I lick the tip, tasting him, and a ragged sound tears from his throat. His hand tightens in my hair—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind me who’s in charge here—and then he pushes deeper, sliding into my mouth with a low curse.

“Eyes up here, babe,” he says, voice rough as gravel.

I meet his gaze, hollowed out by guilt and yearning. He rocks into my mouth, slow at first, letting me adjust, letting me take him deeper. His free hand cups my jaw, holding me steady as he sets the pace—demanding, desperate, a rhythm that speaks of all the anger and longing buried inside him.

Tears prick my eyes, but I take it—I take all of him, hollowing my cheeks, letting him use my mouth like he needs to.

“Good girl,” he says, stroking my hair. “Fuck, you’re so perfect for me.”

My nails dig into the backs of his thighs, holding on as he thrusts into my mouth, more ragged now, more broken, his body shuddering with the effort it takes to hold himself back.

“Your mouth is sweet, but it’s not where I want to come.”

He hauls me to my feet so fast the room spins. His mouth crashes to mine—rough, bruising, desperate. His hands are everywhere—fisting in my hair, yanking me closer, dragging me against the hard lines of his body. I kiss him back with everything I have—the guilt, the regret, the fierce, endless love I carry for him.

He turns me around, pressing me against the wall. His mouth finds the side of my neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. Hands slide over my body, worshipping and punishing at the same time—palming my breasts, squeezing my hips, fingers digging into my skin like he can imprint himself onto me.

His voice is a growl against my skin. “You are mine, Magnolia. No one else touches you. No one else hears you come. Ever.”

I whimper, arching back against him, needing more, needing him to erase every mistake, every memory that doesn’t include him.

He yanks me back by the hair just enough to whisper in my ear, “You’re going to take everything I give you. Do you understand me?”

“Yes… sir.”

He growls against my ear. “You know how much I like hearing that.”

His hand slides between my thighs, rough and claiming, stroking once, twice.

“Already so fucking wet for me,” he says, sinking two fingers inside me without warning. “Your pussy never disappoints.”

I cry out, my hands flying to brace myself against the wall as he fucks me with his hand, deep and punishing, building me up so fast I’m already on the edge.

“You wanted it rough. You asked for this, favorite. Don’t you dare run from it now.”

I don’t. I can’t.