Sold to the Devil's Heir

Dante spun her around and bent her over the mahogany table.

The contract scattered across the polished wood. Her palms flattened against the surface as his hand pressed between her shoulder blades, pinning her in place. His other hand hiked her skirt up over her hips, bunching the fabric around her waist.

She wore stockings-sheer nude, held up by a garter belt that made his mouth water. Her underwear was a scrap of white lace, already soaked through, the evidence of her arousal darkening the fabric.

He traced his fingers over the damp patch, and she shivered.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice thick with dark amusement. "So wet for a man you claim to hate."

"I don't-"

He shoved her underwear aside and sank two fingers inside her. She gasped, her hips jerking forward, her cunt clenching around his invasion. He pumped slowly, watching her body respond, watching her surrender to pleasure she didn't want to feel.

"Liar," he said softly. "Your body has never lied to me. Not once."

He crooked his fingers, hitting that spot inside her that made stars explode behind her eyelids. She cried out, her knees buckling. He caught her with his other hand, holding her upright.

"Please," she gasped, not even sure what she was begging for.

"Please what?" he asked, withdrawing his fingers. He brought them to his mouth and tasted her. Sweet. Clean. Addictive. "Please stop? Or please keep going?"

She didn't answer. She couldn't.

He unzipped his trousers. The thick head of his cock pressed against her soaked entrance, and she trembled. He teased her-sliding the length of him through her slick folds, coating himself in her wetness.

"You're going to take every inch," he warned. "And you're going to come for me. You won't have a choice."

He pushed inside her.

She was so tight, so wet, that he groaned aloud as he sank into her heat. Her walls clenched around him like a fist, trying to expel him, but he didn't stop. He filled her completely, his hips flush against her ass, buried to the hilt.

"Fuck," she breathed.

He withdrew slowly, deliberately, until only the tip remained. Then he slammed back inside her, driving the air from her lungs.

"Feel that?" he growled, his hips slapping against her with each brutal stroke. "Feel how deep I am? You're mine now, Elara. Every inch of you."

Her fingers clawed at the table. She was so wet, so slick, that the sound of him fucking her filled the room-wet, obscene, unmistakable.

"I hate you," she whimpered, even as her hips rocked back to meet his thrusts.

"No, you don't." He reached around and found her clit, rubbing in tight, furious circles. "Your cunt loves me. Your body wants me. Say it."

"I-" She was so close. So fucking close. "I-"

"Say it," he demanded, increasing his pace. "Say you're mine."

"I'm yours," she sobbed. "I'm yours, Dante."

He came.

Spilled deep inside her as her orgasm ripped through her, clenching around his cock, milking every drop. He fucked her through it, prolonging the pulses, until she was trembling and gasping.

Third time. He'd felt the urge to come the first two times, but he'd held back. He needed to be in control. To prove to himself that she didn't matter.

But she did.

That was the terrifying part.

He pulled out of her slowly. Her arousal dripped down her thighs, mixed with his release. She was still bent over the table, her cheek pressed to the wood, her breathing ragged.

He tucked himself back into his trousers and stepped away from her.

"That," he said coolly, "was me checking the goods I bought. Don't make the mistake of thinking you're special. You're not. You're just a debt I had to settle."

She flinched.

Something in his chest twisted. He ignored it.

He strode toward the door, pausing with his hand on the handle.

"The wedding is tomorrow," he said without turning around. "Be ready. And Elara?"

She lifted her head, her eyes glittering with unshed tears.

"You taste like heaven," he admitted, his voice almost soft. "But I'll still treat you like hell. That's who I am."

He walked out, leaving her alone in the office.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Elara pushed herself upright. Her thighs were sticky, her heart racing, her body still humming with the aftershocks of an orgasm she'd fought tooth and nail to resist.

She hated him.

She hated him for making her come. For making her want him.

But most of all, she hated herself for the way her body still ached for his touch.

She cleaned herself up with trembling hands, using napkins from the café table. Her skirt was wrinkled. Her blouse was askew. She looked like she'd been fucked against a table-because she had.

She was a debt to be settled. A checking of goods.

Never again, she vowed. I'm not one of those cheap girls he can use and discard. I'll control my body. I'll build walls so high he'll never get in.

She straightened her dress, lifted her chin, and walked out of the office with her head held high.

But as she stepped into the elevator, she caught her reflection in the mirrored walls. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright with unshed tears, her lips swollen from his kisses.

She looked like a woman who'd been claimed.

She hated that she didn't hate it.

She hated him.

And yet, as the elevator descended, she could still feel him inside her, still taste him on her lips, still hear his voice in her ear.

You taste like heaven. But I'll still treat you like hell.

What have I gotten myself into?