Page 39 of Until You Break
The belt came next, his knuckles grazing my hip as he unfastened it. The wedding pants slid down my thighs with a whisper of fabric, pooling at my ankles.
“Step out.”
“I won’t,” I said, though my voice shook.
His brow arched. One hand bracketed my jaw while the other lifted my foot, then the other, until the pants were gone.
Only my briefs left. My breath caught.
“Leave them,” I tried again.
He shook his head, a small, merciless smile. “No.”
The fabric left my skin in one slow drag. My cock was already hard, pressing up, flushed and wet at the tip, betraying me against the cooler air.
His gaze dropped. He made a low, approving sound in his throat, almost a growl. “Perfect,” he said. His thumb brushed across the swollen head, smearing precome, rubbing it over the ridge until my hips twitched. Humiliation. Heat. “My beautiful, virgin husband. Mine to ruin.”
I flushed hot all the way to my ears. “Don’t say that.”
He stepped back half a pace, the light cutting sharp angles across his jaw. His hand tapped his thigh once, deliberate.
“On your knees. Crawl.”
My breath hitched. “I’m not crawling for you.”
“You will.”
I hated the truth of it. The ache in my cock, the heat coiling lower, the sick way arousal tangled with shame. My body leanedtoward him even as my mind screamed no. I despised myself for it, despised how much my own skin betrayed me.
A hand fisted in my hair, yanking me down until my knees cracked the polished floor. The burn shot up my shins. His grip forced my face low, humiliation hot in my throat.
“You’ll move for me,” he said, calm as scripture. “Or I’ll drag you by the hair.”
The lamp seared above, the floor gleamed under my hands. I hated how my palms pressed down anyway, how my knees shuffled forward, inch by inch, every drag loud against the floorboards. My cock throbbed heavy, leaking, humiliating me with how much it wanted. Shame burned hotter than the wood under my skin. My thighs ached, my breath fogged the glossy surface when I lowered too close. Each scrape of bone against floor was another piece of pride torn away.
He walked behind me, slow, deliberate, letting me feel the weight of his stare. Rings clicked once against his belt as he loosened it further. “Good,” he murmured when I reached the bedframe, voice cutting down my spine. “You look better crawling. You’ll remember that.”
I froze, chest heaving. My skin burned from the inside out.
“Up.” His hand gripped the back of my neck, guiding me against the sheets. “Face the headboard.”
I obeyed, because my body moved before my pride could answer. Linen was cool under my knees.
A drawer opened. A cap clicked. The scent of slick hit the air, chemical-sweet and inevitable. It mingled with the sharp smoke of his cologne and the faint salt of sweat already on his skin, turning the room thick with sex.
“Stay still,” he said, his hand firm at my hip while the other worked lower. Two fingers slick, sliding against me before pressing in, obscene and unrelenting. The lube was cold, buthis skin heat chased it fast, until every drag burned pleasure through my center.
Virgin tight. I clenched hard, body fighting the intrusion. My breath broke ragged, panic thrumming through me. I had never—no one had ever—touched me there. Every inch forced in was new, raw, shocking. My mind screamed no even as my body shuddered open.
His thumb brushed over the rim, then pressed in until my thighs trembled. “Breathe,” he said, voice low, inescapable. “Stretch for me. That’s it. Good.”
“Stop talking like that,” I said through clenched teeth.
He smiled against my shoulder. “But it works. You’re opening for me.”
He eased in deeper, both fingers pressing until the knuckles stretched me wide. I whimpered, hating the sound, hating the sharp ache that twisted into something darker.
Then came the third. He worked it slow, sliding in beside the others, spreading me wider than I thought possible. My back arched off the bed, a strangled cry ripping loose. The burn seared hot, walls straining, every nerve on fire.
