Addiction & Surrender

This Is War

Rage, Frustration, the Fight to Reclaim Power

The next time Dante showed up, he wasn’t soft.

He wasn’t begging.

He was pissed.

He pushed through my door like he belonged there, like the space between us wasn’t mine to command.

“You’re avoiding me.”

I arched a brow, feigning boredom. “You sound surprised.”

“Cut the s**t, Val.”

His voice cracked with something dangerous—like he’d finally hit the edge of what he could swallow.

“You think you can pull me in, wreck me, make me crawl—and then just f*****g disappear?”

“Worked so far.”

I said it coolly, but my pulse betrayed me.

“You’re not the only one who knows how to play this game.”

His jaw was tight, his hands flexing like he wanted to grab me, pin me, own me.

I stepped closer. “You want to try?”

His eyes darkened.

“I came to take you back.”

“You were never strong enough to keep me.”

The words sliced between us, and something in him snapped.

He slammed me against the wall, his forearm pressing into my collarbone, his body crowding mine.

But I didn’t flinch.

I smirked.

“You think you’re in charge now?” I whispered against his mouth. “Prove it.”

His lips crashed into mine—furious, punishing. His hands roamed my body like he was reclaiming territory.

But I didn’t melt. I didn’t fold.

I bit his lip, drawing blood, dragging my nails down his back until he hissed.

“You’ll have to fight harder than that to own me.”

His hands tightened around my wrists, pinning them above my head.

“I will.” His breath was ragged. “I’ll break you the way you broke me.”

But the truth hung in the air between us—we both knew I’d let him take me if I wanted to.

I could turn the tables at any second. I could drop him to his knees again with one word.

And he knew it.

That was the rage fueling him—the unbearable fact that no matter how rough he got, no matter how hard he fought to reclaim me—

I was letting him.

His power was borrowed.

And it was driving him insane.

“You want me to beg now?” he growled into my throat. “Or are you finally ready to admit you need me as much as I need you?”

I laughed softly, threading my fingers through his hair, yanking his head back.

“Sweetheart, I need to ruin you.”

I licked the blood from his lip. “That’s the only thing I crave.”

His grip tightened, and he shoved me harder against the wall, his c**k hard and demanding against me, his breath shaking.

“Then do it,” he growled, his voice cracking open, breaking for me.

“Ruin me.”

I was ready to pull the strings again—to drop him to his knees, to make him beg the way I always did.

But he didn’t wait for permission.

“On your knees,” he rasped, the command snapping out of him like he’d been holding it back for too long.

I didn’t hesitate. I sank, slow and deliberate, the concrete biting into my skin as I settled between his legs. I wanted to see him break. I wanted to be the one to do it.

His hands worked his belt loose, yanking his jeans down just enough to free himself. He was already slick, the head glistening, swollen, angry.

“Lick it.” His voice was tight, dangerous.

I dragged my tongue along the tip, tasting the salt, the heat, the desperation he was pretending to control. I didn’t rush. I savored him, lapping at the pre-come like I had all the time in the world.

His jaw flexed, his hips twitching forward, barely restraining himself.

“Don’t f*****g tease me,” he ground out.

But I wanted to. I wanted to watch him crack.

I wrapped my lips around the head, my tongue swirling, taking him inch by inch, slow, torturous, until he couldn’t stand it—until his hand tangled in my hair and he shoved deeper, forcing me to take him all the way.

His breath stuttered. His hips snapped forward, pushing past the edge of comfort, and I let him. I wanted it rough. I wanted the ache in my throat, the bruises on my scalp, the tears in my eyes.

“f**k, Val—” His voice broke, a low, brutal sound as he lost his rhythm, thrusting into my mouth like he’d die if he stopped.

I moaned around him, and that was it.

He pulled out suddenly, gripping the base so tight it made his whole body shake.

“Not like this,” he panted, dragging me up roughly by the collar of my jacket. “I’m not gonna finish until you’re begging me for it.”

His mouth crashed into mine again—messy, biting, wild.

Because this wasn’t just about s*x.

This was war.

And neither of us planned to surrender.

His hands were on me—rough, urgent—shoving my dress up, yanking my panties down so fast the fabric tore.

His mouth slammed into mine, biting, tasting, devouring me like he was starving.

And I melted.

God, I melted.

He caught my wrists in one hand and pinned them above my head, owning me, holding me in place as his other hand slid between my thighs, testing me, finding me drenched and trembling.

“Is this what you wanted?”

His mouth was hot on my neck, his voice pure gravel.

“This wet for me? For the man you think you control?”

I wanted to spit something sharp, wanted to claw my way back to the surface—but I couldn’t.

I was unraveling under his touch.

“You’ve been teasing me for months,” he rasped. “Dragging me in, pushing me out. f*****g with my head.”

His fingers teased me, circling my c**t, keeping me on the edge but never letting me fall.

I whimpered—f*****g whimpered—beneath him.

“You wanted me to beg.”

He kissed my jaw, slow, claiming. “But I’m done begging.”

His teeth grazed my skin. His c**k pressed harder against me, thick and insistent.

“You want control? Take it back.”

He dragged the swollen head of his c**k through my slick folds, teasing my entrance, not giving me what I was silently begging for.

But I didn’t move.

I didn’t fight.

I didn’t take.

Because I couldn’t.

I was shaking, completely undone, soaked and aching for him in a way I couldn’t fake my way out of.

“Say it,” he demanded, his lips against my throat. “Say you want me.”

I bit my lip, shaking my head, still trying to hold my ground.

He pushed just the tip inside me, enough to make me gasp, enough to burn.

“Say it.”

“f**k—” I hissed. “I—”

Another inch. Deeper. His fingers tightened around my wrists, forcing me to take him.

“Say. It."

"Say it V!"

"Beg."

I broke.

“I want you,” I choked out, almost a sob. “I f*****g want you. Please. Please Dante."

It was the first time I begged.

He growled, satisfied, and slammed into me—all of him—in one brutal thrust that knocked the air out of my lungs.

I cried out, my body arching into his, taking him.

He pulled back, only to slam into me again, over and over, setting a vicious rhythm that made my legs shake, made my head fall back against the wall.

“Look at me,” he panted, his breath ragged, his pace relentless.

I forced my eyes open, met his.

And that’s when it happened—

That’s when he f*****g took me.

Not just my body.

All of me.

The walls I’d built. The armor I wore. The lies I told myself.

He shattered them, each thrust a crack in my foundation, each moan a surrender I couldn’t claw back.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his forehead pressed against mine. “Say it.”

I was gone.

“I'm yours.”

His rhythm faltered, the pressure building, unbearable, devastating.

“Say it again.”

“Yours.”

"Again."

A broken sound from my throat.

“f**k, baby—I’m yours.”

My body clamped down around him as I came—hard—shaking, sobbing, completely unraveled.

And he followed me over the edge, his hips stuttering, his mouth crashing into mine as he came inside me, spilling everything he’d been holding back for months.

When it was over, he didn’t let me go.

His arms stayed around me, his lips pressing frantic, scattered kisses to my temple, my jaw, my shoulder.

I melted into him, letting him hold me, letting him have me in a way I’d never let anyone else.

For once, I didn’t push him away.

I didn’t make him leave.

I let him stay.

Because this time, I didn’t have the strength to pretend I didn’t need him.

⸻

The Quiet Unraveling

I let him stay.

His breath steadied against my skin, the sweat cooling between us, our bodies tangled on my living room floor like the wreckage of something we both knew we couldn’t rebuild.

I should’ve told him to leave.

Should’ve made him crawl out the door like the last time.

But I didn’t.

I let him fall asleep on my chest, his arms wrapped around me like I was the only safe place he’d ever known.

I let my fingers drift lazily through his hair, soft, slow—memorizing him like I’d lose him tomorrow.

Because part of me already knew I would.

And that terrified me more than losing control.

I’d let him in too far this time.

I’d opened something I couldn’t slam shut.

It wasn’t just the s*x.

It wasn’t just the way he broke me open and filled every hollow place.

It was the way he touched me afterward.

The way he kissed my shoulder without thinking.

The way he held my hand in his sleep.

It wasn’t brutal. It wasn’t desperate.

It was soft.

And that softness was the sharpest blade of all.

Because I didn’t know how to hold it.

Didn’t know how to protect myself from it.

I should’ve been fine. Should’ve been smug—thinking I still had the upper hand.

But I was disoriented.

Ungrounded.

Suspended in the space where power used to sit.

I caught myself looking at him like maybe I could keep him this time.

Like maybe I wanted to.

And that’s when I knew I was f****d.