck against the storm he’s creating.
The air is a roar in my ears, fireflies dancing along the edges of my vision as pressure builds inside me, threatening to tip me into the abyss. But this isn’t like the edge we found at the cabin. This isn’t a desperate surrender.
This is a victory.
And when it explodes, my veins light up and my body hums with power, everything—fear, paranoia, regret—all dissolving in the white heat blazing between us.
“Fuck yes,” Max grits out, his movements growing erratic. “Now come for me again, Belle. Squeeze that tight little cunt. Milk my cock.”
His command is so demanding, my body instantly obeys, clenching around his throbbing shaft.
He breathes in deep, his motions halting, then he pounds into me one last time, coming with a ferocity that echoes through my bones. I can feel the hot jets of release hit my inner walls, marking me as his in a way no contract or criminal charges can erase.
He collapses against me, both of us gasping for air, and presses a kiss to the back of my neck. “Feel better?”
