Chapter 68 Have you
RORY POV
“Fuck… you’re so tight,” he groaned, gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. “This greedy cunt is sucking me in like it was made for my dick.”
He reached around, grabbing my hair and pulling my head back until I was looking up at the high ceiling. "Look at you. Bent over a table in my library, taking my cock like you were born for it. Do you like being used like this? Do you like being my little slut?"
"Yes!" | screamed, the pleasure finally overtaking the pain. It was a dark, dirty sensation that made me want to crawl out of my skin. I wanted him deeper. I wanted him to hurt me more.
I moaned shamelessly, tears of pleasure running down my face. “Harder… please…”
He laughed darkly and gave me exactly what I begged for — pounding into me faster, harder, using my body like a toy. His balls slapped against my clit with every thrust. I was dripping down my thighs, making a mess on the table.
“That’s right. Take it like the dirty slut you are,” he snarled, slapping my ass again. “This pussy belongs to me now. Say it.”
“It belongs to you…” I cried out, voice breaking as another hard thrust made me see stars.
I never expected sex to be like this. I'd read about it, l'd imagined it, but nothing prepared me for how soul-consuming Alexander Miller could be. Every time he hit me, it felt like he was reaching into my chest and squeezing my heart. It was brutal, it was dark, and God help me, I didn't want him to stop. I wanted him to break me.
"Tell me Aurora. Who owns you?" He rammed his weight forward, hitting my depth with a force that made my vision blur.
"You... Alexander... only you," | choked out, my hands gripping the edge of the library table so hard my knuckles turned white.
"That's right," he rasped. He started to move in a brutal, animalistic rhythm, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in with a sickening wet slap that echoed through the silent library. Every time he hit me, I felt my body jerk forward. I wasn't Rory anymore, I was just a vessel for his rage and his hunger.
He let out a low, guttural growl and picked up the pace. He was relentless, pounding into me with a speed that made my brain turn to mush.
I could feel my walls franticly pulsing around him, trying to grip him, begging for the release he was holding back.
"Please, Alexander... I'm going to cum. Please!" I begged, my head tossing from side to side.
"Not yet. You don't get to come until I say so," he hissed.
He pulled out completely, and for a second, I felt cold and empty. But then he flipped me over on the table so l was flat on my back, my legs dangling off the edge.
He didn't wait. He grabbed my knees, pushing them all the way back to my chest, and drove into me again from the front. The new angle was devastating. He was hitting a spot deep inside that sent electric shocks straight to my brain.
As he hammered into me, his breath hot and ragged against my neck, I couldn't help but wonder.
Is he fucking Anastasia through me right now?
When he closes his eyes, does he see my face, or does he see the woman he actually loved?
Am I just a living, breathing doll for him to vent his grief into?
"Look at me," he commanded.
I opened my eyes, my vision swimming with tears. He was looking down at me with pure, unadulterated dominance. He looked like a god, beautiful and terrifying, as he destroyed me.
"You're mine, Rory. Every inch of this fat, shaking body belongs to me. If I want to fuck you until you can't walk, I will. If I want to share you, I will. But right now, you're only for me."
He started to hammer into me, his thrusts becoming shorter and more violent. I could feel the tension building in my gut, a tight coil about to snap. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him down to me, wanting to feel every bit of his sweat and heat.
"Alexander... I want to come! now! Please!"
"Come on my dick pretty slut!" he roared.
He gave one final, bone-crushing thrust, burying himself so deep I felt him in my soul. I came hard, screaming, shaking, pussy clenching and gushing around his thick dick as waves of pleasure crashed through me.
He didn’t stop. He fucked me straight through it, chasing his own release, using my spasming cunt like it was his personal fucktoy.
Just when I thought he was going to fill me up, he suddenly pulled out with a wet sound. He grabbed his throbbing cock, and stroked it fast.
“Open your mouth and push those tits together,” he ordered, voice rough.
I obeyed instantly, cupping my breasts and pushing them up for him.
He groaned loud and came hard, thick, hot ropes of cum shooting across my tits, my neck, and some landing on my tongue. He kept stroking until every drop was painted over my skin, marking me like his favorite toy.
He stood there breathing heavy, staring at the mess he’d made on my body with dark satisfaction.
Then he grabbed his jacket from the chair, draped it over my cum-covered body, and lifted me into his arms like I weighed nothing.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said quietly, carrying me out of the library toward the bathroom.
I nuzzled into his chest, still trembling from the orgasm, his warm jacket hiding the filthy evidence of what he’d just done to me.
He didn’t say another word as he carried me through the house. I didn’t care. I just held onto him tighter, my heart racing, already wondering when he would fuck me like that again.
He took me straight to the bathroom. As usual, he was so gentle and careful, like he hadn’t just blown my mind and wrecked my body minutes ago. He didn’t let me stand, he knew my legs were useless right now. They felt like jelly, barely working. He lowered me into the warm water himself, washing every inch of me with slow, steady hands. He cleaned the cum off my skin, between my breasts, off my face, without a single rough touch. It was almost tender. Almost loving.
When he was done, he lifted me out, dried me off, and carried me to the bed. He laid me down gently and pulled the covers over my naked body.
“How was it?” he asked as he slid in beside me, pulling me close against his chest. His hand went to my hair, rubbing it slowly, almost soothingly.
“It was wild,” I said truthfully, voice still a little shaky. “I can’t even find the right words.”
He chuckled softly against my ear. “You were amazing.”
He kissed the top of my hair.
My heart squeezed so tight it hurt. I couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t possibly be doing all this — holding me, cleaning me, calling me amazing — and still be seeing Anastasia. It had to be me. Not her.
I decided to take the ultimate risk. I let the words fall into the space between us.
“I love you…”
I felt his entire body go stiff behind me. The silence that followed was deafening, a vacuum that sucked the air out of the room. I held my breath, waiting for the rejection, until he finally spoke.
"I love you more."
He told me he loves me.
Tears of pure, unadulterated joy welled up in my eyes. He said it. He actually said it. The weight l'd been carrying for months evaporated, leaving me feeling light, seen, and finally, finally loved.
He leaned closer, his next words shattering my world into a million jagged pieces.
"I'm glad to have you back, Ana. I knew you would come back to me."
The joy turned to ice in my chest.
He hadn't been making love to the woman in his arms. He'd been reclaiming a ghost.
He would never see me. Never. I was just a vessel. A ghost wearing her face. A replacement he could hold and fuck and pretend with.
I stayed silent, tears slipping down my cheeks onto his shirt. He kept rubbing my hair like nothing was wrong, like he hadn’t just shattered everything.