Pinned Neck Tease in the Dark
The scrape of Victor’s teeth against the hollow of Emily’s throat came first, raw and deliberate, the wet heat of his tongue following in a slow drag that branded the spot like something pulled from coals. Her pulse stuttered beneath his mouth.
Her wrists were locked above her head, both of them caged in one of his hands, pinned to the cold stone of the stairwell where their voices had first risen. The darkness swallowed the shape of them, his body pressing her still against the wall that bit cold through her shirt. Victor felt the exact tremor ripple through her, the one that always betrayed her before she could shape a word of protest, and he chased it with another pass of his tongue, tasting salt and the faint metallic edge of her skin where an old mark lingered unseen.
He worked that hollow without mercy, teeth and tongue returning to it again and again until her knees threatened to give and only his weight kept her upright. Emily strained against the grip that held her wrists, fingers curling into nothing, and the helplessness of it lit a slow burn low in her belly she despised even as it spread. She could do nothing but feel—the rasp of his stubble dragging down the side of her neck, the deliberate cruelty of his patience, the way he refused to be hurried no matter how her breath broke apart.
His free hand found her hip, then the seam of her thigh, hitching her leg higher until he could fit himself against her through the layers between them. The denim dragged rough where it pressed, every slow grind a friction that built in heated increments rather than mercy, the heat of him unmistakable even clothed. Victor set a rhythm against her, unhurried, relentless, and she hated how precisely he knew the angle that would make her arch despite herself, hips tilting to meet him before her pride could intervene. Without meaning to, she hooked her ankle behind his hip, locking the leg there, anchoring herself to the very thing she was fighting.
Victor watched her eyes flare in the dim light, that familiar flash of defiance warring with the flush rising along her collarbone. He pressed harder, grinding slow and deliberate while his teeth worried the same spot on her throat, drawing another shudder from the body he held captive. He could feel her unraveling by degrees—the catch in her breath, the way her hitched thigh tightened against his flank, the small involuntary sounds she was already fighting to swallow. With her leg secured around him, he lifted his free hand and clamped it over her mouth, sealing the noise before it could climb the stairwell, his other hand never loosening its hold on both her wrists.
Her climax struck violent and wordless against the heat of his hand. Her teeth sank deep into the meat of his palm, trapping the scream that clawed up her throat, her body convulsing in tight, rhythmic pulses against the pressure of him. Victor held her through it, jaw clenched against the answering rush that crashed over him in silence, his own release a taut internal violence that left him shaking and spent while her bite marked his skin. For one suspended moment he had all of her—pinned, muffled, undone—and the dark held that single point of total control as if it might last.
It didn’t. The instant her tremors eased, Emily’s ankle slipped free of his hip and her foot found the floor, and she wrenched her wrists out of his grip, both hands shoving hard at his chest, her voice cutting low and vicious through the dark. “You think this changes anything,” she hissed, still breathless, the words bitten off clean and venomous. Victor’s answering growl came just as fast, defensive and raw, his chest still heaving. “You started it. Same as always.”