Elena's chest rose and fell in quick, shallow bursts.
Just breathe.
But the heat between her legs was impossible to ignore a cruel betrayal of what this was. Not want. Not fantasy.
You're here because you need the money. That's all.
Her body didn't care. It responded anyway.
His hands were on her everywhere. Rough. Demanding. Claiming her like she was already his.
I said one night. That's it.
But his touch carved a different story across her skin, one written in bruises and breathlessness.
His fingers dug into her hips, possessive and unrelenting.
You're letting him do this. You signed up for it. Just… get through it.
And yet the voice in her head trembled. Not from fear. From the way his mouth scorched her neck, biting hard enough to sting.
"You're mine tonight," he growled, his breath ragged. "And I don't share."
Mine? Like I'm property? No. No, just for tonight. You don't own me.
But she didn't say that out loud. Her hands clutched at his back, not in passion, but to keep herself grounded.
You need the money. That's it. Bite your tongue. Let him think whatever he wants.
The air between them was thick with sweat and heat, their bodies colliding like sparks and gasoline. Every drag of skin against skin made her shiver—not from pleasure, but from how real it all was.
You've never let someone touch you like this. You never thought you would.
"Think you can handle me?" His voice was a dangerous whisper, all teeth and hunger. "Do you know what that means?"
She swallowed, throat dry. No. Not really. But I don't have a choice, do I?
"I want to," she said, voice barely a whisper. A lie dressed up as bravery.
He laughed, dark and amused. "Good. Because I don't do gentle. Not with you."
Of course not. You don't see me as someone worth soft hands or kind words.
And maybe that made this easier.
His kiss was brutal biting, claiming, dragging the breath from her lungs. Her body reacted like it belonged to someone else, rising to meet him, even as her heart screamed to run.
His hands slid up her thighs, under her dress, fingers cold and skilled.
Don't think. Just let it happen. You need the cash. You need out of this life.
Her hips jerked instinctively as he pressed against her.
"Tell me what you want," he demanded, voice a growl.
What she wanted?
To be anywhere but here. To not need this. To not have to trade pieces of yourself for rent money and debt.
But instead she said the only thing that would keep him going.
"You."
He smiled, cruel and knowing. "Smart girl."
Don't cry. Don't crack. He'll see it as weakness.
He gripped her thighs and dragged her to the edge of the bed. His pace was merciless sharp, fast, unyielding.
She forced her eyes to stay open.
Watch him. Don't drift. You can't afford to disappear inside your head.
And he watched her too eyes locked, seeing every flinch, every forced breath.
"You'll learn how to beg," he said between thrusts. "How to lose control. How to give everything over."
I already did. I gave up the second I walked through that door.
Her hands twisted in the sheets, the fabric giving no comfort.
The pleasure was real, yes but that only made it worse.
How can your body betray you like this?
His grip tightened.
There was no warning now, no buildup just the rough slam of bodies, the sharp crescendo of heat and hunger. His rhythm snapped hard and fast, the sound of flesh meeting flesh echoing off the walls like the beat of war drums.
Pleasure blurred into something sharper. Crueler.
Fire blinding, consuming rushed up her spine. She couldn't tell where pain ended and pleasure began anymore. It was all the same: raw, urgent, overwhelming.
"Look at me," he growled, voice like gravel and thunder. "When you come."
Her body betrayed her. Again.
And yet she did. She looked.
Not because she wanted to obey. Not because it meant anything. But because in that moment, that single act of eye contact felt like the last thread of control she still possessed. Her eyes locked onto his, unblinking, fierce in their silence.
She came with a gasp caught halfway between surrender and defiance lips parted, fists clenched in the sheets, a cry swallowed before it could reach her throat.
It hit her like a tide rolling in too fast pleasure laced with guilt, exhaustion, and something dangerously close to shame. Something she'd never known she could feel like this.
She broke apart beneath him. Unraveled.
Then came the silence.
His body collapsed beside hers, breath ragged, the sweat between them cooling into discomfort. She lay frozen, muscles twitching from aftershocks, her chest rising and falling too quickly. Her throat felt raw, though she hadn't said a word.
A shiver ran through her, involuntary. Not from cold. From the quiet.
From what came next.
He reached out, brushing a strand of damp hair from her cheek. The touch was gentle now. Careful. Almost human. But it came too late. It wasn't tenderness. It was residue.
Then he spoke.
"This isn't over."
His voice wasn't threatening. Not exactly. It was something worse final. Possessive. A verdict delivered without her input.
She stared at the ceiling, blinking slowly.
Maybe not for you. But it has to be for me.
Her mind echoed the words, but her lips didn't move. She didn't trust her voice to hold them. Not yet.
Her heart thundered in her chest wild, frantic, like it was trying to tear its way out and escape the room entirely. The sheets clung to her skin. Her body still hummed, every nerve ending lit with leftover fire but it wasn't pleasure anymore.
It was aftermath.
Tonight, she had given something away.
Not her body. That was the easy part. That was transactional. Calculated.
No—tonight, she gave away something she couldn't name. A part of her she had kept hidden beneath layers of strength and silence. And she wasn't sure she could ever get it back.
The weight of that realization settled into her bones.
She turned onto her side, facing away from him, pulling the sheet up to her chest like armor. Her eyes remained open, staring into the dark.
And in the quiet, one thought anchored itself in the ruins of her mind.
His breath was ragged, chest heaving as he lay beside her, but his eyes didn't soften. They were dark, unreadable, flickering with a hunger that hadn't even come close to fading.
"This isn't over," he said again, low, certain like a promise and a warning rolled into one.
Elena's body ached in every nerve, raw and trembling, but inside, a different kind of fire was rising. Not the heat of his touch. Not the pulse of lust.
No.
It was the cold, sharp sting of survival.
I didn't choose this. Her mind repeated it like a mantra. I need this.
She hated the way her body betrayed her. Hated the way every muscle still remembered him, even when she tried to push the memory away. But she had no choice.
Tonight, I lost control. But that doesn't mean I'm broken.
He rolled onto his side, propping his head on one elbow. His gaze dropped to her, appraising, like he was measuring what she still had left.
"You're tougher than most," he said, voice rough. "But don't think that means you get to walk away."
I won't walk away, she thought fiercely. Not yet. But I'm not yours.
His lips twitched into a slow, dark smile. "Good. Because I'm just getting started."
He shifted closer, fingers tracing a lazy path down her arm, rough and possessive. Elena's skin prickled, but she held still, eyes locked on the ceiling, refusing to give him more than she had to.
His hand found her jaw, tilting her face toward him. "You think you're in control now," he murmured, "but you're already mine. In every damn way."
Elena's breath hitched. Not from desire. From the weight of his words. They pressed down on her like a chain tight, unbreakable.
But chains can be broken.
He leaned in, lips brushing her ear. "Next time, I'll show you just how deep this goes."
Her heart pounded half fear, half something she couldn't name.
The game isn't over. But neither am I.