Out of My Head

​Ari left without another word, leaving you alone in the gilded cage, soft sheets beckoning you into a false sense of security. You allowed yourself to fall into a restless sleep, spending the night tossing and turning till the delicate warm rays scattered on the wooden floor and touched your face. You had a few moments to groggily pull yourself up when the door swung open. Ari’s boots hit the carpet with a series of dull thuds, a tray of food in hand, and without a word, dropped it at your nightstand; coffee dripping down the sides of the mug and bits of egg falling off the side of the plate and left.

You stared after the shut door, pausing for a moment before picking up the mug from the nightstand and sipping on the warm coffee, and picking through your breakfast, leaving most of it on the plate. Your stomach still wasn’t playing ball on the appetite front. You eventually peeled yourself out of bed, freshened up, and found yourself standing in the center of the room, staring out the windows.

You wasted the day by picking through the bookshelf, meticulously analyzing each of the various dusty hardbacks and placing a few on your nightstand for later. You took a shower, popped open different bottles and smelled the expensive scents, and bundled yourself up afterward in a soft, fluffy robe before taking advantage of the walk-in wardrobe.

The men clearly had a particular taste.

Lacy, intricate dresses that would leave nothing to the imagination. Strappy kitten heels in different colors, various racks of lingerie, and, tucked away in the back, sets of matching loungewear, which made you sigh with relief. You were just sat on the edge of your bed, snapping the band of the sock around your ankle when Ari walked in, eyes glaring down at you with a tray in his hand.

“Change your mind?” Ari asked.

“Nope,” you responded, popping the “p” and getting up to take a few paces backward to emphasize your decision by putting as much space as you could between you both.

Ari huffed, swapped out the trays, and left without saying anything else. He returned a few hours later, when the sun was dipping low, sending amber shadows along the cream carpet and scattering across the walls. He was carrying two plates and made his way to the small table you had shared with Steve, watching as he took up Steve’s space, the chair creaking under his weight. Your stomach growled; the lunch he had left you earlier was untouched, and the savory smell beckoned you over.

You shuffled off the bed, snapping the book shut and swiftly made your way over to snag a plate, but Ari’s large hand wrapped around your wrist.

“Sit.”

“Why aren’t you eating with the others?” You asked, unmoved and refusing to give in without an explanation.

“My cousins are here, and they have a habit of getting on my nerves,” Ari offered, giving your arm a little tug and kicking out the chair.

“There’s more of you?”

“Plenty. Sit. Eat.”

“I will. When you leave.”

You tugged your arm away and sat yourself down, crossing your arms over your chest and looking out of the window, praying that he got the message and would leave.

His voice was a cold, stark warning. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Sugar. I’m not gonna keep having the same conversation with you.”

“I really don't give a fuck what you think.”

The air in the room didn’t just drop; it vanished, and to see a man such as Ari, one who moved through the world as a force of nature, towering over everyone he came into contact with, visibly recoiling was, to put it simply, a fucking sight to see indeed. He didn’t move physically, however, but his expression flickered— a momentary crack in the mask of the unbothered eldest brother— and his shoulders tensed up as he let his fork clatter onto the plate.

The silence became so absolute that the muffled tick of the clock in the hallway rang out like a hammer hitting an anvil.

“You seem to have confused my patience for weakness, baby.” Ari tilted his head slightly, eyes focusing on yours. His voice had dropped to a register so low it was almost a vibration, a touch of irritation lacing the tone.

“And you seem to have confused my engagement in this conversation as actually caring about what a liar had to say,” You shot back. “And I am not your baby.”

​

The word liar seemed to hit Ari like a physical blow, a sharp, thickening tension blooming between you, shifting the room from tense to something far more volatile. Ari still didn’t flinch; he didn’t yell, but the longer he stared silently, the more it felt like walls closing in. Ari abruptly stood, the chair knocking backward. He moved towards the window, his back to you and hands stuffed in his pockets. His massive frame eclipsed the fading sunlight streaming through the window, casting a long, dark shadow that completely swallowed you.

​

“A liar.” His voice was a whisper, but it carried the weight of a landslide.

“Yep,” You confirmed, nodding to yourself.

The word hung in the air, stark and naked; to you it was defiance, to Ari it may as well have been a death wish.

​

His movements were slow and deliberate, turning slowly from the window and walking over to you with heavy footsteps. You glared up at him, standing your ground, although a ball of anxiety formed in your throat that you were forced to swallow down as he stepped into your space. He leaned down and didn’t stop until his face was level with yours, and up close, the coldness in his eyes was absolute; a deep void under the mask of blue that threatened to pull you under. He didn’t touch you, but he didn’t need to; the sheer proximity of him— the smell of cedar and stale smoke, the heat radiating from the blood boiling under his skin— felt like something close to a physical assault.

​

“You think you have the moral high ground because I played a part? You think your indignation protects you here?”

​

Suddenly, his hand shot out. His fingers clamped around the back of your chair, the wood groaning under the sudden, immense pressure of his grip. He jerked the chair an inch closer to him, a sharp, jarring motion that forced you to lean closer to him.

​

“No,” You answered honestly. “I think you’re just a liar. And the way you’re reacting just goes to show that you know that you are.”

​

Ari’s fingers tightened impossibly on the wood, a small crack ringing out from the pressure of his hand, and for a second, the mask he had tried to keep glued in place shattered. A vein pulsed in his temple, his eyes elated with a raw, jagged heat. The man who was supposed to be a meticulously constructed pillar of his dysfunctional family had his foundation slapped away by a few words, and you could see it clear as day… He hated it.

​

“You think you’re the first to call me a liar? You think a little “insight” makes you special, Sugar?” Ari snarled lowly, his face inches from you.

​

With a sudden, violent motion, Ari didn’t just pull the chair; he knocked it from under you, catching your arm in a bruising grip and hauling you upwards with a single, effortless surge of strength, listing you almost off your feet and snug against his chest. Your eyes burned their way up to his face.

​

“What? Your wife called you a liar too?”

​

The silence that followed wasn't just a pause.  The air seemed to freeze, turning into shards of ice that pierced everything.

​

“You won’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Ari defended poorly, his voice a flat, dead whisper; totally devoid of any human inflection. You found the cord and planned to strike it as often as you could. “So, I suggest—“

​

“Had a whole wife and you still chose to fuck around with captive women. What a remarkable man you are, Ari. Truly. Out of everything that’s happened to me over these past few months… Fucking you was my biggest regret.”

​

The words didn’t just land; they detonated, and the room seemed to vibrate with the force of the insult.

​

You knew that to a man like Ari, a man who seemingly lived and breathed control, the admission that he was not only a liar but a regret was a level of degradation he’d probably never experienced. The thought of knocking him down flooded your veins with adrenaline, a racking shake through your body. But, unbeknownst to you, it wasn’t the insult to his character— he knew he was a monster; he was fine with it— it was the dismissal of the intimacy you had shared; however fake it had been. It was his to dismiss, his to downplay— not yours.

​

His face became a canvas of terrifying, blank neutrality as the grip on your arm tightened, stealing a hiss through your teeth as his nails pricked at your skin. He didn’t just hold you there; he owned you there. A stark reminder that in his hands, you could be nothing more than a doll.

​

“I’m not scared of you,” You declared despite the slight waver in your voice screaming otherwise.

​

Ari didn't respond with words, but the air seemed to rush out of the room as he used his other hand to clamp his fingers around your chin with an aching force, his broad shoulders casting a suffocating shadow over you. He tipped your head up, tilting it back into a sharp, vulnerable angle, his fingers moving to squeeze into the soft flesh of your cheeks. Your eyes were locked on each other's; his gaze had morphed into something else, something burning, a mixture of pure hatred and that familiar glint of raw, uncontrollable hunger.

​

He looked at you the same way he had in the club; like he wanted to tear you apart and possess every shattered piece of you all at once.

​

For a long, agonizing moment… Neither of you moved. Both of you are refusing to be the first to give in; to shout, to scream, to insult.

​

You stood locked in a stalemate of heavy breaths and searing heat; the only sound in the room was the ragged, weighted synchronization of your breathing. The air between you and Ari was thick, electric, desperate for a spark; the residue of the war you had been waging with poisoned tongues and quick wit. Ari’s gaze dropped first, landing on your lips, eyeing the way they trembled with each breath. You waited, and waited; for something, anything when finally…

​

The tension snapped.

​

Ari didn’t just lean in; he collided.

​

He crashed his lips against yours in a kiss that was less about passion and more about a conquest; a point to prove. It was violent and punishing; desperate with a physical manifestation of the fury he couldn’t voice, the want he couldn’t admit. He didn’t ask; he took, his mouth claiming yours with a bruising intensity that even in your weeks together you hadn’t experienced. He tasted like a dark, simmering rage, and you were helpless to fight. He used his weight to push you back until your back hit the edge of the table, the wood digging into your lower back, the plates rattling behind you.

​

He broke the kiss only to snarl almost breathlessly against your lips; jagged and rough. ‘’Say it again. Tell me you’re not scared while you’re shaking in my arms, Sugar. Don’t want me yet you’re kissing me back, hmm? We can play present, baby, that’s fine—“

​

“You’re not giving me much choice,” You grumbled at him.

​

Your hands pushed against the hard planes of his chest, scoffing while your face twisted up and your fingers dug into the expensive fabric of his shirt in a desperate attempt to create space. You pushed with every ounce of strength you possessed, but moving a mountain might have been an easier feat. Ari didn’t even budge- not even a little bit. He simply absorbed the impact of your struggle with a smirk on his lips.

​

‘’Push harder, Sugar," he goaded, letting out a dark chuckle that vibrated through your hands and rattled your bones.

​

Instead of letting you go, Ari reacted to your resistance by intensifying his hold. He shifted his weight, his massive thigh sliding between yours, pinning you firmly against the table and cutting off any hope of maneuvering out of his hold. His hand migrated from your jaw and slid down your throat, resting there with a possessive pressure that made your head spin and served as a reminder of how easy it would be for him to extinguish your breath as he dipped his head down, lips close to your ear.

​

‘’I love it when you fight me, Sugar. It’ll make the moment you finally stop so much sweeter,’’ he whispered against your ear.

​

He leaned back just enough to look you in the eyes; his pupils were blown wide, nearly swallowing the iris; the blues that had suckered you in were nowhere to be found. He looked completely unhinged; the polished facade of the right hand was entirely stripped away, leaving behind the monster, unashamed and untethered. Everything about him in that moment filled your senses and clouded your mind; his hair wild from the struggle, the tobacco and expensive cologne making your head swim, his breath hot on your neck.

​

‘’You think you’re so brave because you have nothing left to lose, but you’re wrong. You still have your pride, that stupid fuckin’ mouth. I’m really gonna enjoy taking those from you… Piece by piece, he continued to whisper in your ear, low and dangerous.

​

‘’And then pass me along to your brothers?’’ You taunted. ‘’Playing with something you can’t even keep. You’re pathetic.’’

​

The words cut through the air, cutting deeper than any physical threats Ari had issued. You could tell by the way his hand tightened around your throat that it was a lethal blow, reminding him that he was nothing more than a man who couldn’t claim his own prize, letting him know he was nothing but a mere placeholder. His reaction was almost instantaneous. The low, controlled heat of his anger flared into a white-hot blaze. He didn’t pull away, but instead pushed you back flat onto the table with such a sudden, violent force that your head thumped against the wood, groaning under the impact and sending a vibration rattling through your spine.

​

‘’You think I can’t keep you?’’ Ari asked in a hushed, rough tone, his face inches from yours. His grip on your throat tightened more, enough to pin your head firmly against the table; his other hand flew to your waist, his fingers digging into the soft flesh with a grip that was bound to leave bruises. The cold, detached professional was truly long gone; instead, he was possessed by a primal need to dominate and silence the one person who had managed to see through his armor, and it terrified you. His eyes flashed with an unstable light.

​

‘’I don’t pass things along, Sugar. I decide who gets what and when–’’ Ari leaned in closer, teeth grazing the shell of your ear, his breath ragged and full of fire. The sheer physical disparity between you both was overwhelming to say the least; you were a delicate flower trapped under a landslide. With each word, he sounded like less of a man and more like a predator ready to claim a kill as his voice dropped to a menacing, vibrating hum. ‘’Maybe I’ll decide you’re too precious for the others. Maybe I’ll decide that the only way to scrub that fuckin’ arrogance out of your mouth is to keep you locked in this room, on your knees, until you forget to speak anything but my name.’’

​

He leaned back just enough to look you in the eye, his expression a terrifying mixture of hatred and an obsession he couldn’t quite mask. You let out a shaky breath through your nose, willing your bones to stop trembling, and the sly smirk on his lips told you he had wound up with exactly what he wanted. He wanted you to fear him, but more than that, he was desperate for you to acknowledge that he was the only thing in this world that mattered right now.

​

“Calling me pathetic? Well…” He trailed off, leaning closer, your noses almost touching, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Let’s see how ‘pathetic’ this feels, Sugar.”

​

Without any further warning, he dipped his head and crashed his mouth back over yours. It was a sordid collision of teeth and tongue, and you felt powerless to fight. It was a raw, hungry attempt to devour your defiance. He kissed you as if he were trying to drink down your pleas, take in your breath as his own; his hand on your throat guided your moments, forcing you to stay, enduring the onslaught of his fury.

​

The groan that bubbled in his throat caused you to writhe underneath him, your nails found his forearms, nails scraping against his skin, blooming red, frantic, desperate lines; a feeble attempt to get away, but it only served to heighten the friction. Every move you made only got you more and more trapped under the heat of his chest and the cool, unforgiving wood of the table.

​

“Fight me, come on, Sugar. Know you can do better than that,” Ari taunted against your lips.

​

He didn’t flinch at the scratches. If anything, the sharp sting seemed to act as a catalyst, stoking the fire already raging in him. You shuddered when he rocked against you, feeling how he loved the resistance; he was clearly a man who enjoyed having something to crush. He shifted his grip, hand sliding from your throat to the back of your head, his fingers curling ruthlessly in your hair. With a sharp, sudden tug, he yanked your head back, forcing you to expose your throat to him and breaking the kiss with a lewd, visceral wet sound.

​

“You’re so desperate to get away, yet here you still are. Still breathing me in, still feeling exactly what I do to you, and I know…” His voice was a breathless rasp, his eyes gleaming with something dark. “You fucking love it.”

​

He didn’t let you recover. Didn’t give you a moment to breathe. To sit with the impending doom. Instead, he began to trail kisses across your jawline, lips bruising and demanding, moving to the sensitive skin of your neck. Each press of his lips was akin to a brand, a claim of ownership that threatened to ignore the schedule, ignore the rules, and ignore the other men in the manor. You bit back a whimper, hating how a mix of disgust and want soared through your veins, trapped under him as he was operating on pure, unfiltered impulse now; driven by a burning need to silence her tongue and break your spirit.

​

His teeth grazed your shoulder, his voice heavy and breathy. “Tell me again how pathetic I am, Sugar. Tell me while you’re shaking, tell me while you’re pretending to not want me. You’ve always wanted me, Sugar.”

​

You tried to push against him, fighting to keep him from pushing his weight further against you, his thigh pressed firmly against your core, and you begged your body not to respond, and when you felt the all-familiar ache, you had no choice but to act. You waited until he looked up at you, making his way over to your other shoulder as you gathered spit in your mouth and launched it directly at his face.

​

The room went silent.

​

The wet, sharp sound of the spit hitting Ari’s cheek echoed in the space around you. For a moment, the world seemed to stop spinning. Ari had frozen, his head slightly tilted, moisture glistening on his skin in the fading sunlight.

​

This wasn’t a verbal jab, a clever quip or pointed insult. This was a visceral, primal act of contempt. It was the ultimate reflection of his power, his masculinity, and his status within the manor walls. It was the only way you could think to get him to stop, but now you feared what would happen when he started again. In a home where respect was demanded through fear and blood, this was an act of absolute heresy.

​

Slowly and deliberately, Ari turned his head, his eyes locking onto yours. His expression was no longer one of hunger or rage. It was something far more horrifying. His features had gone completely slack, his eyes turning into two cold, dead stones. The fire had been snuffed out, replaced by a glacial, murderous calm. He didn’t move to wipe his face, didn’t flinch or reel back. He simply stared, the silence stretching out until it felt like a physical weight crushing the oxygen from the room and leaving you breathless.

​

“You really don’t know when to stop, do you?” Ari asked, his voice a flat, timeless whisper, devoid of everything human.

​

With a sudden, blurring movement, Ari seized both of your wrists, pinning them in a single, massive grip and slamming them up above your head with a force that made your shoulders feel like they were going to pop. He leaned in, his chest against yours.

​

“I was going to be softer. I was going to give you the luxury of a slow break, but you… You just can’t help yourself. So, what choice do you give me?” Ari’s gaze shifted around your face, a dark, twisted smirk finally touching his lips. It wasn’t a smile of pleasure; it was the smile of a man who had finally been given a good enough reason to be cruel. “I wonder if Lloyd will consider this as ‘extenuating circumstances.’ I wonder if he’ll let me keep you for the rest of the week, just to see how many times you can spit before you start begging for me to touch you.”

​

“So much for being the one who makes the decisions,” You huffed. Ari was right. You didn’t know when to stop, and you hoped that if you defied him enough, he would get bored and move on. “Gotta run to Lloyd to see if you can keep playing with the new toy. No wonder your wife upped and ran. I would leave you too.”

​

The mention of his wife again, coupled with the accusation that he was nothing more than a puppet to Lloyd’s whims, seemed to hit Ari like a physical strike to the gut. The calm he had so easily possessed vanished, his face twisting up as he took in a sharp exhale of breath. The transition was a violent one— switching from the predator playing with his food to a man stripped of every shred of restraint.

​

You jumped in your skin as his fist hit the table, so close that you could feel the wind from the impact.

​

“Shut the fuck up,” Ari warned, eyes glaring down at you, his voice laced with something twisted. “You think you’re so fucking clever. You think you’ve found the one thing that can break me…”

​

The grip of your wrists tightened, threatening to shatter the bones. He looked completely possessed, pupils expanded until no light reflected. His breathing came out in sharp, jagged heaves. Suddenly, he pulled you up right, manhandling you until you were pinned to the floor. He gripped your hips with a bruising intensity as his voice dropped, leaning down to graze his lips against yours as he spoke.

​

“I don’t need Lloyd’s permission to break a toy that’s already malfunctioning.”

​

The coldness was finding its way back, but it was different now. It was a focused cruelty. He wasn’t just reacting now; he was deciding. He looked at you— really looked at you— maybe not as a woman, but as an asset; as something that needed to be silent and subdued until there was nothing left.

​

“You want to talk about why she left? Maybe I'll let you figure it out while you're screaming my name. Maybe I'll show you exactly why no one survives this family with their pride intact.”

​

“Careful now, Ari. I’m starting to think you’re all talk,” You challenged. Your mind was split in two. One side hoped he would still leave; the other wanted him to stay, and you were unsure which to listen to. “Starting to think you can only get up on someone else’s say-so. Do it. Do your worst.”

​

The challenge hung in the air, acting like a spark in a room flooded with gasoline.

​

For Ari, the invitation was the final piece of the puzzle. He had tried control, he had tried the professional distance, he had tried pure, raw fury— but you; you offered him the one thing that he desperately craved in that moment: a reason to stop holding back.

​

Permission.

​

For you, it was curiosity, wondering how far he would go; it was the other side that clung to the fantasy, the one where you moved away, where he followed— white picket fences, sunset strolls, and happiness. Despite everything, you had grown attached to the man who had betrayed you in the worst way, and if this was a way to pay up and get out, at least it was with him.

​

“You have no idea what my worst looks like, Sugar. You have no idea what you’ve just asked me for,” Ari purred into your ear, a sick grin on his lips.

​

He looked at you with an expression so vacant of any warmth that it made dread bloom in your stomach, mixing with the desire that still sat heavy there. He looked at you as if you were a puzzle he was about to solve by breaking every single piece. Then, suddenly, Ari shifted his grip. He didn’t just hold you; he manipulated your body with an effortless strength until you were face down on the floor, your chest pressed down onto the cream carpet. He gathered your wrists in his hand, pinning them against your back as he nudged and pushed at your legs until your back was arched, ass in the air. His other hand had made slow work, sliding up the back of your thigh.

​

The thin sweatpants offered no protection under the heavy weight of his hand, his large palm grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh; possessive and demanding. He leaned his massive frame down onto you, your chest crushing down against the hard floor; his breathing hot and heavy against the nape of your neck.

​

“You want the monster, Sugar? You want the man who drives women to run?” He trailed off, his hand shifting higher as he let out a mirthless huff of air that felt like a ghost of a laugh. His fingers hooked the edge of the waistband and began to pull it downward with a slow, drawn-out pace as his voice dropped to a lethal, spoken thread. “…I'm going to make you regret every single word that ever came out of that pretty, arrogant mouth. I'm going to make you beg for the "pathetic" man to stop. And then... I'm going to make you beg for him to start again.”

​

He didn’t wait for a response. He sank his teeth into the sensitive tendon where your neck met your shoulder, not a bite, but a grinding, punishing pressure that threatened to claim you entirely. As his tongue swept over marks left by his teeth, a gasp bubbled up in your throat, and you arched in a poor attempt to escape the assault on your neck, only to end up with your ass flush against the already demanding bulge in his jeans. The sound of your gasp was the only thing that filled the room; a signal to Ari of the first crack in your armor.

​

For Ari, that movement— that instinctive, physical reaction— was a victory more potent than any verbal submission, which made him let out a low, almost growling laugh against your skin.

​

“There it is,” He boasted with a grin you could feel. “Here we go, Sugar. We’re really getting started now.”

​

You knew he could feel the tremor in your muscles, the way your body betrayed that small voice that wanted nothing to do with what was happening. His hand, still gripping your wrists behind your back, toughened for a second, pulling your shoulders back and forcing your chest further into the carpet, the fibers biting at your skin. You felt completely exposed, vulnerable.

​

“Don’t get big-headed.” You tried to save. “Your hands are just tough, and the position is awkward.”

​

The defiance, although dwindling rapidly, was still there, clinging to you like a last shred of dignity, although thinner and frayed by the physical reality of his dominance. The way you gritted your teeth and fought through your reaction only served to fuel Ari’s obsession with breaking you. You knew he didn’t want you to be quiet; he wanted to strip away every last excuse you had until there was nothing but the truth of your response to him.

​

“Rough?” Ari let out a sound that was a half-laugh, half-snarl. He slowly released the grip on your wrist, but before you could even think of moving, his hands found your waist, gripping tightly and pulling you back against him. “I can be as soft as you want, Sugar. I can be the gentleman. I can be the pathetic man who plays by the rules…” He slid a hand down your spine, slow and agonizing, wanting you to feel every second of the anticipation; the suffocating weight of his presence until the hand found its way to your hair. “But you didn’t ask for the gentleman—“ He took a harsh grip, forcing you up against him as you bit back a cry. His voice dropped to that lethal whisper that made butterflies flutter in your stomach. “You asked for my worst.”

​

He gripped your chin and forced your head to the side, looming over you as he made you look back at him over your shoulder. His face was a mask of cold, focused intent; the void in his eyes now filled with a predatory satisfaction. He looked at your swollen lips, now parted and letting out little, quick breaths; the way your eyes were wide and shimmering with tears that threatened to fall— not from fear or sadness— from anticipation and pent-up frustration.

​

“You’re not in control here, Sugar. Not your words, your pride… and certainly not your body,” He stated, and you knew, in that moment, that he was right. The contrast between you was stark; your fragility against his brutality. “Now, tell me again. Tell me how rough and pathetic I am while I make you forget your own name.”

​

“Just do it already,” You provoked, voice a shaky whisper as a shudder made its way down your spine.

​

The whisper wasn’t a surrender, but an invitation; an invitation to the abyss that Ari was more than happy to plunge them both into. The sound of your voice, broken and breathless, acted like a trigger.

​

“With pleasure.” Ari’s voice was a quiet promise.

​

Ari made quick work of ridding you of your clothes. Rough fingers slid your shirt up your back and ripped it over your head before working down your sweatpants, the heat of his body shielding you from the room's cool air. He didn’t bother with sliding down your underwear, simply snapping the bands on either side, the sound ringing out— a symbolic shedding of the last barrier between you and his now unrestrained hunger.

​

“Look at me, Sugar, back up here,” Ari instructed, voice laced with need.

​

He didn’t wait for you to comply; he seized a handful of your hair and forced you back up, tilting your head back until your gaze locked with his. It’s like he wanted you to see the monster you had summoned. He wanted you to see there was no soft side left— only a man who had been pushed too far and now had every intent of reclaiming every ounce of power you had tried to strip away from him.

​

“You wanted my worst, Sugar?” Ari tormented. “That’s what you asked for, right?”

​

With you flush against him again, he tilted your head to the side with a rough grip on your jaw and crashed his mouth back onto yours; a battle of teeth and tongue, desperate and needing. You let a small whimper die in your throat as you struggled to keep up with his pace; the familiar taste of whisky on his tongue pulled at the desire that still lay thick inside you. He kissed you as if he were trying to devour your breath, his tongue invading your mouth with the same possessive aggression that his hands had on your body.

​

The hand that was in your hair untangled, sliding down and finding its way to the soft of your stomach, before slipping between your thighs and roughly hooking a finger into your center; blunt and demanding. His large fingers stretched and pushed in a way that made you want to fold. He clearly wasn’t looking for a slow build; he wanted a total collapse. He ground his hips into the meat of your ass, his cock finding friction between the layer of fabric and the softness of you; like he wanted you to feel what was to come— the man you had called pathetic, the man who had taken you apart over and over again, the man you wanted to do it again.

​

He broke the kiss just enough to rasp against your lips, “Tell me…” His fingers shifted, applying a sharp pressure to your jaw. “Tell me who owns you right now.”

​

You found his reflection in the window and glared at him through wet eyes, simply stating, “Never.”

​

The word was a fragile thing, spoken through a veil of unshed tears and a trembling lip, but it was delivered with the same stubborn pride that had defined every single second of your interaction with the family so far. It was the only thing you had left. Even now, your body pinned like a specimen on a board, your body calling out for the same man that had trapped you in a house of horrors, you refused to give him the one thing that he truly wanted… Submission.

​

Ari froze.

​

The pressure of his fingers stilled, and the heavy, rhythmic thud of his heart against your back seemed to stutter. You could feel his stare, feel the burning. He let out a huff of air. He had broken professionals; he had crushed spirits that were supposed to be ten times more resilient than yours. Yet, here you were, refusing to break even as he tore your world apart.

​

“You really think this is a game of endurance, don’t you, Sugar?” Ari probed, voice dropping to a dangerous register. A dark, twisted smile slowly spread across his face. It wasn’t a smile of amusement; it was the look of a man who had just found a more interesting way to play with his toy. “Fine. Keep that pride of yours a little longer, baby. It won’t be long until you lose it.”

​

He shifted his weight, letting you fall forward, hands flush against the carpet as he settled back on his legs and forced your legs wider, exposing your cunt up to him. His hand lay heavy on the slope of your back as he used his free hand to threaten a start in dismantling you. He let his finger ghost down between your slit, finger tip sliding with ease due to the slick that had gathered, which elicited a hum of approval— of success.

​

“I don't need you to say it. Your heart is hammering against my chest. Your skin is flushing. You're shaking so hard you can barely breathe…” “The more you fight, the more I’m gonna make you feel. I’m gonna keep pushing ‘til you’re so desperate, so utterly undone, that ‘never’ becomes the last word you ever say to me.”

​

He withdrew his hands, leaving you cold and aching in the sudden void. Behind you, you could hear the shuffling of fabric, the sound of a zipper.

​

“Look at me, Sugar. Look at what you’ve provoked,” Ari commanded.

​

You glared back at him, refusing to look where he wanted, teeth gritted and bit out: “Still pathetic.”

​

The words were barely a breath, a ghost of a whisper delivered through gritted teeth and shimmering eyes, and above all else…

​

A damn lie, and Ari knew it.

​

The sight of him, long and thick; the glistening head of his cock where his anticipation had gathered. The vein that ran down the underside, which you’d run your tongue and fingers over time and time; the one that made him groan deep in his throat and tilt his head back. The same one that gave you the sight of him that had embedded itself in your brain, the one you lost yourself in over and over in your hotel room until you next saw him.

​

Ari let out a low, vibrating sound— a hum that sounded more like a purr, but it carried the weight of a death sentence. He looked at you, and for the first time, the hatred and hunger were eclipsed by a terrifying, absolute clarity.

​

You were full of shit, and he knew it.

​

“You’re so proud of that little tongue, aren’t you, Sugar?” Ari mused, toying with a grin to match.

​

With a sudden, unrelenting surge of movement, he drove himself into you with a brutal, uncompromising force that almost knocked the wind clean out of your lungs and made your thighs want to part and welcome him further; welcome him home. Despite the fact that there was no preamble, no tenderness, no gradual slide, it made you clench and ache around him. It was a taking— a raw assertion of ownership that felt as if he was trying to merge his very existence with yours; or perhaps, to split you in two.

​

The impact had you fighting against him, your eyes threatening to roll back for a fleeting second as the sheer scale of him filled you completely. He was too big, too much, an overwhelming presence that left no room for air, for thought— for defiance. He folded himself over at you, nudging himself a little inside a little further as his breath ghosted over the shell of your ear.

​

“Still pathetic?” He taunted, jagged, and rough.

​

He gave you no opportunity to comment back, no time to slide in an insult or jab. He began to move; each thrust was deep, punishing, and deliberate, designed to jar your entire frame and remind you of the reality of your situation. He used his size as a weapon, grinding his hips into yours with a relentless intensity that threatened and sought to drown out your thoughts, your pride, your “never.” The room seemed to shrink until it was only the two of you— the sound of the carpet biting and scratching into your skin, the wet— visceral and sordid— friction of your skin; the ragged, synchronized moans and pants of two people locked in a war of attrition. Ari’s face was a twisted mask of focused intensity, his eyes locked in yours, searching for the exact moment the light of defiance would snuff out.

​

His teeth grazed your ear as he rumbled out, “Where’s my noises, pretty girl? Don’t you wanna tell the whole house how pathetic I am… While you’re shaking and choking my cock with that pretty cunt.”

​

You muffled the whimper that continued its want for escape, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, biting down until you feared the taste of copper. For you, it was a final act of rebellion; the last tool in the box. For Ari, it was an intolerable challenge. You knew he could feel how your walls gripped and pulsed around him; he knew the truth; he knew it with every deep, punishing thrust, but the fact you were still holding the gate shut nearly sent him over the edge.

​

“God fucking dammit,” Ari damn near growled, frustrated and flustered.

​

He didn’t just pull out; he ripped himself out of you with a sudden emptiness that left you gasping and hollow. Ari wasted no time, flipping you back over onto your back, rough fingertips bruising into your sides. You landed with a soft thud, the air leaving your lungs, but Ari was back on you within an instant. He gripped your legs under your knees and bent them upwards before his hands found your thighs, thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he parted your legs, situating himself snugly inside of them.

​

He pinned you there, hands keeping a tight hold on your legs, large palms pushing into the skin; almost folding you in half. The position utterly degrading, stripping away every last shred of poise you had tried to maintain; washed away under the sea blue of his eyes staring down at you with that hunger shining bright. You were bent, broken, and completely exposed, and you hated how your core clenched, already missing him.

​

“You think you’re so strong because you can stay quiet? Like it’s gonna stop me?” Ari asked, the low, dark timber rattling against the nape of your neck. He shifted, the head of his cock bumping against your cunt, threatening to sink in deep again. “I’m gonna hit every single spout that makes you lose that stubborn little mind. I’m going to push you until you can’t remember how to hold your breath.”

​

He reached forward to grab a handful of your hair at the top of your skull, yanking your head back, twinges of pain pricking across your scalp, which made you cry out as he forced you to look up at him; your back was bent almost impossibly, his other hand coming up to keep a tight hold on your neck. His eyes were wild, pupils blown with a mixture of lust and a desperate need to see you break.

​

Ari grinned as he let the tip of his cock catch against your leaking hole; the only warning you were given before he drove back into you. He used the hold on your neck to anchor you down against him as he hurried himself to the hilt.

​

“Fuckkk,” He moaned, deep and drawn out. “Let’s see if this works.”

​

The angle was deeper, more invasive; knees angled towards your shoulder with nowhere to hide. You attempted to close your eyes, but a tight squeeze on your throat that threatened to keep your breath stuck in your lungs made them peel open again. You peered up at him— eyes wet, lashes clumped— and let out a shaky breath as Ari drew backward. He began to move with a rhythmic, punishing violence, his hips slamming against your ass with a slapping, wet, heavy sound that echoed through the opulent room.

​

“Come on, Sugar. Let me hear that you’re mine. That’s what you wanted, right? Run away and spend the rest of your existence split open on my cock. Tell me that you’re nothing but my toy, my sweet girl, come on,” Ari moaned into your ear, husky and honeyed, small grunts punctuated with each of his thrusts.

​

The sound was small at first— a broken, airy vibration that escaped your throat despite every ounce of your willpower, but once the dam broke, it was impossible to stop. The moan rippled through you, a physical admission of your pleasure and the pain of being under a man that had done you so wrong colluding in a sordid weapon that made your head swirl and your cunt ache and throb around him— you had lost the fight between wrong and right and all that was left was Ari who let out a dark, triumphant sound; a low growl of victory that vibrated through your back and wrapped itself around your throat.

​

“Yeah, there she is,” Ari drawled. “Hi, baby. Welcome home.”

​

Your break was like a drug to him.

​

The sound seemingly stripped away the very last threads of his detachment, replacing it with a feral hunger. He didn’t slow down; instead, he accelerated, his thrusts becoming faster and more frantic— deeper and unrelenting. He was no longer just trying to punish you for the insults, the defiance; he was trying to consume you, to carve his name into your very soul. The room became filled with the sounds of your collision— the heavy thud of skin on skin, the mix of your airy, strung-out moans and his desperate groans; just two people pushed to their limits.

​

“You knew you couldn’t fight it, Sugar. You can’t keep fighting me,” Ari rasped as he leaned down, lips brushing against your shoulder.

​

Ari wouldn’t be satisfied with a simple break, though. He wanted a total collapse. You adjusted to the rhythm, moans coming out as quick, broken whines. The angle was extreme— his massive frame almost compressing you under the weight of him— leaving you completely open, your vulnerability absolute as his forehead almost touched yours before he pulled back a little to look at you with eyes that were dark, void of mercy and shimmering with a terrifying sort of triumph.

​

“Look at you, folded up like a little doll. S’all you are, right?” Ari hummed breathily as he leaned up and began to shallow his thrusts.

​

The sudden change in tempo was almost more agonizing than the violent back-and-forth of the previous moments. Ari shifted his weight, leaning back up onto his arms, creating a small gap that made you instantly arch back up against him. He stopped the deep, punishing drives and instead restricted his movements to shallow, teasing frictions— just enough to keep you balanced on the precipice of a peak you couldn’t reach on your own.

​

He gazed down at you, lids heavy and a sordid smile, a mask of predatory satisfaction. Your legs still pinned, your chest heaving and unable to rock up to get his cock further inside as your gaze glazed over with a shimmering mixture of desperation and lust. You squeezed around him— an instinctive, pleading grip that contradicted every word you had spat at him since he lured you to the manor— earning a small groan and a shake of his head.

​

“Tell me you’re mine, baby. Tell me, and I’ll let you cum,” Ari crooned lowly; the jaggedness that had been present in his tone was long gone and replaced by a silken, manipulative warmth. He leaned in closer, voice dropping to an intimate whisper. “Just tell me. Tell me what I wanna hear… Tell me what you’ve been hoping for.”

​

He shifted slightly, a minute movement that sent a jolt of longing through you, and then stopped again, thrusting the tip in and out of your cunt. He was playing with you now, despite you gripping at his forearms and letting out the cries you had begged for. He treated your pleasure as a currency he could trade for your pride. He watched the way your pupils dilated, the way your breath hitched, favoring the power he held over you. That dark, knowing smirk tugged at his lips. He knew exactly how this worked; he knew how you looked at him, wanted him, how you reacted to simply being in his presence, and played like a harp.

​

“Isn’t that what you wanted? Didn’t you want that? Didn’t you wanna be all mine?” Ari’s ramblings were messing with your head; or, rather, emptying it out. You couldn’t think straight as he gave one more shallow, agonizing thrust; his gaze licked on yours that demanded total surrender. He was offering you a way out of the tension, a release from the torture, but the price was the only thing you had left. His breath was hot against your lips, a soft, commanding lure. “I’ll give it to you, baby… Just tell me. Come on, Sugar. Do it for me.”

​

Your head lolled to the side. The fight had drained out of you, replaced by a desperate, thrumming need that made every single nerve ending scream for the release he was withholding.

​

You bucked your hips slightly, letting out shallow and broken gasps— the sounds of a woman who had been pushed far beyond your breaking point and was now floating in the void of your own arousal— when Ari would laugh and hold them still, depriving you of seeking your own pleasure; only allowing what he gave. He refused to move, staying perfectly still; a towering mountain of muscle and heat. He let the room's silence amplify your desperate breathing. He could feel the clenching of your walls, the way your body was begging him to fill you, to drive you over the edge.

​

As Ari leaned down, his lips brushed against the sensitive skin of your ear, the vibration from his voice sending a shiver through you.

​

“I’ll play with this pretty pussy just the way you like,” Ari lured, shifting his hips just a fraction— a tease, a promise— sending a fresh wave of electricity through you that made your back arch up into him instinctively. “I know how you like it. Come on, Sugar. For me.”

​

He knew the map of your body now; he knew where the triggers were, he knew how to play you, and he knew how much you could take before you snapped. He wanted you to feel the weight of your dependence on him, to realize that your own path to peace lay within satisfying him. He looked down at you, and you tried to shy away, knowing he had to see how clouded your vision was; the way your lips were parted and trembling. How he was slowly becoming the only thing in your world— the only spice of pleasure and pain, the only authority that mattered. He tightened his grip on your legs, pulling you slightly closer and nudging in deeper; the friction was almost unbearable.

​

“Just tell me,” Ari whispered, a dark, possessive promise against your lips.

​

You let out a mix of a moan and a sob.

​

“I’m yours,” You whined.

​

The words were barely audible, a shattered fragment of a voice that carried the weight of total defeat. The moment your admission left your lips, the tension in the room shifted. It wasn’t the sudden explosion of rage from before, but a suffocating wave of possessive triumph. Ari didn’t just hear you; he felt the surrender in the way your body finally went lax underneath him, the last wall of your defiance crumbling to dust as you gave in.

​

A deep rumble of satisfaction vibrated in his chest as his voice dropped into a dark, velvet purr.

​

“That’s my girl.”

​

With the victory finally secured, Ari shifted his position.

​

He pushed himself up, arms locked and muscles straining, creating a space that felt like a vacuum of anticipation. He didn’t pull out angrily; he retreated until he was barely clinging to you, the very tip of his cock rocking rhythmically and shallowly against your leaking entrance— open and aching. His eyes locked on the scene below, lids heavy and lips parted; his hair falling around him like a dark halo. It was a precision stroke, a slow, maddening friction that kept you on the edge.

​

His eyes shined with a heavy mixture of lust and ownership. In a move of raw, lewd dominance, he spat. The liquid landed with a wet slap directly on your swollen clit that pulsed for attention. The contest between the cool wetness against your burning skin caused a sharp jolt to shoot through your body, making your hips twitch up towards him.

​

“Now we play,” Ari hummed out, his hand sliding slowly down your body.

​

He didn’t rush to bring you your release. He brought his thumb down, pressing the calloused pad firmly into the puddle he’d created. He began to move in slow, deliberate circles; just enough pressure to make your head swim, but slow enough to stretch out every second of the sensation. He was molding your pleasure, twisting it into a form that only served him, ensuring that the orgasm he was about to grant you would be inextricably linked to the memory of your own submission.

​

“Feel that, Sugar? Feel how much you need me to finish this for you?” Ari asked, his breathing heavy, eyes flicking from your soaked cunt to your face.

​

He increased the speed of the circles slightly, his thumb flicking with a rhythmic precision that matched the shallow, teasing rocks of his cock inside of you. Your face twisted up, letting out a string of cries as you rocked up against him. He was building a storm, a crescendo of sensory overload that threatened to drown out everything but the feeling of his hand. He watched your face, savoring the way your expression blurred into pure, desperate need.

​

Your hips bucked up against his hand again, a wanton sob falling from your lips.

​

“Please… Please just let me, please…”

​

Ari let out a dark chuckle, his thumb pressing harder.

​

“Please?” Ari mocked with a matching pout, which made you whine and cry out.

​

The word was music to him.

​

After spending almost two hours fighting a war against your pride, the sound of you begging was the white flag he had been hunting for. He didn’t immediately give you what you wanted, though. Instead, he slowed his thumb down to a torturous, glacial crawl; teasing you to the very edge of your climax— the coil winding tighter and tighter as your breath came out in breathy hitches, your thighs ached, and you could hear the wetness around the head of his cock which made your cheeks flare up red— before pulling back and leaving you suspended in a state of wound tension.

​

“No, no, no,” You cried, rocking up shamelessly to get back the same sensation. “Please let me cum. Please, please, please.”

​

A low, vibrating laugh in his throat made you squeeze your eyes closed, letting the tears fall as he felt your desperate movements.

​

“Oh, look at you,” Ari teased. “Begging like a little pup in heat.”

​

Ari's laughter was a cold, taunting thing that echoed through the room, cutting through the sound of your desperate whimpers. He didn't move to help you, didn’t increase the pressure; he simply watched you, his eyes filled with a cruel glint as you continued to buck up beneath him. Your body acted on a primal instinct that Ari had so easily awakened and had completely overridden your mind. All you could think and feel was Ari, and he loved the view— the sight of the woman who had mocked him and spat in his face now reduced to a trembling, pleading mess, fighting for a handful of pleasure that only he could provide.

​

“Wait, wait, wait,” Ari said, halting his movements once again, leaving you to growl out in frustration, which he paid no mind to. “Thought I wasn’t allowed to touch you again?” His voice was a mocking croon, his thumb was hovering just millimeters above your clit; you could feel the heat. “I thought you hated me? Isn’t that what you said, Sugar? Thought you could just walk away from a man like me?”

​

You frantically shook your head, a pout forming on your lips as Ari’s eyes lit up as he finally made contact with an unrelenting, punishing flick. You arched up against him, your head bending backward and your hands finding his arms.

​

“You're shaking, Sugar. You're practically vibrating for me.”

​

He didn't let you answer with words. He began to move his thumb in those same rhythmic, grinding circles, but this time, he increased the pressure, driving you toward the peak with a focused need, as he needed it as much as you did. He suddenly shifted, letting his cock slip out of you before his hips surged forward to replace the thumb with the full, blunt force of the head of his cock, letting it slip over your clit repeatedly before slamming deep into you with a force that knocked out a cry of his name. He didn't stop there; he began to drive into you with a frantic, desperate speed; each thrust was a violent affirmation of his ownership. He leaned down, one hand slipping under your neck, the other pushing on your thigh.

​

He was no longer teasing; he was determined to push you over the edge, the friction of your bodies creating a heat that felt like it would consume the entire room.

​

However, the sudden absence of his hand was like a physical blow.

​

One moment, you were seconds away from the shattering release you had begged for, and the next, you were left shivering in a cold, agonizing void. The sudden drop in stimulation sent you spiraling, your breath coming in ragged, broken sobs that shook your entire frame. You were left stranded at the summit, the tension in your body so tight it felt like a wire stretched to the point of snapping.

​

He shifted his weight, leaning back on his heels, both hands on your hips, and dragged you with him and began to fuck into you again with shallow, teasing movements. The switching between the two was driving you near-insane. He wasn't trying to reach your depths anymore— like you so desperately wanted, you wanted him to feel you swore you could feel him in your throat; he was merely grazing your entrance, a rhythmic, superficial friction that served only to remind you of what he was withholding.

​

Ari let out a long, heavy sigh. “I think I wanna see you do it instead.”

​

He let out a huff of air that was almost a laugh, his eyes scanning your trembling body. He shifted his hips slightly, a small, sharp flick of movement that sent a jolt through you, before settling back into that maddeningly shallow pace. He wanted to see you degrade yourself; he wanted to see the "proud" woman take your own dignity into your own hands just to satisfy the hunger he had created.

​

“Play with that pretty pussy for me. Show me how much you hate me, Sugar.”

​

He remained a heavy, unmoving anchor within you, his eyes locked onto your hand, gesturing with a nod of his head towards your core. By the look on his face, you knew he wasn't going to move an inch further until you complied. He wanted the visual— the sight of your fingers working for his own gain, the sound of your whimpering as you tried to find the release he had stolen. He was no longer just possessing your body; he was forcing you to become an accomplice in your own undoing.

​

You nodded as you slowly reached down, trembling and hesitant.

​

Ari let out a long moan, deep in his throat, as you let out an airy whine as the pads of your fingers came down over your swollen clit; the pads of your fingers sliding easily with the slick that still pooled there. You knew that for Ari, this had to be what he really wanted— not the moans, not the tears, the words, but the moment you accepted the role of his plaything, performing for his entertainment. He watched with lidded eyes, still rocking the tip of cock in and out of you, his eyes tracking every slide of your fingers, every shudder that wracked your small frame.

​

“That’s it. Just like that.” His voice was a throaty rumble, thick with pleasure and gratification.

​

He didn't make it easy for you. Every time you seemed to find a rhythm, every time your breathing hitched in a sign that you were nearing the edge, Ari would shift. He would drive deeper for one sudden, hard thrust, knocking you off balance and stealing your focus before retreating back to those shallow, maddening teases. He acted like the sole conductor of your pleasure, playing your nerves like a finely tuned instrument, ensuring you felt every ounce of your own desperation.

​

His breath was hot and weighted against your neck. “Faster, Sugar. I wanna see you struggle for it. I wanna see how much you’re begging for me to let go.”

​

He shifted his grip on you, his large hand coming around your thighs to pull you up closer against him, your ass propped up by his knees, shoulder blades against the carpet, chest flatter against the carpet, forcing you to arch your back up further— making your vulnerability even more acute. He wanted you exposed, he wanted you desperate, and most of all, he wanted you to know that even your own hands were only working because he allowed it.

​

“Tell me, Sugar. Tell me how it feels to be mine. Don’t go quiet on me now,” Ari pried. “Tell me how much you love being my little toy while you do it.”

​

Your fingers picked up speed, rolling the sensitive bundle between their pads.

​

“Please,” You gasped out. “Please, m’so close.”

​

Ari let out something between a laugh and a groan. “Almost there, aren’t you?”

​

You nodded, lips parted, just as the tension reached a fever pitch, just as the first sparks of a climax began to coil tight, before it shone in your eyes, Ari acted. With a sudden, violent thrust of his hips, he drove himself deep— too deep and too fast— shattering the delicate rhythm you had painstakingly built. The impact was jarring, a physical shock that sent a wave of frustration through your system, knocking you completely off the ledge you had been clinging to.

​

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You cried, unable to help yourself as you let out a desperate whine. “Ari!”

​

The rhythm was gone.

​

The momentum was dead.

​

You were left gasping, your body trembling in the sudden void of interrupted pleasure. The sheer cruelty of the timing was a psychological blow as much as a physical one; he had let you see the finish line only to tear it away at the final second.

​

“That’s not what I wanna hear, Sugar,” Ari scolded softly, hand coming up to grip at your chin, the palm of his hand applying a slight pressure to your throat.

​

He waited, staying buried deep inside you, a heavy, unyielding weight that felt like a seal on your fate. Your walls clenched and clung to him as he leaned down to brush his lips over yours before capturing you in a soft kiss, his tongue rolling against yours for a fleeting moment before he pulled back and leaned down. He peppered kisses from the thumb on the column of your neck, up to the shell of your ear, his voice vibrating through you with a manipulated darkness that threatened to keep pulling you further down.

​

“I didn’t ask if you were close,” He rasped. “I asked how it feels to be mine.”

​

He shifted slightly, a tiny, teasing rotation of his hips that sent a fresh jolt of longing through you, but he kept you pinned against him, keeping your legs parted so he could get a full view of your own hand still hovering near your heat, useless without his permission to continue. He was savoring it— enjoying it; the absolute silence of your pride, replaced by the loud, frantic drumming of your heart and the broken sound of your breathing.

​

“Say it,” Ari commanded, his tone dripping with a mocking, silky sweetness. “Say the words I want, Sugar, and maybe— just maybe— I’ll let you finish.”

​

You let out something between a sob and a moan, a small shake of your head before you gave in.

​

“I love being your toy,” You whispered, the words feeling heavy and filthy on your tongue. “I’m yours. Please, Ari. Please.”

​

The admission was a broken, fragile thing that signaled the complete dissolution of your will. You didn’t wanna fight him any longer. You still wanted him; you wanted the fantasy, and if this was the only way to get it—then so be it. It wasn't just a lie to get what you wanted; it was the sound of a woman who had been stripped of everything until the only thing left was the need for the man above you to stop the torture— or start it; you didn’t know anymore.

​

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating, acting as the final key to the lock.

​

Ari let out a long, shuddering breath that sounded more like the predator finally closing its jaws. He had you. He had you right where he wanted you.

​

“Good girl,” He cooed out, that mocking tone still laced with every word he spoke. “That’s it. That’s my girl. There’s my baby.”

​

The change in him was instantaneous.

​

The cruelty vanished, replaced by an all-too-familiar face. There he was. Your Ari. He seized your hand, pulling it away from your body with a sharp tug, and replaced it with his own. He didn't use the slow, teasing circles this time; he used a firm, rhythmic pressure, his thumb working in tandem with a sudden, violent resurgence of his hips. The tease was over, and in its place came a storm of relentless, focused stimulation. He drove into you with a fervent speed, his thumb grinding into your clit with a fierce precision that left no room for hesitation. The collision of the two sensations– the deep, heavy thud of his body and the sharp, electric friction of his hand— was too much.

​

You let out a broken, high-pitched cry as your climax finally hit you. It was a violent wave that crashed over your entire body, leaving your muscles seizing and your mind blank; however, Ari didn't stop. He kept fucking you right through the peak, his thrusts jarring and deep, forcing you to feel every single ounce of your own release as it merged with the unrelenting power of his movement. It was like he wanted you to be completely undone, to feel the pleasure as something he had granted and something he still controlled.

​

“There…” Ari began to moan out in between heavy pants and labored sighs. “That’s it… Take it all, Sugar. Know you can.”

​

He let out a ragged, heavy breath, his own body trembling with the effort of holding back. He stayed buried inside you for a few moments more, savoring the way you shivered and gasped beneath him, the aftermath of the orgasm leaving you pliant, shattered, and spent. Then, with a sudden shift in energy, he pulled back.

​

“My turn.” Ari’s voice was a sordid promise— one you didn’t know how you were going to survive; one you didn’t know if you wanted to.

​

Ari gripped you by the waist and hoisted you up with ease, your body feeling like nothing in his massive arms. He carried you the short distance to the bed, tossing you onto the plush mattress with a blunt lack of ceremony. Before you could even roll over, he was there, lounging back against the headboard and pulling you onto his lap.

​

He sat you astride him, your legs framing his hips, stretched to capacity over his thick thighs, your chest heaving as you looked down at him. Ari's eyes were dark, his pupils blown, looking up at you with a mixture of predatory lust and a cold, possessive success. He gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your soft skin to anchor you in place, ensuring you felt the full, pulsing length of him beneath you.

​

“Put those legs to work, Sugar. Make me cum,” Ari commanded with a deep drawl. Ari watched with a thick anticipation as you reached under and lifted up into your knees, your fingers wrapping around his length. You stoked the underside of his cock, running your thumb down that thick vein that made him let out a hiss of air. You nudged the head against your clit, rocking for a moment. “Fucking… finally.”

​

He stayed anchored, his massive hands gripping your hips with enough pressure to leave bruises, forcing you to take full control of the movement. The sensation of your delicate fingers stroking the underside of his shaft, combined with the slow, agonizing tease of the head grazing your clit made you let out a long, drawn-out whine as Ari let out a throaty groan. He watched you through hooded eyes, his gaze tracking your flushed, tear-stained face.

​

“Don't just tease me, baby. I've been patient enough tonight,” Ari said, almost pleading.

​

You lifted up as much as your legs allowed, fighting through the shakiness of your thighs, as you nudged the tip against your wet hole, taking in sharp gasps as you began to sink down on him. The stretch seemed more this way, filling you more than before.

​

Ari let out a low, guttural groan that sounded more like a snarl, his eyes fluttering shut for a second. “Fuck…”

​

The slow, deliberate descent was a different kind of torture. As you sank down, the friction was visceral, the wet heat of your body wrapping around him in a tight, desperate grip. Ari's fingers dug deeper into your hips, his knuckles white, as he felt you slowly encompass him, inch by agonizing inch. You knew he could feel the tremor in your thighs, the way your body was still sensitive and humming for him, and it only drove his need higher.

​

Once you were fully seated, bottoming out against him, Ari's eyes snapped open. They were void of any remaining tenderness, replaced by that raw, pulsing hunger. He didn't let you settle for long. He gripped your waist and began to thrust upward, meeting your descent with a powerful, rhythmic surge that forced you to bounce on him, pulling pitched moans with every jolt.

​

“Look at you... taking it all,” Ari rasped out, breathless as he tilted his head back against the headboard, watching you closely. “Oh, fuck it.”

​

He accelerated the pace, his movements becoming less about pleasure and more about a desperate, driving need to fill you up. It was like he was using you as nothing more than a vessel; his breaths coming in short, sharp bursts as he pushed himself toward the edge, his grip on your hips so tight that you cried out, your hands ending up flat on his chest.

​

His eyes locked onto yours with a taunting gleam. “What was it you said yesterday?” Ari asked, head cocking to the side slightly as he thrust upward with a sudden, violent force, making your entire body buck and making your breath hitch. He didn't slow down, keeping a relentless pace that forced you to cling to his shoulders for balance. He was no longer just seeking his own release; he was weaving your previous insults back into the act— turning your own words into a leash. His voice was a deep rumble, his grip tightening on your hips until his fingertips sank into your skin.  “A communal fleshlight? Hmm?”

​

He let out a dark, breathless laugh, the sound vibrating through his chest and into you. He watched your face, searching for the flicker of shame or the return of that defiant spark, wanting to see your struggle with the reality of your current position, but it was long gone. All that was left was the sheer need to keep him buried deep inside you, to lose yourself in hun. He was the one who had broken you, the one who had forced the submission from your lips, and now he was making you inhabit the very role you had used to mock them.

​

His voice dropped to a lethal hiss that made you choke back a sob.

​

“Just a fucking hole. That’s all you are now, Sugar. Just a place for me to put this—“ He slammed into you, causing you to sink your nails into his bicep, your forehead touching his as you keened upwards. “A place for us all.”

​

The words were spat out with a clinical coldness, designed to strip away whatever dignity you had managed to claw back in the aftermath of your orgasm. He didn't pause for a reaction. Instead, he surged upward one more time, another brutal, bottoming-out thrust that seemed to aim for your very core, anchoring you to him with a possessive violence.

​

He began to move again, but the rhythm had shifted. It was no longer about the slow, seductive build or the playful torture. It was a raw, driving necessity. He used his strength to control your every movement, his hands acting like vices on your hips as he dictated the depth and speed of your collision. He was erasing you as a person, reducing you to the very thing he had just named— a tool for his own gratification— and you were letting it happen.

​

The room was thick with the scent of sex and sweat; the only sounds were the rhythmic, wet slapping of your bodies and Ari's heavy, ragged breathing mixing with your moans and the breathy chants of his name. He was close now, his muscles coiled and trembling under the skin, his focus narrowed down to the tight, hot grip of your body around him. He let out a low, animalistic grunt, his movements becoming frantic, a desperate scramble for the finish line before seemingly changing his mind, pulling out of you with a grunt and wrapping his hand around the base of his cock, letting out a long, shaky breath.

​

“Oh, fuck,” He moaned out. “Fuck, that’s— That fucking cunt, sneaky little thing.”

​

The frantic violence of the moment suddenly vanished, replaced by a heavy, suffocating stillness and heavy breaths.

​

He looked up at you, his eyes half-lidded and dark, glazed with a mixture of lingering lust and an insatiable need. He wasn't finished with you— not even close— but he leaned back like he wanted to savor the wreckage. His eyes wandered to your core, as if searching for the physical evidence of what he had done to you; to see the way your body had been stretched to accommodate him.

​

“Spread that cunt open for me.” He spoke with a deep hum, a demanding croon; the sound of a man who owned every inch of the room and the woman in it. He shifted his grip, his hands sliding from your hips to the backs of your thighs, his large palms pressing firmly against your skin. He didn't push you; he simply waited, the expectation of obedience hanging in the air like a blade. The smirk on his lips made you lean forward a little. There was no doubt that you were going to do it; that you were going to willingly display your vulnerability, to show him the very place where he had spent the night breaking you. “Let me see it. Let me see how I've wrecked it. Show me.”

​

He remained perfectly still, his breathing ragged, his gaze fixed intently on the point where you were joined. He was demanding a final act of submission, a visual surrender that would cement your new status as nothing more than an object for his observation and use.

​

Ari let out a long, slow exhale, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched your fingers tremble as you reached down to slide a hand to part yourself for him, fighting off the shame that wanted to bloom across your cheeks. He watched with a dark, focused intensity as your fingers pulled yourself open, exposing the raw, swollen reality of your encounter.

​

“That's it. Good girl,” Ari praised, voice almost a whisper.

​

The sight was so visceral that you couldn’t bring yourself to look down until Ari guided your gaze with a simple flick of his eyes— the flush of your skin, the glistening wetness, and the way your body had clung to him even in this state of exposure. To Ari, it wasn't just sex; it was a ledger of his victory, a physical map of where he had overridden your will and where he had left his mark. For you, it was everything you had wanted, even if it meant pretending you were elsewhere.

​

He didn't look away. His gaze remained fixed on the intersection of your bodies, his pupils blown wide. Slowly, Ari shifted one of his hands from your thigh as he positioned himself back against your hole, and you knew better than to move your hand away until you got his say-so. He helped you settle back down on him before letting you sit back, giving him a full view of you stretched to the limit around his cock until he reached forward, his large, calloused fingers moving with a sudden contrast of gentleness and intent. He began to trace the perimeter where your soft, swollen flesh was stretched tight around the thick diameter of his length.

​

His touch was light, almost a caress, but the intent behind it was purely possessive. Your muscles twitched under his fingertips, a shiver rolling through you from the contact. He traced the rim of your opening, feeling the heat and the tension, as if mapping out the limits of your elasticity. He let out a deep, contemplative hum, his breath hitching as he felt you clench instinctively.

​

“Wonder if I could stretch this any more?”

​

He didn't wait for an answer.

​

He applied a small, sudden pressure, pressing a finger against the edge of your opening to test the skin's resistance. You gasped and flinched, but Ari’s heavy hand on your hip kept you firmly in place. The movement was almost clinical, his eyes searching for that familiar spark of fear or the blankness of total surrender in your eyes. He was no longer just thinking about his own release; he was thinking about the capacity of the "toy" he had been given, wondering exactly how much he could break you before you truly snapped.

​

“I bet I could. I bet I could make you take even more than this, couldn't I, Sugar?” Ari asked, a silky whisper that made you whimper and shake your head, but you still felt the familiar ache as you clenched around him, and you knew you were going to have no choice. A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Shaking that pretty head, but your body is saying something else entirely.”

​

Ari tightened his grip on your thigh, pulling himself up so there was no gap, no air, only the crushing weight of his presence. You shuddered under his gaze as Ari withdrew his hand from the intimate, swollen heat of your body, but the sudden release brought no comfort. He didn't move away; he simply brought his hand up, the fingers glistening with your own fluids and the evidence of your encounter. He didn't offer a gentle touch. He pressed his fingers firmly against your lips, the smell of your sex filling the small space between them, forcing you to face the reality of what he had just done to you.

​

“Get 'em wet.” He didn't nudge or plead; it was an order, delivered with the same absolute authority he used to manage the family's dirty work. He held his fingers there, a barrier between you and the air, waiting for you to comply. The contrast was stark— softness of your pouty lips against the calloused, rough skin of his hand. He wanted you to taste yourself on him, to swallow the evidence of your own surrender. “Do it now, or it's really gonna suck for you.”

​

The threat was unspoken but clear.

​

Ari had spent the last hour playing with the boundary between pleasure and pain, and he was more than willing to tilt the scale back toward the latter if you hesitated. He remained anchored beneath you, his cock still filling you, a heavy reminder that he held every card in this game. He watched your eyes, waiting for the moment you accepted that your only option was to obey.

​

You parted your lips and slowly sucked his fingers into your mouth, your hand coming up to wrap pathetically around his large wrist. Ari let out a long exhale as your hand came into contact with his wrist.

​

“That’s it, baby. Now you’re learning. Just gotta listen, gotta behave.”

​

Ari watched you, heavy and possessive, as you took his fingers into your mouth. He didn't just let you suck; he exerted a small, controlling pressure, his rough fingers sliding against your tongue and the roof of your mouth, forcing you to accommodate him. He seemed to savor the way your hand wrapped around his wrist with a pathetic, desperate need for stability, as if he were the only thing keeping you from dissolving entirely.

​

Your other hand came up, fingernails scratching softly at the back of his hand, your thumbs pushed into his palm as your tongue rolled against the calloused fingertips. You let out a lengthy, heated hum around his fingers and rocked your hips down against him.

​

A growl ripped from his throat, his muscles locking tight. “You little…”

​

The sudden shift in your behavior— the way you began to actively seek him out, your nails scratching at his skin and your  hips rocking in a slow, desperate invitation— sent a surge of fresh, violent lust through him. He had spent the night breaking you, and now that you had allowed yourself to be broken, you were becoming something far more dangerous: a creature that craved the very hand that crushed you. The humming vibration of your throat against his fingers echoed the pulsing need deep in his own gut.

​

Ari didn't let you continue the tease for long.

​

He abruptly withdrew his fingers from your mouth with a sharp flick, his hand moving with a blur of speed to grip the back of your neck; his hold was iron, forcing your head back and exposing your throat to the dim light of the room. He looked up at you, his eyes void of everything but a raw, animalistic hunger, his chest heaving beneath you.

​

“You like it, don't you?” He surged upward with a sudden, explosive force, his hips slamming into you with everything he had. The impact was a brutal taking that knocked the breath from your lungs and sent you sliding up his body. He began to drive into you with a frantic, punishing rhythm, his movements primal. He was no longer conducting a symphony of submission; he was simply drowning in you. “I'm going to ruin you for anyone else, Sugar… you're going to forget how to even breathe without me…”

​

The violent intensity of his thrusts reached a fever pitch, the room echoing with the sound of Ari’s desperate thrusts and your needy moans. Ari was a force of nature, his muscles coiled and trembling, his focus narrowed entirely to the friction and heat of your body. Just as he neared the edge, he shifted. He didn't pull away, but he adjusted his grip on your neck, releasing you just enough to slide his hand back down. With a sharp, commanding movement, he thrust his fingers back toward your face, offering them up like a prize— or a leash. He didn't stop his hips; he kept a steady, grinding pace, his cock acting as a heavy, pulsing anchor that kept you pinned to him even as he demanded your focus elsewhere.

​

He gave a jagged command, his eyes burning with a dark, possessive fire. “Take them.”

​

Without hesitation, you opened your mouth and let him thrust his fingers back into your mouth, humming around them.

​

Ari let out a hiss, his hips bucking upward to meet you. “That's it... just like that.”

​

The sound of you humming around his fingers, the vibration of it traveling up his arm and settling in his chest, was the final trigger. He wasn't just possessing your body anymore; he had your senses completely occupied. Your mouth was full of him, your body was filled with him, and your mind was reduced to a singular, pulsing need for the man who had dismantled you.

​

Ari's movements became frantic.

​

He stopped the grinding and shifted into deep, violent plunges, each one driving you higher and higher until you collapsed on him, your face was snug against his throat, lips parted around his fingers as you cried out above him. He gripped your waist so hard his fingerprints were undoubtedly printing bruises onto your skin, his knuckles white. He was no longer the composed, cold right-hand of the family; he was a man possessed by a dark, singular obsession.

​

Ari’s voice was jagged, letting out a broken groan, his eyes blowing wide as the peak hit him. “You're mine… fucking mine…”

​

He didn't let the momentum die. Even as the first waves of his release began to coil in his gut, Ari refused to let the act be passive. It’s like he wanted you to be the one to push him over the precipice; he wanted you to be the instrument of his undoing. He shifted his grip, his massive hands sliding from your waist to the underside of your thighs, lifting you slightly to create a gap before letting you drop back down with a heavy, wet thud.

​

“Bounce on it, baby, come on,” Ari moaned out, deep and desperate. He began to thrust upward with a violent, rhythmic urgency, forcing your body to mirror his desperation. You kept your hands locked around his wrist, fucking yourself back onto him. He wasn't just asking for movement; he was demanding a performance of pure, unadulterated need. The room was a blur of heat and sound, the heavy scent of your union clinging to the air like a shroud. “Yeah, bounce on my cock, Sugar... make me cum, Sugar. Gonna fill you up. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

​

Your teeth dug into the flesh of his fingers slightly, letting out muffled cries as you bounded feverishly, which earned you a strangled grunt from Ari, it ripping out of his throat.

​

“Fuck!”

​

The sharp, sudden prick of pain was the final spark to the powder keg.

​

It must have sent a jolt of electricity straight to his core, syncing perfectly with the desperate, frantic rhythm of your hips as Ari's entire body went rigid, his back arching off the mattress as the orgasm tore through him with a violent, unchecked intensity. He didn't pull away from the bite; instead, he leaned into it, the pain only fueling the raw, animalistic nature of his release. He gripped your thighs with a crushing force, his fingers digging into the soft flesh to keep you locked against him as he spilled himself deep inside you.

​

The world narrowed down to the sound of your combined, ragged breathing.

​

For several long seconds, neither of you moved, suspended in the heavy, shimmering aftermath of a battle that had left you both physically and emotionally spent; a battle that both of you won and both of you lost. Slowly, Ari's muscles began to slacken. His grip on your thighs loosened, and he finally withdrew his fingers from your mouth with a wet pop. He didn't push you off him immediately; he simply lay there, his chest heaving, his eyes half-closed and glazed with a dark, lingering satisfaction. He looked up at you— flushed, shaking, and completely undone— and a ghost of a smirk touched his lips.

​

“Look at you,” Ari mused, barely more than a whisper.

​

You hummed, your legs shaking as they remained stretched over him. You reached for his hand, fingers gently stroking against the bite marks. Your body still felt alive— wound, like you weren’t ready to give in just yet. You couldn’t let it be over. You slowly guided his hand down your body and back between your legs as you kept your gaze locked on his.

​

Ari let out a deep huff of air, his eyes tracking your every movement with a heavy, hooded gaze. “Still hungry, are you?”

​

You let out another hum and gave him a nod.

​

He didn't resist you. You knew he wouldn’t.

​

He let his hand be guided; his large, calloused palm sliding over the wetness of your thighs until he felt the heat of you. The difference between you was painstakingly obvious— his hand was steady and dominant, while your fingers were trembling, still humming with the electricity of the encounter. He didn't rush to apply pressure; he simply rested his hand there, feeling the way you squeezed around him, the need for your orgasm thrumming through your body.

​

Ari looked up at you, the coldness that usually defined his features softened by an amused, possessive haze. He watched the way your hair spilled across his chest and shoulders, almost like a curtain that isolated you from the rest of the house and the other men waiting for their turn.

​

“You're a greedy little thing, Sugar,” Ari cooed as his fingers began to curl, grazing your clit with a skilled precision.

​

He didn't start a full-blown assault; instead, he began a slow, torturous exploration. He used his fingertips to trace the swollen edges of your opening, testing the sensitivity he had spent the last hour heightening. Every small flick of his wrist sent a fresh spark through you, reminding you that while the storm had passed, he still held the lightning.

​

His eyes locked onto yours, a smirk playing on his lips.

​

“Do you want more, Sugar? Do you want me to keep ruining you until you can't even remember your own name?”

​

“Don't stop…” You whined out behind a bitten lip, staring at him with pleading, desperate eyes.

​

A dark laugh rippled through his chest, his fingers suddenly pressing firmly down on your clit.  “Careful what you wish for, Sugar.”

​

Ari's hand shifted from a tease to a focused assault. He knew exactly where your nerves were raw, exactly how much pressure would push you back toward the ledge. He began to work you with a need that matched your own, his fingers sliding through the wetness he had created, mirroring the heavy, pulsing presence of his cock that still filled you.

​

He watched your face, the way your expression shifted from desperation to pure, unadulterated need. His own eyes lit up at the sigh, and you wondered if he loved the way your eyes glazed over— the same way you loved when his would turn almost black. You wondered if he liked the way your lip stayed caught between your teeth— the same way you liked it when his face would twist up when you would squeeze him just right. Even if he didn’t want to admit it, he was no longer just satisfying a physical urge; as much as he was cementing a psychological tether, ensuring that your pleasure was entirely dependent on his whim, he was enjoying the link to you. He was letting himself feel— even if for a moment.

​

Ari’s hips gave a slow, shallow buck upward.

​

“Look at you,” Ari said, “Begging for it again. After everything I just did to you.”

​

He increased the speed of his fingers, his movements becoming a blur of friction and heat. Your walls clenched around his softening cock, your body reacting instinctively to the renewed stimulation. He was building the tension again, a second wave of sensory overload that threatened to drown you. He leaned up slightly, his lips grazing your jawline, his breath hot and heavy.

​

“You're already becoming such a little addict, aren't you? Addicted to the way I break you. You’re gonna be so fun to pass along, Sugar.” Ari whispered, his tone dripping with a lethal sweetness.

​

You groaned at him, throwing your words back at you, but despite it, you began to arch your back, your breath hitching in anticipation of another climax, but Ari suddenly stopped. He didn't pull his hand away, but he froze every movement, leaving you suspended in that agonizing, white-hot void once again. He stayed perfectly still, ignoring and enjoying the way you cried out, his eyes locked onto yours, watching the frustration ripple through your shaking frame.

​

“Not yet. Tell me who you belong to. Tell me who owns every single inch of this greedy little body,” Ari rasped out.

​

“You own me, please,” You sobbed out desperately.

​

A dark, triumphant hum vibrated deep in his chest, his eyes darkening as he savored the sound. “That's right. Every single inch.”

​

The admission was the final piece of the puzzle.

​

For Ari, the physical act was the method, but this verbal surrender was the goal. For you, it was continuing the lie you had built up in your head.

​

He didn't reward you immediately; he let the words hang in the air, letting the weight of your submission sink in until you were trembling with the effort of holding yourself up on him. He watched the way your eyes were clouded with need; your spirit stripped bare and laid open for his inspection.

​

Then, with a sudden, violent surge of motion, Ari snapped. He didn't just resume the stimulation; he unleashed it. His hand became a blur of rhythmic, crushing pressure against your clit, while you chanted his name out like a prayer. He wasn't teasing anymore. He was driving you straight into the wall, forcing your body to collapse under the weight of a second, even more intense climax; your whole body seizing up and then breaking under it.

​

“Don't you dare close your eyes,” Ari growled up at you, his thumb pressing in with a ruthless skill. “Want you to see me while you fall apart.

​

You kept your eyes locked on his as you let out a string of broken moans.

​

The room around you dissolved into a kaleidoscope of sensation.

​

Your vision blurred at the edges, but you fought to keep your gaze anchored to Ari's. You saw the hunger in his eyes, the dark triumph of a man who had not only claimed your body but had successfully and undoubtedly dismantled you. Every broken moan that escaped your lips was a testament to his control. You were shaking, your entire frame vibrating with the force of a release that felt less like pleasure and more like a total systemic collapse.

​

“That's it... Break for me... Just fucking break…”

​

As the waves of the orgasm slowly receded, leaving you limp and gasping, Ari didn't immediately pull away. He stayed buried deep inside you. He looked up at you, his expression a complex mixture of cold satisfaction and a strange, dark intensity that seemed to border on obsession. He had pushed you further than any of the other men had yet, which made your stomach want to turn up with dread. The sight of him— completely spent, little puffs of breath leaving through his parted lips, the strands of his long hair stuck to his damp forehead— helped push the feeling down for a little while longer.

​

Slowly, with a lingering, heavy friction, Ari withdrew from you. The sudden absence of his warmth felt like a cold shock to your sensitive system. He didn't help you up; he simply sat back against the headboard, watching as you slumped over his legs, cheek ending up laid against his chest, listening to the pounding of his heart. He reached out, his large hand gripping the back of your neck one last time, not with violence, but with a firm, grounding pressure that reminded you exactly where you stood.

​

“You did well tonight, Sugar,” Ari said, voice sounding thick with a tenderness that didn’t seem right in the space he had created, but you took it away.

​

He let out a slow, shuddering breath, his eyes scanning the room as the adrenaline began to fade, replaced by the oppressive silence of the manor. The high of the conquest was still there, but the reality of the situation— the debt, the family, the rotation— settled back in. He shifted his hand from your neck to your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, which was still swollen from his fingers.

​

His gaze locked onto yours— a dark, warning glint returning to his eyes.  

​

“Don't think this means I've gone soft. You’ve got half an hour until Curtis is at that door, and he isn't nearly as... patient... as I am.”

​

The silence that followed was heavy, thick with the scent of sweat, sex, and the lingering weight of a psychological storm. Ari didn't move to comfort you. He didn't offer a blanket or a gentle word. He simply watched you for a moment longer, his gaze almost clinical once more, as if he were examining a piece of equipment he had pushed to its absolute limit to see if it would break. The rhythmic thudding of his heart began to slow, but the possessive energy still radiated off him in waves.

​

He finally shifted, sliding out from under you with a fluid, practiced grace. The loss of his body heat left you shivering in the dampness of the sheets, and you bit back a plea for him to come back. Ari stood up, his towering frame casting a long shadow over your curled-up form. He didn't look back as he walked toward the ensuite bathroom, the sound of the shower starting up and the steam beginning to leak back into the bedroom; and for a long while after, the only sound was the hiss of the water and your own shallow, trembling breaths.

​

Then, the shower stopped.

​

Ari emerged, a towel wrapped low around his hips, droplets of water clinging to the hard planes of his chest and the dark hair of his stomach. He didn't speak as he dressed, his movements efficient and cold, the "right hand" of the family returning to his professional shell.

​

“Clean yourself up. I don't want you smelling like me when Curtis walks through that door tomorrow morning. He won’t like it,” Ari instructed, not looking at you as he pulled his shirt over his head and smoothed it out.

​

He walked to the door, his hand gripping the handle and pulling it open. He paused for a fraction of a second, the silhouette of his massive shoulders blocking the light from the hallway.

​

Wait,” You called out after him.

​

You didn’t expect it, but he stopped.

​

While he didn't turn around immediately. He remained frozen, his hand still clamped on the brass handle, his broad back a wall of muscle that seemed to shrink the room. In the hours you had spent together, every interaction had been a battle of wills or a lesson in submission.

​

“Just... Just come pretend with me for a moment,” You finally pleaded, fighting against the tiredness that pulled at your eyelids.

​

The request hung in the air, fragile and incongruous against the backdrop of the wreckage in the bed. The word pretend felt alien in this house, a place where every cruelty was honest, and every boundary was meant to be demolished. Ari didn't move for several seconds. His shoulders were tense, his grip on the door handle so tight the metal seemed to groan.

​

“Come here.” Your voice was small and quiet.

​

The silence was heavy, save for the distant, rhythmic ticking of a clock somewhere in the manor's bowels. He remained a silhouette against the hallway light, his mind likely racing through the logic of the request.

​

Pretend.

​

It was a dangerous word. It implied a world where he wasn't a captor, and you weren't a debt-ridden asset. It was a request for a lie, a momentary truce in a war where he had already declared himself the victor.

​

Slowly, with a deliberate, heavy movement, he turned. He didn't look soft; his face was still a mask of cold, professional indifference, but there was a flicker of something—curiosity, perhaps, or a remnant of the man he had been before the divorce and the darkness of his family's business—in the depth of his eyes. He didn't speak. He simply watched you, his gaze tracking the way you lay there, small and broken among the rumpled sheets.

​

Ari moved with a heavy, reluctant grace. He didn't rush; every step was a measured calculation, as if he were stepping into a minefield. The distance between the door and the bed felt vast, the atmosphere shifting from the coldness of a command to something thick, suffocating, and dangerously intimate.

​

He sank to one knee beside the mattress. His massive frame, even while kneeling, dominated the space, his presence a crushing weight. He didn't speak, his expression guarded, his jaw tight. He stayed perfectly still, his arms resting on his thighs, waiting. He was giving you the space to bridge the gap, as if testing whether this "pretend" was a genuine plea for comfort or another, more subtle form of psychological warfare.

​

As you shuffled toward him, your movements slow and trembling, Ari's gaze followed you with a hooded intensity. He waited until you were close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin. Slowly, almost tentatively, Ari reached out. His hand, large enough to cover your entire side, moved with a gentleness that felt wrong in the context of your night together. He smoothed his palm down your side, the calloused skin grazing your ribs in a slow, grounding motion. Ari let out a long, shaky breath, his voice a fractured rumble that barely sounded like him.

​

“What the hell is this, Sugar?”

​

Despite his questioning, he didn't pull away. His fingers lingered, tracing the curve of your waist with a tentative curiosity. It seemed like, for the first time, he wasn't seeking a reaction of fear or submission; he was simply feeling you, as if trying to remember how to touch something without intending to break it.

​

“Just for a minute,” You coaxed.

​

You reached up to stroke your fingers through his damp hair, nails scratching softly at his scalp. You saw his eyes flutter closed; a muffled noise— halfway between a sigh and a groan— escaped his throat.

​

The touch must have been a shock to his system. For a man who lived in a world of violence, blackmail, and cold calculations, this kind of tenderness had to be an anomaly. You guessed it was a vulnerability he hadn't permitted himself in a long time. As your fingers drifted through his damp hair and your nails grazed his scalp, you felt a sudden, violent tension snap within him. He didn't pull away; instead, he leaned into your hand, his forehead dropping forward to rest against your shoulder.

​

“This is what I hoped for when I met you the first time,” You admitted, voice almost a whisper. “That maybe I'd get to run away, and you'd follow me, and we'd have a home, and spend our nights curled up just like this.”

​

The confession must have hit Ari with more force than any of the physical battles he had ever fought. For a long moment, he remained frozen, his forehead pressed against your shoulder, his breath hot and uneven against your skin. The image you had painted— a home, a life, a quiet sanctuary— was a ghost of a dream you didn’t know he had buried under layers of cynicism and blood. It was a fantasy that had no place in the manor, and certainly no place between a captor and his toy.

​

“And then you ruined it.”

​

You pushed yourself away from him, sliding off the bed and disappearing into the bathroom without looking back, the door shutting heavily behind you. The click of the bathroom door was as final as a gunshot in the sudden, oppressive silence of the room. You let yourself sag against the door, bringing your hands up to cover your face while you waited for the lock to click. When it finally rang out, you pulled your hands down and inspected them. The phantom sensation of your nails on his scalp lingered, a ghostly caress that now felt like a brand.

Can’t decide on Steve or Ari or Andy. 🤔 But the moment he sees you, it’s over for him. And he’s gonna make sure you know you’re his.

Ari is outside a majority of the day, basking in the sun, soaking in the pool, meanwhile you and Ransom hide inside with the a/c cranked up as high as it can go.

Any time Ari slips indoors, and lets precious cold air out and horrid hot, humid air in, he gets the ultimate stink eye from Ransom.

“You’re lucky you rock those short shorts so well, alpha, otherwise I’d murder you.”

You though? You do try to enjoy the summertime and encourage Ari’s love for it. But the heat 😩 Oh god, the heat.

He would never tell you this, because it would make you self-conscious and shy, but Ari’s absolute favorite thing about all this? It’s not when you muster up the courage and fake enjoyment of the scorching outdoors to spend time with him (although he does love that). It’s when he catches you standing inside at the sliding glass doors leading out back, the saddest 🥺 look on your face as you press a hand to the glass and gaze longingly at him 🤣 You’re literally just a few yards away and could come outside at any moment, but your aversion to the heat and humidity is adorable.

Also, you’re not as waspish about it as Ransom, so you get extra cute points lollll.

Any time Ari catches your forlorn stare, he’ll come right inside and scoop you into his lap for some kisses and alpha purr therapy so that 🥺 look turns ☺️

Ransom usually wanders in at some point, very put out that you two are canoodling and no one invited him.

“But you said not to touch you when it’s this hot out,” you remind your beta, sharing an amused look with Ari.

“Well obviously you can still play with my hair,” Ransom huffs as he plops down beside Ari and aims his head your way.

—

So I imagine him in the morning laying out by the pool, drinking some fruity drink with a leopard print Speedo. He tends to enjoy the early morning more, because neither the heat nor the humidity have settled in yet.

Just as you’re about to call him in for a mid morning snack, he comes stomping into the kitchen, sweat dripping down his chest.

“Who ordered all this fucking heat?”

You’d simply shrug and offer him some lemonade, because he did the same thing every day. A small smile on your lips as you turned to the fridge and you mouthed his next words.

“I swear to God I’m getting a place in Siberia so we don’t have to deal with this shit anymore.”

When you turn around you’ll have already schooled your features and you’ll reply, just like you did the day before. “But I love seeing you in your bathing suit.” The extra little pout may be a bit much, but Lloyd loves it.

His chest will puff out, and he’ll shoot you a wink before going to pull you into his arms.

“Lloyd, no! You’re sweaty and gross, go take a shower!”

That’s when a spark lights up his eye, “I’ll give you the count of three Pumpkin, better hope I don’t catch you.”

You don’t even wait for him to start counting before you’re bounding away, you hear him yell “Three!” From the kitchen before you know he’s tracking you through the house.

You both know it won’t take him long to find you, but pretending was half the fun. In almost no time he has you cornered in the laundry room, a smirk pulling at his features.

“Well…I guess we’re both sweaty and gross now. Let’s go have a shower.”

With that he tosses you over his shoulder and carries you to the master bathroom a swat to your ass as you squeal with mirth.

***

Amongst the few people Curtis trusts, Gilliam is the only one who has anything akin to court experience.

"I would recommend you marry one of the nobles," he suggests. "The people will see it as you showing an interest in the kingdom itself and the nobles will appreciate some level of status quo. A usurper king who marries a foreign bride is seen as not interested in his own people."

"A bride..." Curtis grumbles.

A mate, the beast thinks.

"We can have each duchy bring their tribute, swear their oaths of fealty. If they're smart, they'll send their daughters to help present those gifts. I'll choose from them."

"Good plan, Your Majesty," Tanya teases. "And I can get you more information on the ladies the day before; who's polite, who can kiss my ass. That sort of thing."

"Good thinking," Curtis nods, hiding how his inner beast is practically frothing at the idea of a mate.

"You're not going!" Father orders. "The new king is rumored to be a beast, a monster! How can I send my daughter, my only child, into his claws?"

"I have to go, Father," you argue, trying to keep your voice level. "You need to stay because Duke Snyder is trying to push you out. If you go to the palace, he'll seize the opportunity. We don't know anything about this new king so we can't trust he'll support you should Snyder make a move "

Father's shoulders slacken in defeat.

"I wish your mother were here to go with you," he sighs.

Placing a hand on your shoulder, Father looks you in the eyes. "I will send the best of guard with you," he promises. "You are my greatest treasure. I will see you safe."

"Thank you, Father. I will get things ready for the trip "

Despite the risks you were far more afraid of King Everett than the journey. Father sent you along under the protection Sir Conrad, well versed in combat and loyal to his last breath. Initially you were supposed to go with both Conrad and his half brother Pine but you insisted Pine stay with Father. He will need the protection and insight of the older brother. And the journey wasn't so far that you worried about Conrad and his small squad becoming too tired to keep you safe.

For added protection you were dressed up as a young man. Should any ask, you were soldiers doing your duty and bringing your Duke's tithe to the new king. The britches are a bit uncomfortable but you're grateful for the protection from prying eyes.

As you make camp the first night you feel truly helpless. You can't assemble a tent. You don't know how to make a fire and you can barely cook. The best you can do is simply stay out of the way.

Then you notice the berry bushes. They're low to the ground, easy to miss. Perhaps you can gather some and share them with your protectors.

Kneeling in front of the bushes you ask in a whisper, "may I be allowed to pick some of your berries? My friends and I would love to try them as they taste much better than travel rations." Many would consider you crazy but you're not one to give up wisdom your mother taught you before her passing.

Several berries drop and you make sure to thank the bushes before gathering them up. Though Sir Conrad warns you against going off alone again, he does not begrudge your addition to the night's meal.

The next day's journey is cut short by a rainstorm. It's too dangerous to travel and camp must be made up early. It's slow, wet, tiring work and the rains are too heavy to light a fire to warm up with.

In the privacy of your own tent you shiver in just your undergarments as you manage to light a lamp. Your blankets are a small comfort as you force yourself to drink water and eat some of the travel rations. All you can do is wait for the rain to let up.

Amidst the thunderous rain you hear mewling cries and they're getting closer.

Carefully you take a peek through the flaps of your tent. It could be a predator luring you in, but it could also be a poor creature in need of shelter. You need to keep the light from the lantern minimal for your safety and dignity.

As the mewling gets louder you're able to make out a baby fox.

"Oh you poor thing," you gently call to it. "Please, share my tent. We'll get you to your mother when the rain stops."

Lifting the tent flap more, the kit is drawn to the light of the lamp and quickly joins you.

"Here, I have some food as well. Not as good as fresh game, I know. But you'll need your strength if you're going to find your mama."

The kit accepts the food offered, seeming to eat it too fast to taste.

"Let me get one of my cloaks so we can try to dry you off. Must be hard to keep warm when you're soaked."

After you've dried off the little fox to the best of your ability it curls up in your lap and falls asleep. You feel honored and hum it a lullaby you remember your mother singing to you.

"Your Grace! We need to get an early start on the day to make up for yesterday."

Conrad's voice pierces through your slumber and you quickly sit up.

"I'm up! Give me just a few minutes to dress!"

As you get up to get dressed you quickly look around for the kit only to see that it's gone. You're disappointed but hopeful that, once the rain stopped, it went and found its mother.

It isn't until late in the morning, well on your way to the castle, that you spot fox and her three kits. Your heart leaps at the thought that one of them was the one you shared your tent with.

“I smell a light roast,” he sits backs and props his elbow on the arm rest.

You sniff and step into his sight of his reflection. He watches you in the mirror as you set down Peter’s smoothie on the long vanity then turn to put down the steaming cup of coffee. Bucky reaches for it, leaning forward again. He doesn’t grip the cup but your hand.

“Look at me.” He snips.

You wince as the cup bobbles onto the vanity. You tug on his grasp and look him in the face. His blue eyes storm at you as the lines of his face deepen.

“These girls don’t know what the fuck they’re doing. Look.” He gestures with his other hand. “No brightening under my eyes. Didn’t even bother to shave my neck.” He growls. “It wouldn’t be this way if someone wasn’t playing scaredy cat.”

“Let go of me,” you say calmly. His grip tightens before you can wrench away.

“Why are you playing this game?” He lowers his voice.

“You got no problem speaking up for yourself, so why don’t you tell them to redo it?” You challenge and put your other hand on his knuckles, trying to push him off.

“Because it’s not my job.” He snarls. “Girl, that boy is an idiot. I’m sure he’s a lot more work than I ever was. Come on. Come back. I’ll give you a raise.”

“I have a job.”

“Fuck off.” He growls and stands up. “It was one drunken night–”

You whine as his hold on you grows unbearable. Your bones feel ready to snap. You fidget and slap his hand.

“Let go.” You plead.

“Don’t you get it.” He backs you up until you nearly trip on Peter’s empty chair. “I can’t let go. I won’t.”

You grimace and jerk your arm helplessly. “Why?”

He takes a deep breath through his nose and lets it out slow. His tongue pokes out and wets his lips. His eyes darken as he leans in, looming over you.

“Because you’re goddamn mine.” He grits.

“No–”

“Ugh, I hate screen tests.” Peter cheeps as he comes around the corner.

All at once, the crushing weight relents. Bucky lets you go and quickly turns to pick up his coffee. You watch the tension cord in his neck and your gaze trails down the bulging muscles in his arm, the memory of his strength still thrumming in your tendons.

“‘Specially with Fowler. Man’s a tight ass.” Bucky says above his coffee.

“Oh sweet! My smoothie.” Peter exults cluelessly. “Choco banana?”

You back up slowly and turn to look between the men, “That’s it.” You confirm. “Uh, Peter, I’m just going to confirm a few things with the hotel. Make sure everything’s in order.”

“Right, uh… makes sense. Oh. When was that interview with Vogue Ital- tal– i–a-no?” He struggles to enunciate with a very Mario-like accent.

“It’s in your itinerary but I’ll make sure you get there.”

“And the stylist? She has an outfit for me?” He asks hopefully as he plays with his straw.

“Sure, Peter. That’s why she’s here.”

“Ah, she’s great, isn’t she?” Bucky steps forward and puts his arm over your shoulders. “Efficient.”

“A life-saver!” Peter agrees. “Uh. where’s your assistant? Or do you have seven like Mr. Fowler?”

Bucky laughs and squeezes you closer. You chafe in his embrace. “She’s a hard act to follow. I had a few replacements but not of them could make it here so… I’m raw dogging this one. Getting my own coffee, booking my own flights…”

“Oh jeez! I could never.” Peter pouts. “Well, if you need anything, I’m sure she can help you too. We’ll mostly be at the same places, right?”

“Presser, tonight.” Bucky points and snaps his fingers. “Don’t know why they book this shit on the first day but it’s why we’re paid the big time.” His hand grazes down your arm. “Why we can pay others to look after us, right?”

“Ha, sure.” Peter slurps his smoothie and pulls out his phone. He chews on the tip. “Um… are you sure she got off her flight, okay?”

The stylist. Again.

“I’m sure she’s sleeping it off.” You reassure him. For the fifth time. “Anyway, I should go. I’m sure Fowler will need you up front soon.”

🎥

“Did she answer you?” Peter asks as you nudge him off the elevator.

“She’ll be waiting for us there. She said she labeled the outfit before you packed.” You point him down the hallway. “Really, we don’t have a lot of time.”

“I know but… my hair–”

“She can do it there.” You insist as you check your phone. “Look, you need to wash off the stuff from set anyway.”

“I know but…” He huffs. “I’m sorry, I’m just so nervous! This is like a real movie.”

“And you’re a real movie star, Peter. You’re good at what you do so just let me do my part and get you where you need to be.”

He drops his shoulders and tips his head back. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just… Everything feels so official now with you around.”

“You miss your aunt?”

“Kinda,” he sniffs.

“Ah, I think that’s your room.” You point ahead. “Got he key?”

“What? Key?” He babbles.

“Peter.”

He chuckles and digs in his pocket. “I’m kidding.” He steps ahead of you and flicks his hair out of his face. “Venice is not nice to my hair.”

“Humid, yeah,” you agree.

As the card elicits a green flash from the lock, another door clicks and startles you. A whistle draws your attention from Peter’s back. He spins around and leans on the door to open it an inch.

“Pete! What are the odds?” Bucky pokes his head out of a nearby suite. He’s shirtless and his hair is damp. You sidle closer to Peter.

“Hey, Buck. Uh Bucky. Sorry.” Peter cringes. “Yeah, uh… I thought you’d have a full villa.”

“Nah, too big for just me.” He shrugs. “Plus, I had to do this all last minute.”

You frown. Before you quit, you’d booked his trip and rooms. It wasn’t here… You try not to show your concern as you look at your phone.

“Peter, we should get ready–”

“Hey,” Bucky snaps his fingers. “We’re headed to the same place. How about we share a ride?”

“Gee, really? That’d be awesome!” Peter chimes.

You bite down and stare at the wall. You know what Bucky is doing. You just want him to stop. Give up. Whatever chip you took out of his ego, you wish he’d just find another way to fill it.

“Sure. I mean, no cars in Venice right? We’ll probably end up on the same tram anyway.” Bucky shrugs. “And it’s easy to get lost in a city like this…”

Bucky glances at you and your eyes catch for just a minute. Your brows twitch and his lips slightly curve. You look at Peter as his eyes round in admiration. Christ.

“Well, it seems you’re already well ahead of him so better get cleaned up, huh, Peter?” You prompt.

“Hmm,” Bucky hums. “She help you shower too? Never did that for me.”

“Wh-at?” Peter’s voice cracks. “N-no!”

“Kidding, kid,” Bucky winks as he lets his door open to expose more of his body, only a towel around his waist. “I know her better than anyone, she runs a strict ship.”