His thrusts were brutal, unrelenting, each one slamming me against the door until I thought the hinges would snap. My nails clawed uselessly at the wood, leaving shallow scratches as his hand yanked me back by the hair.
“You’re not even fighting,” he snarled against my ear. “You love being ruined, don’t you?”
The shame burned hotter than the ache between my legs—but I couldn’t deny it. My moans gave me away, spilling out raw, broken, every time his hips slammed forward.
He laughed darkly, cruel amusement rumbling from his chest. Then, without warning, he pulled out, leaving me empty and trembling.
I barely had time to gasp before he grabbed my wrists and spun me around. The cold press of metal closed around my skin—handcuffs, tight, locking my arms above my head against the door.
“You
