A fated passionate encounter
"—it’s so painful! Wh-what are you doing to me?"
The woman’s voice was raw, broken, her body arching beneath the man’s unyielding grip. They were both naked, tangled in the wreckage of the king-sized bed, the white sheets twisted and stained with crimson droplets. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, s*x, and something metallic—blood. His hands were everywhere, pinning her down, his breath hot against her ear as he whispered, "It’s going to hurt for a moment. But after that, you’ll start to enjoy it."
His voice was rough, thick with arousal, each word vibrating through her like a warning. His almond eyes burned into hers—lazy, possessive, dark with something she couldn’t name. She tried to twist away, but his grip only tightened, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her wrists as he pulled her arms behind her back. His mouth crashed onto hers, his tongue forcing its way past her lips, claiming her as if he intended to swallow her whole. She couldn’t scream. His kiss stole her breath, reduced her sobs to muffled whimpers.
"Mmm—" A low groan rumbled in his chest, his body tensing as he pushed deeper. His c**k stretched her, the pain sharp and searing, her body resisting even as it betrayed her with a traitorous slickness. Sweat rolled down his back, his black hair disheveled, his muscles coiled like a predator’s. He moved slowly at first, each thrust deliberate, torturous, as if savoring the way her body trembled beneath him.
Twenty minutes of restraint. Twenty minutes of her gasping, her nails raking down his arms, her body caught between agony and something else—something terrifyingly close to pleasure. And then, his control snapped.
His hips slammed into hers, the force of it driving the breath from her lungs. The bed groaned beneath them, the headboard knocking against the wall in a rhythm as brutal as his thrusts. "Mmmm—ah! Ah—mmmm!" She thrashed, her cries muffled against his shoulder, her body shaking as if it might shatter. But he didn’t stop. Couldn’t. The room filled with the wet sounds of their bodies, the ragged gasps, the way her teeth sank into his skin.
And then—release.
They came together, a shared cry tearing from their throats. His body jerked, his c**k pulsing inside her as he spilled himself deep. She clung to him, her own orgasm ripping through her, a storm of pain and pleasure that left her trembling, her vision blurring at the edges. They collapsed onto the bed, his weight pressing her into the mattress, his breath hot against her neck.
For a long moment, neither moved. Then his arms tightened around her, pulling her close. His lips found hers again, slow and possessive, as if he couldn’t bear to let her go. She was beautiful. Too beautiful. Her skin was like porcelain, flushed from exertion, her body soft and pliant beneath his. She reminded him of someone from his past.
"What’s your name?" he asked, his voice rough, his mouth trailing down the curve of her neck.
"Wo—Wonder… Williams…" Her voice was slurred, drunk, her body still humming from the aftershocks of pleasure. She couldn’t focus, couldn’t place his face. Couldn’t even remember her own name—Taylor. Taylor Williams. The name she’d taken after fleeing the wreckage of her old life.
After discovering her fiancé, Brandon Ashford, tangled in the sheets with her cousin, Zoe Williams. The betrayal had gutted her. She’d drowned the pain in vodka, glass after glass, until her new friend Lilly had handed her a room key. But in her drunken haze, she’d stumbled into the wrong room. And now, she was here. Trapped beneath a stranger.
The man stilled.
Wonder.
The name hit him like a blade. A memory, sharp and sudden: a little girl in a green school uniform, her round eyes blinking up at him, her voice bright and trusting. "I’m Wonder Williams," she’d said, smiling as he wiped the tears from her cheeks. "Thank you for saving me from those bad girls."
Ten years. It had been ten years.
"Can you say that again?" His voice was barely a whisper, his grip on her tightening. His eyes burned, his throat thick with something he couldn’t name.
"I—I’m Taylor Williams." She stared back at him, her gaze unfocused, her body still thrumming from his touch. She didn’t see the storm in his eyes. Didn’t see the way his hands shook.
Maybe I’m hearing things.
He buried his face against her skin, kissing, sucking, marking her as his. She was drunk. Confused. Vulnerable. And he—he was a monster. But he couldn’t stop.
He worshipped her body with his mouth, his hands, his c**k. Every inch of her skin was his to claim. Her body flushed red, her thighs slick with arousal, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Stop now… please, come in," she begged, her voice breaking.
Charles smiled against her skin, his lips wrapping around her c**t, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bundle of nerves. His hands kneaded her breasts, his thumbs circling her n*****s until they hardened beneath his touch. "That’s my girl," he murmured.
He rose from between her legs, his c**k throbbing, his body coiled with need. He turned her onto her stomach, her body yielding beneath his hands. The French windows cast a pale glow over her skin as he positioned himself behind her, his c**k pressing against her entrance. His hands gripped her hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he thrust into her from behind. His mouth found the curve of her spine, kissing, biting, marking her as his.
"Ah—mmmmm—" Taylor moaned, her body caught between pleasure and pain. It was her first time, and every movement sent a fresh wave of sensation crashing through her. He started slow, his thrusts shallow, but soon his control unraveled. His hips snapped forward, driving into her with a ferocity that left her gasping.
He wasn’t done with her. Not yet.
He took her again and again, changing positions, angles, each time drawing new sounds from her—whimpers, moans, cries that filled the room. The night bled into dawn, their bodies slick with sweat, the sheets tangled beneath them.
The sun was already high in the sky when Taylor Williams finally opened her eyes. The room was foreign—luxurious, opulent, the kind of place only the elite could afford. She sat up slowly, wincing as pain lanced through her body. The sheets were stained. Her body was stained.
"Where the hell am I?" Her voice was hoarse, her mind foggy. She fumbled for her phone, her fingers trembling as she scrolled through her calls.
Lilly answered on the second ring. "Oh my God, Taylor! I’ve been looking everywhere for you! Are you okay?"
Taylor swallowed, her guilt a living thing in her chest. "I—I think I went to the wrong room last night."
A beat of silence. Then, "I’m so sorry. I was too drunk to—"
"It’s fine," Taylor cut in, her voice tight. She ended the call before Lilly could hear the lie in her voice.
In the bathroom, she scrubbed her skin raw, but the memory of his hands, his mouth, his name—it clung to her like a second skin.
She left the Bengula Hotel an hour later, her body aching, her mind racing. The streets of Kingsden City were alive with the hum of cars, the murmur of pedestrians, but she moved through them like a ghost.
And Charles Harrington?
He watched her go from the shadows, his fists clenched, his heart a battlefield.
Wonder.
