The black lace looked sinful against the silver bedding.
Anya stared at it, disgust twisting in her gut.
Then she glanced at Damien.
His face was hard. Unfeeling. Watching.
Her eyes burned. Tears came, hot and ready to fall, but she forced them back. A fiery spark took their place. Rebellion.
"No," she whispered. Her voice shook, but it was firm.
Damien stayed still. Only his eyes shifted. They grew darker, the cold blue turning sharp and hungry.
"No?" he echoed, his voice soft but heavy with danger.
He stepped closer to the bed. Then again. Slow. Purposeful. Like a predator closing in on trapped prey.
Fear gripped Anya's throat. She slid back on the bed, trying to get away, but there was no escape.
"I won't wear it," she said, her voice trembling but clear. "I refuse."
He reached the bed's edge. Quick as a flash, his hand grabbed her arm. His grip was iron, bruising her instantly. Anya let out a small cry of pain and fear.
He bent over her, his presence suffocating. "Obedience isn't a choice, Anya," he said, his tone low and icy. "You need a harder lesson."
His fingers dug deeper into her skin. "Put it on. Now."
She shook her head, tears finally falling, sliding down her cheeks. She tried to pull free, twisting in his hold, but it was no use. He was too strong.
With a harsh push, he forced her back. She hit the pillows hard, breath knocked out of her. Before she could recover, he was on her, one heavy leg pinning hers down. His weight pressed her into the mattress. His face was close, his eyes blazing with cold anger.
"I said," he growled, "put it on."
Terror fueled her. She fought under him, pushing at his chest, kicking with her free leg, trying to twist away. It was like fighting a wall.
"Get off me!" she sobbed, her voice high with panic.
His reaction was fast and frightening. One strong hand pinned her wrist above her head. The other grabbed her cotton shirt's collar. With a sharp rip, the fabric tore. He yanked it down, revealing her plain bra.
Anya screamed, a raw cry of shame and despair. He didn't care. He tore the rest of the shirt off, then reached for her jeans. The button snapped, the zipper slid down. He dragged the rough denim off her legs, tossing it aside with scorn.
She was left in just her bra and panties, exposed and struggling under him. Her skin felt cold with shame.
His gaze swept over her, owning and icy. Then, his head lowered. Anya turned her face away, eyes shut tight, bracing for the worst.
His mouth crashed onto hers. It wasn't a kiss. It was a claim. His lips were rough, forcing hers open. His tongue pushed in, hot and demanding, taking without care. There was no softness, only raw power. He bit her lower lip, sharp and hard. Pain burst through her, tasting of blood, her own.
She whimpered against him, tears flowing freely.
He pulled back suddenly, breathing heavy, his chest pressing against hers. He looked down at her tear-streaked face, her bitten lip, the faint defiance still in her scared eyes.
His free hand moved to her throat. His fingers didn't squeeze, but they held her there. His thumb pressed lightly on her racing pulse, feeling her fear.
His voice was cold as frost. "You belong to me," he said, each word heavy in the scared silence. "Every single part of you."
He locked eyes with her, letting his words hit hard. Then, he leaned down again, his face nearing her shoulder. Anya tensed, fresh fear rushing through her.
His teeth sank into the soft skin below her collarbone. Not a gentle bite, but a deep, searing mark. Pain burned hot as her skin broke, a sharp sting making her gasp and arch against him without control.
He lifted his head. A dark bruise bloomed on her pale skin, tiny drops of blood at the center.
Anya stared at it, shocked, pain throbbing through her. Damien's eyes followed, locking on the mark he made. A dark, satisfied look crossed his face, a twisted pride.
He leaned close, lips brushing her ear, his whisper dark and binding. "Now everyone will know who owns you."
