Chapter 92 - 0092: I Thought You Hated Me, Bambina (r18+)

Chapter 92: Chapter 0092: I Thought You Hated Me, Bambina (r18+)

Elena’s Point Of View

I couldn’t breathe.

Or maybe I was breathing... too much, too fast, like a cornered animal, each ragged gasp clawing its way out of my throat as Jaxx’s fingers plunged inside me again. And again. Relentless. Merciless. His knuckles dragged against something so deep, so sensitive, that my vision whited out for a second, my back arching off the damn wall like I was trying to escape him and fuck myself onto him at the same time.

My nails scraped down his shirt, not pushing him away, not pulling him closer.. just clinging, like if I let go, I’d shatter into a thousand pieces right there. Some distant, rational corner of my mind screamed at me to stop, to think, to remember who he was and what he’d already taken from me.

That voice was losing, and with every second that passed, it grew fainter, drowned out by the roar of my own pulse in my ears.

The air between us was electric, charged with something so thick I could taste it... salt and sin and the kind of hunger that didn’t just burn, it consumed. My lungs were on fire, my chest heaving like I’d run a marathon, but I hadn’t moved an inch.

Not unless you counted the way my body twisted against the wall, my spine arching, my hips rolling in shameless, needy circles every time Jaxx’s fingers plunged inside me.

I could feel the heat of him everywhere, pressed so close that his heartbeat seemed to bleed into mine, and somewhere beneath the shame, a small, wild part of me thrilled at how undone he made me feel.

"No..." My voice was a wreck, trembling, broken. "Stop... fuck... stop..."

But I didn’t mean it, and he knew it.

My hips betrayed me, rolling in shameless little circles, chasing his fingers like a starving thing. The burn in my core wasn’t just heat... it was a fire, licking up my spine, coiling tight in my stomach, and every time he curled his fingers just right, it was like he was yanking the damn string attached to my soul.

My face burned. My skin burned. Shame and need twisted together so tight I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. Every nerve in my body seemed to be screaming his name even as my mind begged for silence.

God, no. I couldn’t want this. Not from him.

Not from the man who’d spent the last weeks looking at me like I was something he wanted to ruin. Not from the man whose name I’d cursed in private, whose smirk I’d sworn to wipe off his face the next time I saw it.

And yet here I was, falling apart in his hands like I’d been waiting for this all along, every ounce of resistance dissolving into something dangerously close to surrender.

A dark, knowing smirk curled his lips against my throat. "Liar," he murmured, his breath hot, his voice rough with amusement, as though he could hear the war inside me, could taste the way my body screamed even as my mouth spat out protests. "Your cunt doesn’t know how to lie, does it, Bambina?"

His fingers twisted, and I screamed, my nails digging into his shoulders. "Look at you. Dripping for me. Soaking my fucking hand like the greedy little thing you are."

I whimpered, my head falling back against the wall, but the sound died in my throat when his teeth sank into my earlobe, just hard enough to sting. My hips jerked, and he laughed... low, dark, cruel, a sound that seemed to know every secret I was trying to hide from myself. It rippled through me like a second touch, more intimate somehow than his hands.

"Fuck you," I gasped, but it came out weak, breathless, like I was the one on my knees begging.

His fingers twisted, and my back bowed off the wall, a broken sound tearing out of me.

"That’s the plan, sweetheart," he murmured against my neck, his breath scorching. "But we’re not there yet, are we?" His thumb pressed down on my clit, and I screamed, my body trembling around his fingers. "Not until you beg for it."

I hated him.

I hated him.

And yet... my hand slid down his chest of its own accord, my fingers trembling, searching, as though some part of me had already decided what I wanted before the rest of me caught up. My body was a traitor, a whore, and it didn’t give a damn about my pride. It just wanted. Needed. Burned.

The ache between my thighs was a living thing, clawing at me, demanding something his fingers couldn’t give. My thoughts scattered like glass, each shard a fragment of shame, longing, and a desperation I didn’t recognize as my own.

And then I felt it.

The cold, hard edge of his belt buckle under my palm.

My fingers curled into the leather, tugging. Not thinking. Not breathing. Just needing. I yanked at it, my whole body shaking, the need inside me so violent I thought it would eat me alive.

He stilled.

For one fucking second, his fingers froze inside me, and I could feel his smirk before I even saw it. His mouth hovered over mine, his breath scorching, his voice a dark whisper that sliced through me like a blade.

"I thought you hated me, Bambina," he murmured, the words dragging across my lips like sin. His thumb pressed down on my clit, and I screamed, my nails digging into his shoulders. "So tell me... what the fuck are you doing with my belt?"

Heat exploded under my skin.

Shame. Lust. Desperation.

I yanked again, my fingers fumbling, pathetic. "I... I..." My throat locked. I couldn’t say it. Couldn’t admit it. But my body screamed it, my hips rolling, my pussy clenching around his fingers like it was trying to pull him deeper, like it had a will entirely separate from my own. Every fiber of me strained toward him, betraying the last shreds of pride I had left.

He chuckled, low and filthy, the sound vibrating against my mouth, teasing me, torturing me. His teeth grazed my lower lip, biting just hard enough to sting, and I whimpered, my head spinning, my body unraveling thread by fucking thread.

"You want my cock, don’t you?" he whispered, his fingers thrusting harder, faster, making me writhe in his hold. My body betrayed me with every desperate roll of my hips, every pathetic, needful sound caught in my throat. "Want me to fuck you right here, against this wall? Stretch you open until you scream my name?"

A sob broke out of me. "Please..."

His grin widened, dark triumph flashing in his eyes. "No. No, no, no..." he taunted, brushing his mouth against mine but never giving me the kiss I ached for. "You’re not worthy of it yet, sweetheart."

The words gutted me, worse somehow than anything his hands were doing. They lodged deep, more devastating than any physical denial, and I hated how much power he held over something as simple as a sentence.

I whined... actually whined, like some broken, desperate thing, the sound slipping past my lips before I could stop it. My head shook frantically against his shoulder, my body bucking, clawing at him, trying to drag him closer, deeper. The more he denied me, the harder I begged without even meaning to, each refusal only sharpening the ache until it consumed every rational thought I had left.

"Please..." My voice cracked, my pride shattering with every word. "I need..."

"Shut up," he growled, his voice a dark, commanding snarl, "and take what I give you, princess."

His palm slammed over my mouth, silencing me with brutal ease. His other hand never stopped moving, his fingers thrusting hard, curling, rubbing mercilessly until my scream tore free, muffled against his skin.

"You think you deserve my cock?" he hissed, his lips ghosting my ear, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there as his fingers drove into me, merciless. "You think you’re ready for it?" His thumb circled my clit, slow, torturous, and I sobbed, my hips jerking helplessly. "You can’t even handle my fingers, Bambina. What makes you think you can take me?"

I whimpered, my nails digging into his chest, my thighs trembling violently. My body was seconds from shattering, that sharp, unbearable pressure coiling tighter and tighter, and still he refused me. Still, he toyed with me, his fingers teasing me, denying me, ruining me, drawing the moment out like he had all the time in the world and I had none.

Tears burned at the corners of my eyes, not from pain, but from the unbearable, exquisite frustration of wanting something so badly it hurt.

"Please... Jaxx, please..." My voice was a wreck, a mess, and I didn’t even recognize it as my own.

"Listen to you," he growled, his lips ghosting my ear now, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there as his fingers drove into me, merciless. "The proud little Bambina..." His voice dropped, darker, dirtier. "Whining like a desperate little slut. Begging for what I won’t give you."

"I could give it to you," he whispered against my lips, cruel and sweet all at once. His thumb circled my clit, slow, torturous, and I sobbed, my hips jerking helplessly. "Stretch you open on my cock. Fill you up until you scream for me." His thrusts grew brutal, dragging broken, shameless sounds from my throat. "But no. Not yet. You’ll have to earn that, Bambina."

"I can’t..." I sobbed, my head falling back, my body writhing, my hips crashing helplessly against his hand. "I can’t..."

"Yes, you can," he snarled, his palm suddenly covering my mouth again, silencing me with brutal ease. His other hand never stopped moving, his fingers thrusting hard, curling, rubbing mercilessly until my scream tore free, muffled against his skin. "You can take so much more than you think, sweetheart. And you will."

The orgasm ripped through me like fire and lightning, a violent convulsion that left me shaking uncontrollably in his grip. My body convulsed, bucking wildly against him, my sobs broken and strangled against his palm.

He didn’t stop. He didn’t let me come down gently. He dragged me through it, over and over, his fingers pumping into me, prolonging it, until I was wrecked, ruined, a sobbing, trembling mess in his arms, all the fight gone out of me, replaced by something raw and terrifyingly exposed.

In that moment, I felt more naked than I ever had, stripped not just of clothing but of every defense I’d built against him.

And all the while, his voice purred low in my ear, satisfied, cruel, victorious.

"That’s it, sweetheart," he murmured, his lips brushing my temple. "Fall apart for me. Just like I knew you would."

I hated him.

I needed him.

And the worst part?

He knew it, and he loved it... loved that he could reduce me to this, loved that some traitorous part of me wanted nothing more than to let him. And as the last tremors of pleasure faded, leaving only the echo of his voice and the imprint of his hands, I realized with a sinking heart that this was only the beginning.