Trigger Warning: This story contains themes of breaking in and CNC situations that may be distressing to some readers. Reader discretion is advised.***

He looked down at her sleeping body.

It had been a while.

Too long, really. Long enough for his scent to fade from her sheets. Long enough for her to start believing she was safe — that last time had been the end, a singular, brutal indulgence.

Now she was here again. Soft. Vulnerable. Spread out in careless abandon across tangled sheets, the marks of his earlier claim still on her skin — the faintest crescent moons where his teeth had pressed, the yellowing bruises where his fingers had gripped too hard.

The faint rise and fall of her breath stirred something primal deep inside him. A hunger older than speech. Older than mercy.

Slowly, deliberately, he crouched beside the bed. Close enough to feel the heat radiating from her. Close enough to drink in the delicate flutter of her pulse at her throat.

His fingers hovered just above her — not touching. Not yet. There was a savage pleasure in the waiting, the terrible intimacy of choosing when to strike.

She shifted slightly in her sleep, the tiniest whimper escaping her lips, and gods, it was exquisite. Every part of him tightened, strained, fought the base instinct to seize, to consume.

His eyes dragged over her skin slowly taking in every inch he hadn’t marked yet. That little scar on her rib. The faint freckle on her inner thigh. The spot just below her navel that always twitched when he growled low enough.

She stirred. A shift. A breath. Her lashes fluttered, then her gaze met his — sleepily at first and then they turned wide and startled.

He smiled. It was not a kind smile.

Her movements were sudden. She pushed at his chest with her feet, fast, fierce, trying to create distance so she had time to escape. She was off the bed before he could regain himself and was almost to the door. 

She pushed at his chest with her feet, fast, fierce, trying to create distance so she had time to escape.

 She was off the bed before he could regain himself, nearly naked, the blankets falling around her like a discarded skin. She stumbled once — just once — and almost reached the door.

Almost.

The second her fingers brushed the handle, he was on her.

A growl ripped from his chest, something guttural and ancient, and he caught her by the waist with a brutal yank. She yelped, twisting like a wild thing, kicking, clawing — and he loved it. Every scratch she left against his skin. Every ragged breath she tore from her throat.

"You really thought you could run," he snarled against her ear, dragging her back toward the bed like a lion hauling a fresh kill. "After everything?"

“Fuck you,” she spat, arching up in protest, trying to throw him off with every ounce of her strength.

“Not yet,” he whispered, dragging his mouth along her jawline, rough with stubble. “But you will. You’ll beg for it. You’ll forget your own name before I’m finished with you.”

She fought harder, legs kicking out, nails digging into his forearm.

Good.

He wanted her to fight. He wanted her to try — wanted to see that fire burn until he snuffed it out with his hands, his mouth, his body.

He threw her down onto the mattress, face-first, trapping her wrists behind her back with one hand. The other gripped her nape, fingers tangling harshly in her hair.

Pinned. Breathless. Exactly where he wanted her.

"You’re making this worse for yourself," he growled, his voice like velvet lined with knives. "I was going to be merciful. I was going to let you beg pretty first."

She bucked beneath him, the curve of her ass grinding against the rough line of his jeans.

It only made him harder.

"You want rough, little prey?" he murmured, almost tenderly. "Then take it."

He tore her legs apart with a brutal shove of his knees before pressing against her so she could feel him through his jeans — just enough for her to feel the threat of it. Not enough to satisfy.

She thrashed, half in fear, half in desperate need, her muffled cries delicious music to his ears.

He leaned down, lips grazing the shell of her ear.

"This time," he whispered, "you earn your bruises."

Her body bucked wildly beneath him, wrists straining in his grip, hips jerking in a desperate bid for freedom that only made him snarl low against her skin.

No.

He wasn’t ready for mercy yet.

Not when she was this alive, this vivid beneath him.

Still holding her wrists pinned with one hand, he slid the other — the one pressed to the back of her neck — up and into her hair. A sharp tug, rough and uncompromising, forced her head up from the mattress.

"Open," he commanded, voice low, dangerous.

When she hesitated — a flicker of stubborn rebellion — he gave another sharp tug on her hair, wrenching a gasp from her lips.

"Now."

Trembling, furious, she obeyed.

Teeth bared. Eyes shining with unshed tears and fury.

Perfect.

With a dark chuckle, he shoved two of his fingers into her mouth — deep, rough, gagging her with the thickness of them. She choked a little, her body going rigid against the sudden intrusion, a muffled, furious cry bubbling in her throat.

Good.

He released her wrists just long enough — a fleeting mercy — to yank her hips up and rip the delicate black lace panties from her body.

 The sound was obscene, fabric giving way with a sharp, vicious snap.

Before she could think to move, to fight, he balled the ruined lace in his fist and shoved it into her open, gasping mouth, replacing his fingers with the wet, ruined scrap of her own surrender.

Her eyes widened, wild with fury, with helpless need, as she gagged around the makeshift gag.

"There," he rasped, voice rough as gravel, dragging her wrists behind her back again, binding them cruelly in one massive hand. "Much better."

She tried to twist away, thrashing with all the fire still left in her, but he just laughed under his breath — a dark, wicked sound — and pressed her face down back into the mattress with a brutal shove of his palm against the back of her neck.

Power roared through him — pure, electric.

 This was his.

 She was his.

No more games. No more sweet mercy.

Her thighs trembled as he ground against her again, slow and deliberate, the rough scrape of his jeans dragging over the slick, needy heat of her — a friction that was just shy of what she craved. Just enough to make her sob around the gag, helpless and infuriated.

He drank in the sight of her — hips bucking, wrists straining against the iron hold he again had on her, legs splayed wide in a desperate, beautiful battle she had already lost.

"Still fighting me," he growled low into her ear, dragging his teeth along the delicate shell. "After everything. After how kind I was last time."

The growl turned into a snarl as he yanked his zipper down, the sound loud, sharp, obscene in the charged silence. He nudged the heavy length of himself against her, letting the blunt head of him tease the dripping entrance he’d claimed before — and would claim again.

Only this time, she wouldn't be eased into it.

This time, she would feel every punishing inch.

He shifted his grip, planting his knees between hers to wrench her legs even wider. She whimpered against the gag, back arching in silent protest.

It didn't matter.

Nothing would stop this now.

"You're mine," he whispered, a vow, a warning, a sentence passed down like some ancient rite.

 And with one brutal thrust, he speared into her — deep, unrelenting, savoring the violent, gorgeous stretch of her as she screamed into the gag.

The second he drove into her, the reaction was instant—her whole body jerked, muscles seizing tight around him like she was trying to force him out... or drag him deeper.

“Fuck—” the word tore from his throat, a raw, guttural thing.

She clenched around him like a vice, the slick heat of her squeezing him so tight it bordered on unbearable. He could feel her pulse through her cunt, fluttering fast and frantic, beating against him like a trapped bird.

He hadn’t even given her a second to adjust—hadn’t wanted to. He’d wanted to feel her struggle.

 To feel that wild body try to fight what it craved.

And gods, was she fighting.

Her hips bucked wildly under him, her thighs trembling and useless as he held her down. He gave her no space, no room to escape the stretch of him as he bottomed out—forcing every inch inside, grinding in deep and slow, making sure she felt just how thick and unyielding he was.

"Too much?" His voice was a low growl, every syllable dripping with dark satisfaction. He dragged his hips back, only to slam into her again—harder, crueler.

She keened against the gag, back arching, her entire body convulsing as he pounded into her with brutal, relentless thrusts.

He could feel it—her walls tightening, fluttering, clenching around him in frantic, desperate pulses.

 Trying to milk him. Trying to break him. Trying to survive him.

He wasn’t going to let her.

His hand slid down her back —cruelly slow—before he reared back and brought it down on her ass with a crack loud enough to echo off the walls.

She jerked under him with a muffled scream, her body going rigid from the sudden, brutal sting.

 Again.

 Another punishing slap—harder this time—making her thighs quake and the slick heat between her legs gush against him.

"You'll stop that," he growled, voice rough and shaking with restraint.

 Another crack of his hand across her already burning skin.

"Or I'll make sure you can’t walk after this." He slammed into her again, grinding deep, forcing a sob out of her. "Or I'll make you come like this. Stuffed full. Crying. Not even allowed to breathe."

She whimpered against the gag, hips shying away instinctively—but there was nowhere to go, no safety, no mercy.

When she released him he grabbed her by the hips, yanked her back into position, and thrust into her in one brutal, claiming stroke—deep enough that the air fled her lungs.

Her inner walls clamped around him again, involuntary and desperate.

Her body was already betraying her.

 Already breaking for him.

The next thrust had her squeezing down around him so tight he saw stars—slick, wet heat milking his cock in desperate pulses, her body screaming its own submission even as her pride tried to deny it.

He laughed, dark and victorious.

He dragged his nails down her sides—enough to make her squirm and shudder—and then buried himself to the hilt again, grinding hard, making damn sure she felt the relentless, punishing stretch of him everywhere at once.

He leaned over top of her so she could feel the weight of his body.

"You wanted to fight?" he snarled against the side of her neck, catching the delicate skin between his teeth and biting down until she thrashed under him. "You lost."

And then he set the rhythm again—brutal, devastating, a series of thrusts that bordered on feral—until her muffled cries became soft, broken sobs of need.

He caught her wrists again, wrenching them behind her back in one brutal, fluid motion, holding them easily with one hand while the other fisted cruelly in her hair, dragging her head back so he could bare her throat.

"Now," he growled, voice wrecked and glorious with the effort of restraint, "you're mine."

She whimpered against the ruined lace stuffed between her lips, tears streaking fresh down her cheeks again as the pleasure twisted—too much, too sharp, too good.

Another brutal thrust. Another strangled, muffled sob.

He licked the salt-slick trail of a tear as it slid down her temple, a low groan rumbling from deep in his chest. He was breaking her—breaking her down into nothing but need and submission—and gods, it made him wild.

"Still think you can fight me, little one?" he taunted, his hips slamming against her ass hard enough to rattle the bed frame again. "Still think you can win?"

She thrashed again—weak now, desperate—but he just tightened his grip, pulling her hair until her back arched painfully against him, forcing her to take every brutal inch of him.

"You're going to thank me when I'm done," he hissed against her ear. "You're going to beg for it."

She broke first in the way her hips jerked back toward him, no longer trying to escape but seeking—desperately, blindly—for more.

 He felt it.

 The way her body surrendered before her mind could catch up.

Luke grinned against her skin, slow and vicious, grinding his hips harder against her with a growl of triumph.

 He was relentless now, each brutal thrust ripping another whimper from her throat, another sob muffled by the wreckage of her panties.

 Every inch of her shuddered with overstimulated need, her slick heat clenching and pulsing around him like her body was begging—pleading—for release.

"That's it," he murmured against her ear, his voice low and rough like crushed velvet dragged across skin. "You're mine now. Every desperate, ruined inch of you."

He let go of her hair only to grab both of her wrists in one big hand again, forcing them higher up her back, bending her until her spine arched tight like a bow ready to snap.

 Her fingers twitched helplessly in his grasp.

He pressed deeper still, grinding against the spot that made her legs quake, made her thighs try to slam closed around him in reflex, only for him to drive them open again with brutal, punishing thrusts.

"You feel that?" he rasped, grinding hard and slow now, drawing ragged sobs from her trembling body. "You feel me splitting you open? Marking you?"

She screamed—silently—into the soaked fabric between her lips as the first wave of release crashed over her. Her body clenched violently, spasming around him, slick and tight and utterly at his mercy.

He didn't stop.

 Didn't slow.

 Only growled his approval and kept taking.

"That's one," he snarled against her temple, thrusting deep again, savoring the way she trembled like a leaf in the storm of him. "You'll give me more."

Her body, now a trembling mess beneath him, was unraveling thread by thread, each movement he made pulling at the very fabric of her control.

 He could feel the heat of her release fading, her body still pulsing in aftershocks, but the tension was only building again, like a storm on the horizon that never quite arrived—until now.

He tightened his grip on her wrists, his fingers digging in as if he could brand her with his touch, marking her for the moment, for this time, for always. His thrusts slowed for only a breath—just enough to make her body whine in protest—before he drove into her again, harder, deeper.

"Is this what you wanted?" His voice was low, rough, primal, as it spilled across her ear, sending goosebumps spiraling across her skin. He let go of her wrists, letting her arms fall uselessly to her sides as he pulled her back into him. His other hand cupped her jaw, turning her head so she was forced to meet his gaze. "Is this what you wanted, little one?"

Her eyes were wide, glassy, too dazed to answer clearly, but he saw it—the desperation—the part of her that wanted to fight but was already lost, sinking deeper into the desire he was carving through her body.

She tried to push him away—again—her legs kicking weakly, futilely—but he laughed, a dark, guttural chuckle that rumbled in his chest. "You don't get to fight anymore," he growled, his grip shifting to her hips, forcing her to feel every inch of him as he stretched her, claimed her.

Her breath hitched as he pushed deeper still, the rhythm brutal, unrelenting.

 Each thrust was a promise. Each movement a reminder of how little control she had left.

 Her breath turned to ragged gasps, her head shaking as her body quivered beneath him, each inch of her skin raw with his touch, with his domination.

 Her mind couldn’t keep up with the flood of sensations, the sharp contrast of pain and pleasure blending until she couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

"You'll take it all," he muttered, voice thick with lust and something darker, something more primal. "Every last piece of me."

He sank into her again—harder—his pace frantic now, as if the world had narrowed to only the two of them, the space between them filled with a hunger so wild it couldn't be sated.

"Cum for me," he commanded, his voice low and raw, a trace of amusement curling in his tone.

 And then, with a final snap, he drove into her one last time, each inch of him sinking deeper as she shuddered violently beneath him, her body exploding in an orgasm that stole her breath and shattered her will.

He kept going, even as she rode the waves of her release, forcing her to feel it all—the endless pleasure-pain, the truth of what he'd made of her. She couldn’t stop herself; she couldn’t stop him.

Then, just when she thought she might collapse from the intensity, suddenly he slowed, his movements deliberate. It was as though he wanted her to feel that suspended moment — the edge of release, the tip of anticipation, everything hanging on the brink.

Her pulse raced with a mixture of fear and desire as he shifted behind her, his breath steady but controlled. He didn’t rush; he never did. He wanted to make sure she felt every inch of him, the way he intended, the way she needed.

She felt his hands move gently, gathering her release from beneath her, slick and warm. The soft scrape of his palms against her skin sent shivers down her spine. He smeared it carefully, slowly, across her ass, his touch both comforting and possessive at once. The contrast between the roughness of his hand and the tenderness of his movements felt electric, intoxicating.

And then she felt it — the one thing she couldn’t resist, the one thing she craved more than anything. He knew it, and she knew it, too.

His fingers moved at first with caution, testing, preparing her. She felt them — one finger, then two — sliding in slowly, easing her into the sensation. The stretch made her whimper, the sharp edge of it sweetened by the way he kept his cock buried inside her other aching, sensitive hole. The dual fullness was almost too much, almost — but not quite.

And then he pressed a third finger inside her.

She gasped, sharp and ragged, her body jerking beneath him, overwhelmed by the sheer, devastating invasion of it all. Her heart hammered against her ribs, her thighs trembling with the effort to keep herself grounded. Every nerve ending screamed with sensation — raw, electric, desperate for more even as her mind reeled.

But he wasn’t done. Not yet.

He leaned down over her again, his weight pinning her to the bed, claiming every inch of her. His breath brushed hot across the nape of her neck as he curled his fingers inside her, stretching her further still while grinding his cock deeper, savoring the way her body clamped and spasmed around him.

“Good girl,” he rumbled low into her ear, voice thick with heat and hunger. "You were made for this."

His pace shifted — slow, devastating rolls of his hips — designed to make her feel every cruel, delicious inch of him. The fullness, the pressure, the helplessness of it, all tangled together into a haze she couldn’t escape, didn’t want to escape.

She moaned, a muffled, broken sound, lost somewhere between surrender and primal need, her body quivering under the ruthless rhythm he set.

And still, he didn’t let up.

He wanted her wrecked. He wanted her ruined.

And she was helpless to do anything but fall — deeper and deeper — into the exquisite oblivion he crafted around her.

Her body shook, undone by the sheer brutal tenderness of it all — his cock still driving into her, his fingers still buried deep where she was stretched wide and vulnerable and his.

There was no mercy now, only the raw, feral need to own her completely.

He grabbed her hips hard with his free hand enough to bruise, wrenching her back onto him with savage force. The sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the room — wet, relentless, primal. The air was thick with their mingled scent, hot and heavy, as if the room itself were gasping with them.

She clawed at the sheets, at anything she could reach, desperate to anchor herself against the onslaught. But there was no shelter to be found — only the pounding rhythm of his need, the violent crash of her own spiraling pleasure.

She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but feel.

And he drove her higher — using her, claiming her, worshiping her with every savage thrust, until the coiled tension inside her snapped with a violence that stole her mind.

She shattered around him with a cry that was pure, broken surrender, her body locking down so hard on him it ripped a vicious curse from his throat.

He was only seconds behind her — as he came, pulsing deep inside her with a possessive, desperate finality, as if trying to brand her from the inside out. 

Her body twisted instinctively, struggling even as she trembled from the force of her own ruin, her instincts screaming for escape — but he was faster. Always faster.

With a growl that rattled deep in his chest, he wrenched free of her and flipped her onto her back, caging her in with the sheer weight of his body. Her panties were still stuffed between her lips, muffling the soft, broken noises spilling from her.

His hand wrapped around her throat — firm but not cruel — grounding her, reminding her.

"You still trying to fight me," he snarled, voice rough and low, dripping with menace and dark amusement.

Her eyes blazed up at him, wide, tear-bright, but filled with a spark he hadn't broken — not yet. That wild little spark that dared to defy him even now. That spark that made him hungry for her in a way he could never fully sate.

His thumb dragged slowly along her jawline, smearing a tear across her flushed cheek.

"Good," he whispered, voice sinking into a dangerous purr, low and devastating. "Keep fighting, little one. I like it when you break for me twice. And I have all night."

His thumb brushed possessively over the tender line of her throat, feeling her rapid pulse flutter against his skin like the wings of a trapped bird.

 Her body was still trembling, still soaked in the aftermath of everything he’d taken — everything he still planned to take.

She whimpered softly, a sound that was half-defiance, half-undeniable need, and he smiled — a dark, ruthless smile that promised ruin.

The bed creaked under them as he shifted, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand, nudging her thighs apart again with a patient, predatory ease.

 She was caught — wrecked and beautiful — and he wasn’t nearly done showing her just how completely she belonged to him.

The night stretched ahead, endless and hungry.

 And he intended to savor every broken, gasping, desperate second of it.