THE WILD CAT

Chapter 29

Armani didn’t pull out.

He stayed buried to the root, hips flush against hers, letting her feel every thick inch of him while her body still fluttered with the aftershocks of coming undone. His chest rose and fell in heavy drags against her breasts. Sweat slicked the space between them. The iron headboard had left faint red lines across her palms where she’d gripped it.

He lifted his head just enough to look down at her.

Her eyes were glassy, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and bitten red. Tears had dried in salty tracks at her temples. She looked wrecked. Beautifully wrecked.

And still defiant.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, voice gravel-rough. One hand slid up to collar her throat—not squeezing, just resting there like a claim. His thumb stroked the frantic pulse under her jaw. “Still hate me?”

Riley swallowed. The movement pressed her throat harder against his palm.

“More than ever,” she rasped.

His c**k twitched inside her at the words.

“Good.”

He rolled his hips once—slow, deliberate, grinding deep enough to make her gasp and arch off the mattress. Her nails raked fresh red lines down his shoulders; he hissed through his teeth and did it again. Harder.

“You think this is over?” he said against her ear. “You think one round and I’m satisfied?”

Before she could answer he pulled out in one brutal slide—leaving her empty, clenching around nothing. She made a broken, involuntary sound. He flipped her onto her stomach so fast the room spun.

“Armani—”

“Shut up.”

He yanked her hips up, knees spread wide on the sheets. One big hand pressed between her shoulder blades, forcing her chest down into the mattress while the other gripped her hip hard enough to bruise. She felt the blunt head of him nudge her entrance again—slick, swollen, oversensitive.

He didn’t ease in this time.

He slammed home in a single vicious thrust.

Riley’s cry was muffled into the pillow. Her back bowed, fingers clawing at the sheets. He didn’t give her time to adjust—didn’t give her anything. Just set a punishing rhythm: deep, fast, relentless. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, obscene and loud. Each thrust punched the air from her lungs.

“f**k—still so tight,” he growled. “Even after I filled you once. Greedy little cunt.”

She tried to push up on her elbows. He shoved her back down, forearm braced across her upper back like a bar.

“Stay.”

He reached under her, fingers finding her c**t again—pinching, rolling, rubbing in brutal circles that made her thighs quake. She was too sensitive; every touch bordered on pain, but the pleasure chased right behind it, relentless.

“Tell me you hate it,” he demanded, voice cracking with his own need. “Tell me you hate how good it feels.”

“I—” Her words dissolved into a sob as he angled deeper, hitting that spot that made white sparks burst behind her eyes. “I hate—f**k—I hate you—”

He laughed—dark, feral—and f****d her harder. The bedframe slammed against the wall in time with his thrusts. Something in the room rattled. She didn’t care.

His free hand slid up into her hair, fisting tight, yanking her head back until her spine arched painfully.

“Look at me.”

She twisted as much as she could. Tears blurred her vision, but she saw him—eyes wild, jaw clenched, sweat dripping from his brow. He looked like a man possessed.

“Say my name when you come this time,” he ordered. “Loud. I want the whole f*****g house to hear it.”

She shook her head—no, she couldn’t, she wouldn’t—

He pinched her c**t hard.

She screamed.

The orgasm hit like a freight train—violent, blinding, tearing through her so hard her vision blacked out for seconds. Her walls clamped down on him like a vise. She sobbed his name—raw, broken, unwilling—over and over while he kept driving into her, chasing his own release through the vise of her body.

“f**k—yes—f**k—”

He came with a guttural roar, slamming deep one last time and grinding there, pulsing hot and thick inside her until she felt it leak out around him, dripping down her thighs.

He collapsed over her back, both of them gasping, trembling. His weight pinned her to the mattress. His c**k was still half-hard inside her, twitching with aftershocks.

For long minutes neither moved.

Then he shifted—just enough to press his mouth to the nape of her neck.

“Still hate me?” he whispered, lips brushing sweat-slick skin.

Riley’s voice came out small, cracked, barely audible.

“Yes.”

He smiled against her shoulder.

“Liar.”

He rolled them both to the side, keeping himself buried inside her, one arm locked around her waist like iron.

The silence stretched, heavy and sticky, broken only by their slowing breaths and the faint creak of the bedframe settling.

Armani’s arm stayed locked around her waist, his c**k softening but still inside her, as if pulling out would break some unspoken claim. His lips brushed the shell of her ear again—soft this time, almost coaxing.

“Still hate me?” he asked, the same question, quieter now. A thread of something vulnerable slipped into his voice, so faint it might have been imagination.

Riley’s throat worked. She stared at the shadowed wall, at the faint crack running up from the baseboard like a scar. Her body ached in places she hadn’t felt in months—thighs trembling, core tender and full, skin marked with his fingerprints and teeth. Every inch of her screamed yes, she hated him. Hated the way he’d broken her open again. Hated that her body had answered him anyway.

But the word caught.

She swallowed once. Twice.

Then, barely audible, cracked and raw:

“…Yes.”

Armani went still behind her.

For a heartbeat she thought he might laugh again—that jagged, mad sound. Or pull away. Or hurt her in some new way to punish the honesty.

Instead he exhaled, slow and shuddering, like a man who’d been holding his breath for months.

Then his hips rolled—just once, lazy and deep, stirring the mess he’d already left inside her.

“Another round, then,” he murmured against her neck. The words weren’t a question. They were verdict. Promise. Threat.

Before she could protest, he withdrew slowly—agonizingly—letting her feel every inch drag against oversensitive walls. She whimpered despite herself, hips twitching back toward him on instinct. He chuckled low in his throat, dark and pleased.

“See? Your body’s already begging.”

He flipped her onto her back again, this time gentler but no less commanding. Knees nudged hers wide. He settled between them, bracing on one forearm so he could look down at her face—really look. Sweat-dark hair falling into his eyes. Jaw tight. Pupils blown so wide the gray was almost gone.

He dragged the head of his c**k—already hardening again—through her folds, coating himself in their combined release. Slow. Teasing. Watching her flinch and bite her lip every time he nudged her c**t.

“Tell me you want it,” he said. Voice rough. “Say it, kitten. Or I’ll edge you until you’re crying for real.”

Riley’s hands fisted the sheets. Tears pricked again—fury, exhaustion, shameful heat. She hated how wet she still was. Hated how her hips lifted just a fraction when he circled her entrance.

“I—” Her voice broke. “f**k you.”

He grinned—feral, triumphant—and pushed in halfway. Stopped.

“Wrong answer.”

She arched, a frustrated sound tearing from her throat.

He pulled back out completely.

She actually sobbed—short, angry, needy.

“Say it,” he repeated, softer now. Almost tender. His free hand cupped her face, thumb wiping away a tear that escaped. “One word, Riley. Yes. That’s all.”

Her chest heaved.

She closed her eyes.

“…Yes.”

The word was so quiet it barely existed.

But it was enough.

Armani groaned like she’d struck him. He surged forward—deep, hard, all the way in one stroke. Her back bowed off the mattress; a sharp cry ripped out of her. He swallowed it with his mouth, kissing her messy and desperate while he started moving again.

This time it wasn’t punishment.

It was possession.

Slower. Deeper. Every thrust deliberate, dragging against every nerve until she was trembling beneath him. His hand slid between them again—fingers rubbing tight circles over her c**t while he f****d into her with long, rolling strokes.

“Look at me,” he breathed against her lips.

She did.

Eyes locked. No hiding.

He watched her fall apart—watched the hate and the want war across her face until the want won. Her thighs locked around his waist. Nails scored down his back. Hips rising to meet every thrust.

When she came this time it was quieter—shattering inward instead of outward. A full-body shudder, walls pulsing around him, a broken whimper of his name against his shoulder.

He followed right after—burying himself as deep as possible, spilling again with a low, guttural sound that vibrated through both of them.

They stayed like that—tangled, sweat-soaked, breathing each other’s air—until the shaking eased.

He pressed his forehead to hers.

“Another?” he whispered, half-teasing, half-serious. His c**k gave a weak twitch inside her, already trying to rally.

Riley laughed—a small, wrecked, disbelieving sound.

“You’re insane.”