It is tempting to let him fill me up. Make me forget. My lips part with invitation. ‘Devour me, then,’ I whisper throatily.

He lifts me by the waist.

I wrap my legs tightly around his hips, encircle his neck with my arms, bury my face in his throat, and let him carry me to the bed. I unwind my legs and he lays me down gently. For a while he stands simply looking down at me, his eyes dark and grimly determined. Then he starts unbuttoning his shirt while I watch from under heavy eyelids. My veins are suddenly full of urgently pulsing, hot blood when he rips open his button fly, unzips, and stands before me naked. My eyes move to and remain fixed on his penis: big and proud and pulsing with its own supply of hot urgent blood. I lick my lips—I crave it inside me, its length, its brutal thickness, its relentless power.

Its dark promise.

I want to be f**ked senseless, but more important is the desire to be the only thing he sees, feels, wants. To obliterate everything else for him but me. To capture him inside my body. To make him mine. To watch his eyes lose focus, turn so deeply blue that it is almost violet with sexual euphoria. And to watch his powerful frame shudder and convulse as his mouth helplessly calls my name at the moment of climax.

What he does is the opposite of what I imagined.

He lands on the bed on his knees, grabs me by the waist and turns me over, the same way someone would upend a bottle. Without warning I am folded over and positioned on my hands and knees. I feel his hands push the shirt I am wearing upwards, until it is bunched around my armpits.

While I am still finding my balance he ducks his head into the overhanging shirt and sucks one of my ni**les. The other he rolls between his thumb and forefinger. The unusual position and the greedy sucking—as if I am a four-legged beast feeding its young—makes my head rear back and my spine arch. Immediately, he removes his mouth as if that reaction was the only reason he had nudged his head into the shirt flap in the first place.

I whimper restlessly, but he places his hands between my shoulder blades and pushes me face lower down, so my chin and mouth are buried in the pillow and my bu**ocks and pu**y are horribly exposed. But even that offering he deems insufficient. He yanks my hips higher until my knees lift clean off the mattress, and with a manacle-like hold of my thighs, rams into me. I cry out with the shock of his ferocious entry and the surprising depth his shaft has gone to.

The pillow muffles my scream.

For a few seconds I hover between pleasure and pain. And then the pillar lodged deep inside me begins its outbound journey. I close my eyes, open myself to accept all of him, and wait… Even though I am anticipating it, the second punishing plunge makes me bite the pillow.

The wild violence of his thrust is shocking and yet I welcome it. I want him to use me in this primitive way. To use my body to rid himself of his demons. I am in awe of his power and my ability to withstand brutality of his need. So he f**ks me with ragged breath, as if with each pump he is releasing all the pent up tensions in his body.

The frenzied battering makes my sex feel raw and tender, but I squeeze his c**k as if I am milking it. Suddenly he makes a sound—feral, triumphant, inexplicably male. And for the first time since I have known him he allows himself to come before me. It tears through him and he climaxes as he always does, long, hard, agonized, calling my name, as if it is a prayer. His c**k jerks and spurts its hot seed into my desperately clutching cavity.

For some seconds he stays still inside me, as he gathers his senses. Then he withdraws out of me and I attempt to fall over to my side, but he puts his hands on either side of my hips and holds me in that highly exposed position.

From the sides of my eyes I see him go on his haunches. I know his se**n is leaking out of me. He jams his thumb into my pu**y and pulls it out, which causes his thick milk to spurt out. He smears his juices all over my sex and begins to rub, over and over, in, and around, my cleft.

‘Yes,’ I hiss, as my body clenches, and I feel the orgasm building inside me.

But he does not allow me to climax, instead he teases me until I can bear it no more, and I lift my head and beg him to let me come.

Then he puts his palm flat across the soaking wet entrance of my body and simply holds it tight. Shamelessly, I grind my heated sex against the hard hand, pumping and working my hips mindlessly, like some rutting animal. It does not take long. My orgasm is explosive and leaves me high and quivering like jelly.

Gently, he lays me on my back and lies flat on his back beside me, one heavy hand—the fingers spread—on my stomach. That hand is full of possession and ownership.

Slowly my breath returns to normal and I find myself exactly where I started. With a whole pile of unanswered questions.

‘I’d like us to finish that conversation we started the other day.’

‘Maybe another time, Lana,’ he says quietly.

We lie facing the ceiling in silence and the longer the silence stretches the more lost and alone I start to feel. I think of what we have just done—it is so vivid in my mind—and yet we could be strangers now. I have to stop myself from rolling away from him, curling up into a ball, and just crying my eyes out. I simply want to help. I am his woman. Not his toy.

Why the silent treatment? I haven’t done anything wrong. As the seconds tick by I start to fume silently. If I was Victoria he would tell me. I would enter the forbidden realms with him. I become jealous and sad all at once. But more angry than sad. I sit up and glance down furiously at him.

He turns to look at me. Questioning. Slightly puzzled. His thoughts obviously elsewhere.

I swivel my eyes away from him.

He reacts by catching my hand and pulling me down to his chest. ‘What’s wrong?’

There is no avoiding him while he is so in my face, and anyway I don’t want to avoid him. I want a confrontation. Molded into his chest I crane my neck away from him and glare into his stare.

‘You know,’ I bite out fiercely, and try to twist away, but he brings his other arm around and, effortlessly, I am a total prisoner.

‘If you carry on I’m going to have to f**k you again.’

‘That’s your answer to everything, isn’t it? Out of bed I am of no use to you, am I?’

His expression changes. ‘What the f**k are you talking about?’

‘I don’t understand you. You say you love me and you can’t imagine your life without me, but you won’t tell me anything. I’m sick of being locked out, Blake. Honestly, it’s tearing me up inside. Do you think I am too dumb to understand? Is that it?’