"Just look at how pretty you are," Kieran murmured, his voice low and husky. His blue eyes had darkened, nearly black, as his veiny hand gripped her jaw, forcing her to face the mirror. He didn't stop thrusting, each movement sharp and deep, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.
Genesis was a mess—red-cheeked, eyes glassy with tears, her body slick with sweat. Fifteen minutes of relentless pleasure had her trembling, her green eyes unfocused, her entire body thrumming with tension.
"So fucking pretty," he growled, leaning down to bite the curve of her neck, hard enough to leave a mark. Genesis shuddered, her body jolting with each brutal, precise thrust slamming into her g-spot.
He hit it again. And again. Until there was nothing left in her head but heat and ecstasy. She stared at their reflection, her mind blank, lips parted in a silent gasp.
Then, suddenly, Kieran pulled out with an obscene squelch. Her slickness dripped out, wetting her thighs and hitting the floor as he turned her around and lifted her with ease.
He set her on the cold counter, her back brushing against the mirror. But he didn't move right away. He just stood there, staring.
Her leotard had been pushed to the side, baring her glistening pink pussy. Her hair clung to her cheeks and the nape of her neck, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
Kieran's gaze devoured her.
Genesis let out a soundless cry, her walls clenching around nothing. She was achy, throbbing, empty.
She leaned forward, reaching for him, but he stopped her. One hand slid over her pale thigh, gliding slowly up her stomach—making her shiver—then further up until he cupped both her breasts.
"They're mine," he muttered, not to her, but to himself, like a promise.
Genesis nodded, pressing her chest into his hands. She ached—desperately.
He leaned into her left breast, the hardened nipple pushing through the thin leotard, and closed his mouth over it, sucking through the fabric.
Genesis's eyes widened, her breath caught as he suckled her, his hand squeezing and caressing the other breast.
She winced slightly when his teeth nipped at her nipple, and her hand slid into his hair on instinct. He looked up at her.
Their eyes met—hers wide and dazed, his dark and dangerous.
He pulled away from her breast, leaving behind a wet mark, and grabbed a fistful of her hair. Her breath caught, heart skipping—not in fear, but something sharper.
He bent her head back and stared at the hickey on her neck, his gaze wild.
"Should I just get you a collar?" he whispered, before licking her neck from base to jawline, slow and possessive. Her eyes fluttered shut at the sensation.
"I'll have it custom-made. With my name on it—'Property of Knight.'" He grinned, feral, clearly pleased with the idea. "You'd look so good in it, my little wife. All Knight's."
He had thought of it before but it slipped his mind.
Genesis frowned slightly. She didn't catch everything he said—didn't understand who Knight was. Or maybe she did, but her brain couldn't focus.
All she could think about was how badly she needed him inside her again.
He tugged her hair, forcing her to look at him. He kissed her—fast and rough—then looked down at his cock.
It was flushed, angry-purple at the head, thick and twitching.
Without a word, he stepped forward and pushed her leotard further to the side, exposing her soaked core to him completely.
He looked down at her pink, flushed entrance—wet and shining—and leaned in to press a soft kiss against her swollen lips.
Genesis's eyes went wide, and she clamped her right hand over her mouth, stunned by what he'd just done.
"So sexy," he murmured, pulling back to lick his lips slick with her arousal. Then, gently parting her folds, he began to line the head of his cock with her tight opening.
He pressed the tip against her, and she shuddered—caught between relief and a strange impatience, emotions unfamiliar and raw.
With a slow smile, he pushed inside, the head slipping through her entrance. His hand tightened in her hair as he glanced up at her, then down to the fresh hickey on her neck.
He couldn't wait to collar her.
Without mercy, he slid all ten inches deep, gripping her waist firmly to steady her.
She grabbed his shoulder as he shifted her closer to the edge of the counter, adjusting her position until she lay back, legs wrapped around his shoulders.
Tears—both of pleasure and pain—streamed down her cheeks as she looked up at him.
"Beautiful," he whispered, his voice rough. He pulled out just enough, then slammed back in.
She nearly rocked back and hit her head on the glass, but his steady hand held her in place.
And then he began pounding her brutally, each thrust marking her—body and soul—as his. All she could do was lie back, mouth open, lost in the fierce rhythm.
His eyes never left her—wild, obsessed, a man utterly consumed by the woman before him. The wife he never wanted, the one he had killed for—and would kill again.
His nails dug into her skin, leaving angry, punishing marks.
And as he ravaged her, in the peephole of the bathroom door, an eye appeared.
Outside, Jaden watched, surprise and something deeper, harder to name, flickering in his gaze.
Jaden's breath hitched as he took in the scene, raw, fierce, and utterly consuming. There was pain there, but also a twisted devotion he couldn't fully understand. Something stirred deep inside him, a mixture of envy, confusion, and an unfamiliar ache. He blinked, torn between stepping in or retreating into the shadows. Whatever this was, it wasn't just desire—it was something far more dangerous.