Chapter 23 BRUTALLY CLAIMED

Chapter 23 BRUTALLY CLAIMED
Constantine's POV

When I open my eyes, the first thing I can feel is the heavy pounding in my head, with my mouth tasting like I swallowed a load of chemical. My head feels heavy.. merrythought does, including my eyes and I feel like I'm now nylon. Nonethless, I force my eyes open and the first thing I see is darkness. Then slowly, everything begins to form and  I start to see shapes and then the industrial lights casting shadows in what looks like a warehouse. I'm sitting in a chair. My wrists are bound behind me with something hard…like rope. Panic slams into me like a train.

'Matthew,' I gasp, my voice hoarse as I try to break free from those ropes. 'Matthew—'

'He's alive.'

The cold, familiar voice comes from the shadows ahead of me and Wyatt steps into the light. He's still wearing his work clothes from today—black slacks, white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. But there's blood on his knuckles now. Fresh blood. And his eyes… His eyes are absolutely feral.

'You,' I breathe, horror washing over me in waves, my body trembling uncontrollably. 'You did this. The shooting—'

'It was necessary.' He walks toward me slowly, deliberately, like a predator closing in on prey. 

'You shot him!' My voice cracks. 'You shot Matthew—'

'I did. And what are you going to do about it?' Wyatt stops in front of me, so close I can feel the heat radiating off his body as I feel his breath right on my face. 'And he's lucky it was only his arm. I wanted his fucking head blown off for daring to touch you.'

The rage in his voice is barely controlled and leashed. I can see it in the tension of his jaw, the way his hands are clenched into fists at his sides.

'You had me kidnapped,' I say, my voice shaking. 'You drugged me. You brought me here—'

'I brought you here because you broke our agreement.' His hand shoots out, gripping my chin, forcing me to look up at him. 'You let another man kiss you. You let him put his hands on you. What did you think would happen, Constantine?'

'I didn't—I wasn't—'

'You were.' His grip tightens until it hurts. 'I saw it. I saw everything. Did you really think I wouldn't have you followed? That I wouldn't know every move you make?'

The realization hits me like ice water. 'You've been watching me.'

'Every. Fucking. Second.' He leans down, his face inches from mine. 'You belong to me. That means I know where you are, who you talk to, who you look at. And when some pathetic ex-boyfriend touches what's mine, there are consequences.'

'You don't own me,' I spit out, even though we both know it's a lie.

'Yes, I do.' He releases my chin and steps back. 'I own every inch of you. Your body, your time, your mouth, your cunt. All of it. Mine.'

'Fuck you.'

The words are out before I can stop them. The hit comes so fast that I thought it was going to hit me, but his fists land directly against the chair, his fists barely grazing my cheeks as the chair cracks behind me. That tiny graze, I felt a little blood tricking from my cheek. 

'Watch your fucking mouth,' he says, his voice deadly quiet.

Tears spring to my eyes, but I glare up at him. 'You're a monster.'

'I know.' He reaches behind me and releases the strong ropes. But before I can move, before I can even think about running, his hands are on me. He hauls me up out of the chair by my hair and throws me against the nearest wall. I hit it hard enough that the air rushes out of my lungs.
His body is on mine immediately, pinning me there, one hand wrapped around my throat.

'You think you can play games with me?' His grip tightens. 'You think you can sneak around behind my back, let another man put his mouth on you, and there won't be punishment?'

'You—' I try to speak but his hand squeezes harder.

'Shut up.' His free hand rips at my dress, tearing the fabric. 'I don't want to hear your voice unless you're screaming my name.'
He releases my throat just enough for me to gasp in air. I'm shaking, my cheek throbbing where he hit me, my body pressed against cold concrete. ‘You even dressed pretty for him,’ his eyes are blazing, the insanity bleeding from them. ‘Too bad, Птичка.’ He growls.

'You're insane,' I choke out.

'Maybe.' His hand finds my breasts, squeezing hard enough to make me cry out. 'But you're mine. And you're about to remember exactly what that means.'

He spins me around to face him and I see it clearly now, the absolute fury in his eyes, the barely controlled violence, the possessive hunger that looks like it might consume us both.

'Strip, completely,’ he orders.

'No.'

His hand tangles in my hair, yanking my head back hard. 'That wasn't a request.'

'I said no!' I try to push him away but he's immovable. 'You don't get to—'

His hand comes, grabbing my face roughly, my cheeks burning. My vision blurs. 

'Every time you defy me, it gets worse,' he says calmly. 'So by all means, keep fighting.'

My hands shake as I reach for what's left of my dress. The fabric is already torn. I let it fall to the floor.

'Everything,' he says.

I remove my bra with trembling fingers. Then my ruined underwear.
Standing there naked in the cold warehouse, I've never felt more exposed and vulnerable.

'On your knees.'

'Wyatt, please—'

'On. Your. Knees.'

I sink down onto the concrete floor. It's rough and cold against my skin.
He unbuckles his belt slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving mine. When he frees himself, I can see how hard he is. How much my defiance has aroused him.

'Open your mouth,' he says.

I hesitate for just a second too long. His hand is in my hair again, forcing my head back, forcing my mouth open. He pushes his cock deep inside without warning, deep enough to make me gag.

'That's it,' he growls. 'Take it. Take all of it.'

He sets a brutal pace, fucking my mouth with no gentleness, no care for my comfort. Tears stream down my face. I can barely breathe. But every time I try to pull back, his grip tightens.

'This mouth is mine,' he says, his voice rough. 'This throat is mine. You don't get to let anyone else kiss you. You don't get to let anyone else touch you. Do you understand? You're going to swallow my cum in the same moyth you let another man kiss. You're only going to feel my taste in your mouth, you hear me?’ he growls.

I can't answer. Can't do anything but take what he's giving me.
He pulls out suddenly and I gasp for air, saliva dripping down my chin. Then he shoves it back, thrusting without mercy and then after a while, releasing all his cum into my mouth. 

‘Don't spill a single drop,’ he warns, as he leaves his cock buried there as I fight for my life to swallow everything.  Then the little remains of his cum, he rubs it over my lips, as I struggle to breathe. 

'Stand up,' he orders.

I try but my legs won't cooperate. He hauls me up himself, his hands brutal on my arms, and throws me over the table I'd seen earlier.

'Stay there,' he says.

I hear him moving behind me. Then something cold and hard presses against my entrance. It wasn't his cock. It was something else. A bottle. He's using the neck of a bottle, pushing it inside me slowly.

'No—' I try to move but his hand presses down hard on my back, keeping me pinned.

'You're so fucking wet,' he says, working the bottle deeper. The sensation is humiliating, invasive, and I hate that it feels good. Hate that my body responds. He removes it and I feel emptiness, then his fingers, checking, testing.

'I hate you,' I sob.

'I know.' He removes his fingers and I feel the head of his cock pressing against me. 'But you're about to come on my cock anyway.'

He slams into me with no warning, no preparation beyond his fingers. The force of it drives me forward on the table. I scream, the sound echoing through the warehouse.

'That's it,' he growls, setting a punishing pace. 'Scream for me. Let everyone hear who's fucking you. Who owns you.'

His hand comes down hard on my ass. Once. Twice. Three times. Each slap sharp and stinging.

'You don't get to leave,' he says between thrusts. 'You don't get to see him. You don't get to let anyone touch what belongs to me.'

'You let that bitch touch you!' The words rip out of me. 'Right in front of me!'

He pulls out completely and flips me over onto my back. Before I can move, he's on me again, slamming back inside, his hand around my throat.
'That's none of your business,' he says, his face inches from mine. 'This is ownership. There's a difference.'

'No there's not—'

His hand tightens on my throat until I can't breathe. Until black spots dance in my vision.

'She means nothing,' he says flatly. 'She's an arrangement my father wants. But you?' He loosens his grip just enough for me to gasp in air. 'You're mine in ways no one else will ever be. And if I have to kill every man who looks at you wrong to make you understand that, I will.'

His hips snap forward harder, faster, brutal enough that the table scrapes across the concrete floor.

'Say it,' he demands. 'Tell me who you belong to.'

'No.' The defiance is all I have left.

He pulls out again and this time he flips me back onto my stomach, bending me over the table. His hand comes down on my ass repeatedly, over ten, fifteen, twenty times, until I'm crying, until my skin burns.

'Say it.'

'Fuck you!'

He slams back inside me, this time pushing into my asshole entrance. I scream, the pain immediate and overwhelming.

'Wrong answer,' he says, not stopping, not giving me time to adjust. 'Try again.'

'I'm yours!' The words are ripped from me. 'I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours!'

'That's my good little whore.' He reaches around to find my clit, rubbing hard circles as he continues to fuck me. 'Now come for me. Show me this body knows who it belongs to.'

The orgasm builds against my will, pleasure mixing with pain in ways that shouldn't work but do. My body is betraying me again, responding to the brutality, craving the dominance. I shatter before ai can help myself. The orgasm tears through me with devastating force, making me scream until my throat is raw. My body convulses around him, clenching, pulling him deeper.

He finishes inside me with a growl, his grip on my hips bruising, marking, claiming. When he finally pulls out, I collapse onto the table, unable to move. My body is covered in marks, handprints, bite marks, bruises already forming. Evidence of my complete destruction. I hear him fixing his clothes behind me. The sound of his zipper. His belt.

'Your ex-boyfriend is in a hospital,' he says, his voice cold again. 'The bullet went through his arm. He'll live.' A pause. 'For now.' He threatens. 
'If you ever see him again,' Wyatt continues, 'if you ever let another man touch you, I will kill him slowly. And I'll make you watch. Do you understand?'

I don't answer. His hand is in my hair again, yanking my head back. 'Do you understand?'

'Yes,' I whisper.

'Yes, what?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Good.' He releases me. 'Get dressed. You're moving into my penthouse tonight. I'm done with you having opportunities to betray me.’