Chapter 2 Story 1 (II): The Debt He Wouldn't Pay

He undressed me like he'd done it a hundred times in his head.

His hands never rushed, but they left no room for doubt-each movement deliberate, peeling away every inch of fabric until I stood bare beneath the weight of his gaze. I'd never felt more exposed... or more seen.

The air wrapped around my skin, cool and charged. He hadn't even touched me yet, but I felt owned.

He stepped back for a breath, letting his eyes roam over me like a collector studying a forbidden treasure. "You're trembling," he said.

"I'm not scared," I lied.

He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You should be."

Then his hands were on me hot, firm, demanding. One at the back of my neck, the other gripping my waist, pulling me into him like I belonged nowhere else.

His lips crashed into mine hungry. It wasn't a kiss. It was a show of authority.

You're finally mine now.

And I kissed him back with everything I had, surrendering to the fire I'd kept buried for years. It consumed me, dragged me under, stripped away the shame. All I wanted was to be ruined by him and he knew it.

He laid me down on sheets that smelled like his skin and control. His mouth traced paths across my throat, my collarbone, lower. My body arched, breathless, responding before I even understood what it was to want like this.

"You came here for your brother," he murmured against my skin, his voice a velvet blade. "But now you're here for me."

And I was. God help me, I was.

His hands gripped my thighs, spreading me wide, holding me open with a force that was inescapable. I was no longer mine. I was his to take.

And he did.

Without a word.

Without hesitation.

He pushed into me, and I shattered.

The pressure stretching, overwhelming rushed through me like a gasp I couldn't help but release. My back arched.

My breath caught in my throat. The sting of that first time painfully cut through me, but I didn't pull away.

Because under the ache was something else.

A heat. A hunger. A need that swallowed everything.

My chest was rising and falling with each breath, and I could feel my skin getting hotter, like I was melting into him.

He thrust into me like a force of nature-deep, relentless, mercilessly slow at first, then faster, harder, deeper, until there was nothing left but the sound of skin, of breath, of the low, rough growl he gave every time I cried out.

My nails dragged down his back, searching for something to hold onto. But he didn't stop. He drove into me with complete, deliberate power each thrust a declaration, each movement making it clear: I was being undone.

And God, I wanted it.

His hands gripped my hips, holding me steady, making sure I couldn't move away.

I wanted the way his body pinned mine down.

The way he filled me completely, over and over, like he was imprinting himself on the deepest part of me.

The way his breath turned ragged against my ear, his mouth claiming my skin like a brand.

There was no space between us anymore. No air. No doubt. Just fire.

My fingers were gripping the sheets, my body tensing, reacting, and I couldn't stop it.

Every time he moved, I felt like I was going to lose my mind.

And when the pressure finally snapped my body was overwhelmed, and all I could do was hold on as this rush of pleasure hit me out of nowhere, making me tremble, my breath coming out in short bursts. I wasn't sure if I was even aware of what was happening anymore, but it felt like everything inside me had just broken open.

He held me through it, still inside me, still moving. Still taking. Until I had nothing left to give-and he had taken it all. My body ached in the best way, like it had been completely taken over.

By the time it was over, I wasn't the same. I was trembling.

He kissed my temple like it was a goodbye, but I knew better.

I lay still in the quiet aftermath, every part of me flushed, aching, raw.

He didn't speak. He just rose, walked to the dresser, and came back with a thin black envelope. He set it beside me on the bed.

"Enough to cover what he owes. And enough to make sure they leave him alone."

I didn't move.

His hand brushed my cheek, thumb lingering just a second too long.

"You can always come here," he said. "No matter what. My door will open for you."

I swallowed hard. My body still burned where he'd touched me. I should've felt disgusted. Ashamed. But all I felt was a strong aching to feel him again.

"I won't need to," I said softly, even though we both knew I was lying.

Because I would.

He had ruined me.

And ruined things always find their way back.

And it was certain because I let him take me again that night more than once.