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You don’t even remember how it started. Just that one second you were teasing him, pushing every button you could find, and the next, he had you face-down against the mattress, your wrists yanked behind your back like you’d finally crossed some invisible line. His body was all heat and weight and power, blanketing you, trapping you there. You barely had time to gasp before his mouth was at your ear, voice low and dark.
“You’ve been acting like a fucking brat all day.”
Smirking. Bratty. Asking for it.
And yeah, you didn’t disagree.
But you weren’t expecting this.
Mark shifts behind you, slow and deliberate, pressing his chest flush to your back as he drags your legs upward, your muscles straining. Then he hooks your thighs under his arms, locking you in tight, and your breath catches hard in your throat. You gasp, instinct kicking in as you try to pull away, but it’s useless. His grip only tightens. He laces his fingers behind your neck, thick arms anchoring yours up and back, and hauls you up into a full nelson.
Your knees burn instantly from the stretch. It hurts, but not in a way that makes you want it to stop. It’s too much—perfectly too much—chest thrust forward, back arched into him, ribs crushed by the tension of his hold. You’re open. Exposed. Owned.
And Mark knows exactly what he’s doing.
“You wanna keep pushing me?” he grits out, dragging you up higher until you’re almost sitting in his lap, his thighs spread wide. The position locks you in place, legs open, nowhere to hide, and his cock—thick and rock-hard—is grinding up against your ass through his boxers. “Keep being a little brat just to see how far I’ll go?”
Your breath stutters. You can’t even form words. The way he’s holding you makes speaking impossible, makes thinking impossible. All you can do is feel, his cock twitching behind the thin fabric, his body trembling with restraint, the heat radiating from him like a furnace.
He laughs under his breath, voice rough and dark. “Thought so.”
Then he leans in and bites you. No warning. Just his teeth dragging sharp across your neck, tugging at the skin as you writhe in his arms. But you can’t move, that’s the worst part. The best part. Your legs are locked in place, back arched, throat exposed, and he’s got you exactly where he wants you.
“Look at you. Can’t even fight back,” he growls, and his hips grind into you again, harder now, desperate. “You were mouthing off twenty minutes ago. What happened to all that attitude?”
You let out a broken sound, somewhere between a moan and a sob, but it only makes him groan low in his chest. You can feel the tremble in his muscles, the sharpness of his breathing as he tries to hold himself back. Tries, and fails.
“You like this, don’t you?” he pants, boxers now discarded after he took them off just with one hand, hips rolling as his cock presses harder against you, his voice strained with the effort it takes not to lose it completely. “Held down, fucked open, no way to stop me. Say it.”
Your voice is a whisper, wrecked and raw. “Yes. Fuck, yes—”
He snarls, loud and unrestrained, and before you can catch your breath, he grabs your hips and slams into you.
There’s no warning. No time to adjust. Just the thick, brutal thrust of him stretching you open all at once. You cry out, the sound ripped from your throat, body arching with the force of it, and he doesn’t stop. He snaps his hips up into you, over and over, relentless and hungry, using the leverage of the full nelson to fuck you down onto his cock like you were made for this.
Each thrust hits deep. Each one knocks the air out of your lungs, leaves you gasping, shaking. You can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can’t do anything but take it.
“Look at you,” he hisses in your ear, voice shredded with desire. “All that mouth, and now you’re just, fuck, melting for me.”
The bed groans under the force of it, headboard rattling, skin slapping hard with every punishing stroke. Your legs are shaking, muscles twitching, your whole body flushed with heat. You’re drooling, eyes rolling back, too far gone to even be embarrassed.
And he knows. He knows.
“You gonna come like this?” he breathes, hot against your neck. “Tied up in my arms, fucking ruined?”
You can’t speak. Don’t need to. He can feel it. The way your body clenches around him, the way your cries turn higher, thinner. He’s dragging you to the edge so fast you’re not sure you’ll survive it.
Then it crashes into you, white-hot and blinding. You come with a scream, or maybe a sob, or maybe both. It hits you so hard your vision blacks out, muscles spasming uncontrollably as your orgasm rips through you. You shake in his hold, but he doesn’t let go.
He just fucks you through it. Deeper. Rougher. Chasing his own release like a man possessed.
And when he comes, it’s with a raw snarl against your skin, hips jerking, cock buried as deep as it’ll go as he spills inside you. You can feel every throb of it, every hot pulse that makes your whole body clench all over again.
Still, he doesn’t release you.
His breath is ragged against your neck, but his hands stay firm behind your head. His chest heaves against your back. The only thing that softens is his voice.
“You’re mine,” he mutters. “Fucking mine. You understand me?”
You nod, dazed, wrecked, tears drying on your cheeks, still pulsing around him like your body doesn’t know it’s over yet.
“Good,” he says, softer now, lips brushing the back of your neck. “Now let’s see if you can still walk after round two.”