Mafia and Duty.

"Hate, anger, or desire?"

I stood there panting, staring at the ceiling. Seriously, what's going on?

My legs trembled and I gasped for air, still reeling from the intense orgasm I'd just had. I wasn't the only one breathless; he was too, his cheek pressed against my sensitive, throbbing skin. His breathing was also ragged as he recovered the air he'd lost while burying almost his entire face in me. That was the only sound in the room, the rhythm of our breathing. Finally, he moved, rubbing his face against me.

—You're so damn annoying —He muttered. His grip shifted, his hands began to knead my flesh rather than just holding me. It was as if he wanted to ease the pain of any bruises he might have left.

Even so, his words stung. Annoyed, of course, what did I expect? Kind words after he gave me the best orgasm of my life? And that's saying something, considering how few orgasms I'd actually had, especially with anyone else. The only four people I’d slept with since him had vanished without a trace.

I tried to move, but he held me back. —I didn't say you could move —he commanded in that authoritarian tone. Finally, he pulled away and stood up,a dark silhouette framed between my open legs.

The single lamp in the room made him look like a shadow, even though he no longer had his suit jacket on. I hadn't even noticed when he's taken it off, or when any of this even started. The sleeves of his black shirt were rolled up to his biceps, revealing black ink that blended from his hands to his neck. I just know I want to see more, something I'm not used to seeing the way I'm supposed to, and that made me feel completely exposed.

And I was. Entirely.

I watched as his hands slowly slid his unbuckled belt through the loops, removing it in a way that felt like a threat... or a damned promise that made me shudder. He always keeps his threats and promises.

I found myself fixated on the way he undid the button and the zipper, all while locking eyes with me as if my body were an afterthought. Despite what he’d just done. The contradiction confused me even more.

As he was about to slide his pants and boxers down, his thumbs hooked in the waistband, I blurted out without thinking, —Take off your shirt.

Stupid.

He seemed to process my words just as I was, before replying curtly, —I didn’t tell you to talk, either.

Despite the bite in his voice, his hands were already moving, unbuttoning the shirt with an expression that disconcerted me. His nostrils flared; his lips curled into a grimace of annoyance. He looked like he was fighting an internal battle he couldn't comprehend. I didn't even realize he’d finished unbuttoning it because I was too focused on his face. His muscles flexed, his chest puffed out with a damning pride.

I hate him so much.

Do I?

Why is he so big? I’m too drunk. Am I?

A million questions raced through my mind. Then, all my fears came crashing back when I looked down and saw the heavy, aching length of him exposed and erect hardness. Hard. Very f*****g hard.

I started to move, an instinctive urge to escape this, to escape him. But again, he caught me. This time it was worse. He lowered his body onto mine, trapping me with his arms on either side of my head. I could feel the evidence of his strange arousal pressing against my stomach.

Panic.

I pushed him, hitting his chest, trying to break free—or at least trying to try. He’s too large; I’m too small, too weak.

His hand gripped my hair tightly, stilling me. —Why are you making this so damn hard? You’re making it worse, —He growled, his voice thick with hatred. Cheek to cheek, he mumbled —You’re making me worse. —I didn't know what he meant.

My eyes were wide, fixed on the ceiling, my breath hitching. His breath was heavy and hot against my ear. —I don’t want this any more than you do, little one.

Of course he doesn’t. He hasn’t wanted to touch a single hair on my head since our wedding night, beyond the forced kisses and the public charade. That’s why this felt so wrong. Because just as he was forcing me, he was being forced, too.

But what resonated most was...

Little one.

It was the first time he’d called me that. He’d called me child, brat, spoiled—always implying I was beneath him. But this was different. Even if the meaning was the same, it sounded... different. Infuriatingly, it sounded good in that voice of his.

—Joon…

—I told you not to talk, damn it. Shut up —he growled, his mouth pressed against my ear. Then, dropping to a whisper —Shut the f**k up.

He trailed his lips and nose along the sensitive curve of my neck and jaw until he was inches from my lips. His warm, champagne-scented breath enveloped me. He released my hair only to grip my chin tightly and place that same arm across my chest. Suffocating me. With his other hand, he guided his hardness, rubbing it against my aching core. Aligning himself. And through it all, he never broke eye contact.

Those eyes... I still couldn't decipher them. Hate, anger, desire?

I should be screaming. I should be sobbing and running away in a blind panic. But beyond the fact that he wouldn't let me... maybe I didn't feel the need to.

Maybe it was the alcohol. But right now, I can't think. I can't process what happened, or what is about to happen.

Why did he need to be so careful, even though he was forcing me? Forcing himself, too. It was clear he didn’t want this, and damn it, I didn’t even know what he wanted anymore, if I ever had.

I couldn’t think straight as he tilted his hips, his weight shifting as he found my entrance. My mouth fell open in a mix of surprise and sharp pain. I gasped, my entire body tensing under him. He growled a warning, his jaw clamped so tight it looked painful.

This was exactly what I’d feared; he was too much for me. He always had been.

I was inwardly grateful for the brief time he gave me before moving again. It was torturously slow. Torturously painful. But for him...

His grip on my jaw tightened before he released it, sliding the arm that had been pinning me down beneath my head, holding my shoulder with the same force, pulling me even closer. His other hand gripped my hip, as if he needed to hold on to something. Or restrain himself.

His jaw relaxed, only to open his mouth slightly against mine. We both stopped breathing, struggling not to make a sound.

The silence shattered when he buried himself deep inside me in a single, violent charge. I screamed. He roared.

—Fu-ck. Shut the f**k up. Just…shut the f**k up, or... —His voice broke into a growl that was half-moan as he pulled back to the very tip, only to thrust again with that same punishing force.

What he was asking of me was simply impossible. Especially when he kept thrusting, again and again and again, the impact rattling the heavy desk beneath us.

So painful. So heartbreaking. So full. So... good.

So f*****g good.

Our mouths were practically fused as we gasped for air. I moved my lips; so did he. It wasn't a kiss. It wasn't soft. It was a clash of lips as raw as his rhythm. As soon as he closed his mouth over mine, I was completely lost.

Lips, tongues, teeth, saliva. It was disgusting. It was primal. Pure, damned desperation.

Desire.

I felt consumed. Full. He was finally taking me, brutally, but it wasn´t how I remembered it, nor what I had feared. It was different. As if he wanted it to be this way.

The haze shattered when he pulled back slightly, as if my touch were burning him. He didn't leave me, though. His arms remained braced on either side of my head, staring down at me with wild eyes, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily.

His nostrils flared—that small sign of annoyance so characteristic of him. —You're driving me crazy —he growled.

I looked at him, dazed, trying to understand what I’d done wrong. But I didn't have time to think at all before he withdrew, leaving me feeling empty and aching. Suddenly, he flipped me face down on the desk, just like before.

He grabbed my hair so hard I cried out in surprise, confusion, and pain. He pressed into my neck,inhaling my scent as if he starved for it. I felt his hardness flush against my backside, while his other hand caressed my lips almost reverently. Contradicting everything. Again.

—And I can't let that happen, —He murmured against my ear before making me scream as he buried himself in me once more, without a trace of caution.

The pain returned. My screams and pleas returned. My tears. But he didn't care. He simply covered my mouth, silencing my cries, moving as if he were possessed by…

Anger.

I don't know how much time passed. Not even how many times I came despite the pain, or how many times he did. I only know that when it was over, I felt empty. Betrayed. Left with a weight I won't be able to shake easily.

Hate.