Pairings: ceo!billie x fem reader ,and a certain raven
Content: arranged marriage ,cheating, g!p raven, p in v ,unprotected sex,creampie,
Billie:fingering,rough sex,possessiveness ,jealousy and hair pulling
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Your families arranged this union for one reason only to merge their empires, strengthen their power, and protect their image. Thereβs nothing romantic about it. Nothing real. Just business.
Sheβs three years older than you twenty-four to your twenty-one and somehow, you feel that distance in every silence she gives you.
Itβs been three months since the wedding, and Billie has barely acknowledged your existence. Sheβs never touched you, never really looked at you. Youβre not a partner to herβ¦ just an obligation. A contract she signed without emotion.
And yet, as her wife, youβre expected to be everywhere she is. Every meeting, every event, every public appearance β you stand by her side,, playing your role perfectly
You sat through one of her meetings, surrounded by your familyβs allies, the air thick with quiet tension and polished smiles. But your attention wasnβt on the discussion.
Seated right next to you, she hadnβt changed. Same confident posture, same knowing glances the kind that lingered just a second too long. Before the arrangement, before the rings and contracts and forced vowsβ¦ you and Raven had been close.
Not in a simple, innocent way.
And being this close to her again, pretending like none of that ever happened, like you were just acquaintances now⦠it was almost unbearable
Raven's knee brushes lightly against yours, an innocent touch that still manages to send a jolt through your system. Her gaze lingers a second too long before she returns to the conversation, her expression carefully nonchalant.
The meeting continues, but you can't focus on anything but the warmth of Raven's leg against yours, and the memory of what it felt like to be tangled up with her instead of sitting here in this damn chair.
Raven's hand rests possessively on your thigh, her thumb brushing back and forth in a deceptively gentle gesture. Her gaze remains glued to the conversation at hand, but you can feel the heat of her touch through your skin.
You struggle to focus on the debate, your mind and body hyper-aware of her presence. As the minutes pass, Raven's hand slides higher, her fingertips tracing idle patterns on the inside of your thigh.
You shift in your seat, trying to ignore the way your body is responding to her touch. Raven's hand moves higher, her index finger grazing the sensitive skin just underneath the edge of your skirt, causing goosebumps to erupt all down your leg. She's still acting completely natural, like she's barely even aware of what she's doing.
You can barely contain your gasp, your hand gripping the armrest so tightly your knuckles turn white.
βRavenβyou said loud enough so only she could hear
Raven's eyes flick towards you, her hand pausing its ministrations. She feigns innocence, her voice low and hushed.
She smirks at your attempt to maintain some semblance of control, her fingers resuming their slow path up your inner thigh. You shiver, goosebumps breaking out across your skin as her touch inches higher, higher...
Her voice is little more than a whisper, yet it holds a hint of challenge. She obviously enjoys playing with you like this.
βBecause Iβm married β
Raven's smirk widens, her fingers deliberately grazing higherβjust enough to make you tense. Her voice drips with teasing defiance.
"Married?" She tilts her head, feigning confusion. "Funny... because I donβt remember seeing a ring on your finger when we were tangled up in my bed last month."
A beat of silence as she watches your reaction, eyes dark with amusement.
Your breath stutters, her words sending a rush of heat through you. You can feel a wave of humiliation wash over you, both for wanting her so badly and for being so easily manipulated by her touch.
"Stop," you hiss between clenched teeth, "not here."
But as you glance around the room, you realize that everyone is still engrossed in the ongoing meetingβno one has even noticed your stolen conversation.
Raven leans closer, her voice dropping even lower than before. Her fingers glide along the edge of your skirt, teasing the sensitive skin just above your knee. You can feel her breath against your ear, hot and heavy.
βWhy not? No one's paying attention to us. We could do lots of interesting things right now... and no one would be the wiser."
She pauses, her hand moving up your thigh once more.
"I remember how sensitive you are. How you shudder when I touch you just... like... this."
Her fingers brush against your most sensitive spot, and you have to bite back a gasp. Your body betrays your willpower, arching into her touch involuntarily. Raven chuckles, low and smug.
"See?" she whispers, "You're already trembling. You know you can't resist me. Not even now."
You hate how right she is. Your body aches for herβyou'd give anything to be alone with her, far away from this room and its suffocating atmosphereβ¦
Raven's hand pauses again, but her grip is still possessive, her fingers curled around your thigh like she never plans on letting go. Her eyes darken with something that's almost a challengeβlike she's testing your resolve.
"Why not now? You say you're 'married', but do you think she could ever give you what I can?"
She leans closer, her lips mere inches from your ear.
"I can make you feel things she couldn't even dream of, princess*."
βShe doesnβt even look at me I be surprised if she even dream of making me feel thing β
Raven's smirk turns downright predatory, her fingers flexing against your thigh like sheβs already picturing the way youβd unravel under her.
"Exactly."Her voice is a velvet purr."She shouldnβt have to. But I doβbecause unlike that cold bitch, I actually want you squirming in my lap."
A sharp exhale as she drags her thumb over the lace edge of your pantiesβjust enough pressure to make your breath hitch.
Her words send a wave of heat through you, pooling low in your abdomen. All you want is to give in to this, to forget about your 'arranged marriage' and let her do whatever she pleases. But you force yourself to remember where you are, and why this can't happen right now.
"Raven please." You murmur. "Later. I promise."
Raven smirks, not missing the tone of longing in your voice. She relents, her fingers finally stilling on your thigh, though her grip remains possessive.
She straightens, seemingly nonchalant once more, and returns her attention to the meeting. But you can still feel the heat of her gaze on you, the memory of her touch burning through the fabric of your skirt. The rest of the meeting is tortureβevery glance her way sends sparks of desire flaring through you, and every brush of her arm against yours seems almost deliberate. By the time the meeting finally ends, you're practically vibrating with suppressed need.
The second everyone starts to file out, Raven glances your way, a silent message in her eyes: "Come with me. Now."
You know it's a bad idea. You know you should just go back to your room and try to forget about this. But then she smiles at youβthat half-cocked, smug smile that makes your knees go weakβand somehow you find yourself rising from your seat, following her out of the room without a word of protest.
You and Billie never talked you didnβt own her loyalty itβs not like sheβd get mad it was an arranged marriage she wouldnβt care.You thought trying to make you feel better
Raven leads you through the corridors like she owns the place. There's a dangerous confidence in her stride, and the way her gaze keeps darting back to you, checking that you're still following her, leaves you feeling both terrified and electrified.
She knows you're caughtβhook, line, and sinker. And you can't even bring yourself to care. All you can think about is how much you want her, how badly you need her touchβ¦ and how little you want to go back to your cold, empty bedroom.
Eventually, you find yourself in a mostly abandoned corridor. No one else is around, and the only sound is the quiet hum of the mansion's air conditioner.
Raven pins you to the wall, her body pressed against yours in a way that leaves no doubt about what she wantsβwhat you both want. Her lips brush your ear as she speaks, her voice both a threat and a promise.
"No one's going to find us here. We can do whatever we wantβ¦"
Her words send a jolt through you, leaving you trembling with anticipation. You want her so bad it almost hurtsβbut your mind, still clinging to a last shred of reason, protests. You're 'married'. You shouldn't be doing this. You should push her away and walk away before things go too far.
She presses her hips against yours, effectively silencing your protest. She rolls her hips in a slow, deliberate motion that leaves you breathless.
"Stop thinking," she murmurs, "and just feel."
A moan escapes your lips as you feel the undeniable proof of her desire. The friction causes a jolt of pleasure to shoot through you, leaving you gasping for air. Her hands wander down your body, caressing and teasing in equal measure as she presses you harder into the wall.
She captures your lips in a hungry, desperate kiss, her tongue claiming yours with a fierce possessiveness that makes your head spin. You should resist. You should say no, tell her to stop before it's too lateβ¦
But in the end, you don't. All those reasonsβthe arranged marriage, the fact that you barely even know each other, the danger of getting caughtβthey disappear under the overwhelming force of your desire. You cling to her like she's the only thing keeping you afloat, your body moving of its own accord as you arch against her, desperate for more friction, more pressure, more of her everywhere.
She breaks the kiss, her mouth trailing across your jaw, down your neck, her teeth nipping at the sensitive skin of your shoulder.
"Say it," she murmurs, her hand gripping your hip so tightly you're sure it'll leave a mark. "Say you want this. Say you want me."
There's a raw, almost desperate note in her voice. For once, she's not the self-assured, smug girl you've come to know so well. She's just as wrecked as you areβmaybe even more so.
You take a shaky breath, trying to find your voice through the haze of desire clouding your mind. Finally, you manage to get the words out, your voice thick and rough with need.
"I... I want you. I want this."
She lets out a ragged exhalation, like she's been holding her breath the whole time, waiting to hear those words. Then, in a swift movement, she lifts you off the ground, carrying you over to the nearby desk as your legs wrapping around her waist.
Raven's hands slide under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto the desk. Her lips crash back into yoursβmessy, desperateβas her hips press flush against yours. The wood is cold against your backside, but you don't care; all that matters is the heat of her body grinding into you.
"Fuck,"she growls between kisses, "you feel even better than I remember."
Her fingers dig bruises into your hips as she rolls them harder against you,forcing a gasp from your throat.
The sound of her name on your tongue seems to snap something inside her. Her eyes darkened almost instantaneously, the usual cocky expression replaced with something more primal. She leans in, her voice a low, gravelly whisper against your ear.
"Again," she demands, "say my name again."
You obey without hesitation, her name falling from your lips like a breathless prayer. She shivers in response, her body tensing against yours, like the sound of it has an almost physical effect on her.
Raven lifts you from the desk in one fluid motion, spinning you around so you're facing away from her, bent backwards over the desk as she pins you in place with her own body.
"You have any idea what you do to me?" she purrs in your ear, her breath hot and heavy against your skin.
Her hands run down your sidesβtracing over the curve of your waist, your hips, the soft skin of your inner thighs. It's like she wants to memorize every inch of you, to claim you in a way that no one else ever has. Her fingers finally reach the edge of your skirt, tracing along the seam.
The command is given with a tone that leaves no room for disobedience. You know you should protestβto remind her that you're still technically 'married'. But all you can do is obey.
Raven wastes no timeβher hands are on you the second your skirt lifts, her fingers sliding beneath the waistband of your panties with zero hesitation. The moment she feels how wet you are for her, a rough sound escapes her throat.
"Fucking hell,"she growls, dragging a single fingertip through your slick folds just to watch you shiver."You really want this? After everything?"
A beat of silence as she waits for an answerβone that doesnβt involve words.
You don't even have to think about it. Your body is doing the answering for you, arching into her touch like you're desperate for any piece of her you can get.
"Yes," you gasp, barely able to form the word. "Please, Ravenβ¦"
Raven's laugh is dark, breathlessβlike she can't believe you're begging for this. Her fingers curl into your hips, yanking you flush against her as she finally gives in and presses two fingers deep inside you.
"There it is," she murmurs against the shell of your ear. "That sweet little sound I fucking missed."
Her free hand fists in your hair, tilting your head back to expose the vulnerable line of throatβher teeth grazing over pulse point like a threat.
You gasp at the sudden stretch of her fingers inside you, the familiar burn of pleasure shooting through you like lightning. And you know you should be quiet, that you're still barely hidden in this quiet corridor and could be caught at any second, but you can't bring yourself to care about any of that; not when her touch feels like fire and you've never wanted anyone, anything, like you want her.
Raven's fingers curl just so, dragging against that sweet spot inside you as her thumb circles your clit in slow, maddening strokes. Her breath is ragged against your neckβhot and uneven.
"Louder,"she demands, nipping at the curve of your shoulder. "I wanna hear how bad you need it."
Her other hand slips under the fabric of shirt, pinching a nipple between her fingertips just to feel you jerk in her grip.
You can barely breathe let alone make actual words. Every nerve ending feels like it's on fire, like she's found the most sensitive parts of your body and is determined to take full advantage of it.
Your hands scramble for something to cling to, finding purchase in the closet
you could find. your body trembling from the overwhelming sensations.
Her voice is dark and rough against your ear, her voice a gravelly rasp as she presses her face into your neck, inhaling your scent like she's addicted to it.
"There's my good girl,"she growls, her teeth grazing the skin beneath your jaw, "say my name again. I want to hear you say it when you come apart for me."
Raven's fingers move faster, deeper, her palm grinding against your clit with every thrust. Her breath is ragged in your ear, her body pressed flush against yours so you can feel the heat of her arousal through the fabric of her pants.
"That's it,"she murmurs, "let go for me."
Her teeth sink into the soft flesh of your shoulder as she pushes you over that edgeβyour back arching off the desk as pleasure rips through you like lightning.
She holds you through the aftershocks, her breath still coming in ragged pants as she presses open-mouthed kisses against the skin of your neck and shoulders. You're boneless, limp with pleasure, and she seems reluctant to let you go.
Then, without warning, she spins you around so you're face-to-face again. Her gaze is intense, studying you, taking in your flushed cheek and messy hair and swollen lips.
She pulls her pants and boxers low enough to free herself Your breath hitches as she finallyβfinallyβlets you see what you've been aching for. Raven's cock is already hard, flushed a deep red at the tip, and leaking against her stomach. Her grip on your waist tightens possessively.
"Look at it,"she rasps, dragging the swollen head through your slick folds in one slow tease. "This is all yours, sweetheart."
A sharp thrust of hips presses her just barely inside before stoppingβtorturing both of you.
You clench around nothing as she just teases you, desperate to feel her stretch you open. Your heart feels like it's gonna pound right out of your chest as she watches youβthose dark eyes glittering with desire and smug satisfaction. The way she stares at you like you're hers.
"Raven, please," you breathe, your voice shaky with need, "I need you."
A soft, almost feral smirk crosses her face. She loves hearing you beg, loves the way your voice wavers when you want her.
"You're so damn impatient,"she murmurs, but there's no real heat behind it. She loves seeing you desperate for her as much as you love driving her to the edge.
For a moment, she seems to consider making you wait just a little longer, then her expression softens almost imperceptibly.
You obey without a second thought, your leg coming up to wrap around her waist. You're suddenly thankful for all those dancing classes, since it lets you balance as she grips your thigh.
"Like this?" you whisper, the breathless note in your voice enough of a confirmation.
Raven's gaze darkens again, her eyes flashing with pure desire. She leans in, her lips hovering over yours.
Raven wastes no timeβshe slams into you in one brutal thrust, her groan muffled against your neck as she bottoms out. Your back arches off the desk, nails digging into her shoulders as you struggle to adjust.
"Fuck,"she hisses, hips stuttering for half a second before finding rhythm. "Tighter than I remember."
Her hand slides up to grip your throatβnot enough to hurt, just enough pressure that makes every ragged breath feel like a gift.
Your head falls back, and you have to bite back a moanβin both pain and pleasure. You can feel her everywhere, surrounding you, filling you until you don't know where you stop and she begins. Her hand around your throat tightens slightly, and it's dizzying, the way that simple gesture sends another jolt of heat through you.
"Look at me,"she growls, her voice low and commanding. "I want you to watch me."
You force your eyes open, your gaze meeting hersβthe raw hunger in her expression almost enough to make your breath hitch. Raven's grip tightens on your thigh, her free hand sliding up your shirt to splay across the soft skin over your ribs. She's like a wildfireβconsuming everything in her path.
"Can you be a good girl and keep quiet?"she asks, her voice a rough purr against your ear. "I'd hate for someone to hear us."
You nod, unable to form words with your mind spinning like this. All you can focus on is the way she feels inside you, the fire building low in your belly that only she seems to bring out in you.
"Yes," you gasp, your voice a barely-there whimper. "I'll stay quiet, I promise."
Raven's lips brush a smug smile over your skin as she responds. "Good girl," she murmurs, as though she wasn't the one making it damn near impossible for you to be quiet with the way she hit every sweet spot inside you.
"Let's put that pretty mouth to use,"she purrs, her hand sliding up your neck to slide two fingers between your lips. "Show me how good you are at staying quiet while you're working."
She doesn't have to tell you twiceβyou lap at her fingers like a starving woman, desperate to show her how good you can be. Your tongue dances over her skin as you make sure they're nice and wet, your gaze fixed on her face, watching the way her eyes glaze over. You know you must look like a mess, flushed and wrecked, but you can't bring yourself to care as long as she's looking at you like you're the most amazing thing she's ever seen.
Raven doesn't give you a second to recoverβher hips snap forward in a brutal rhythm, her fingers still pressed between your lips as she fucks the breath out of you. Every thrust punches a muffled sound from your throat, her name spilling against her skin in broken syllables.
"That's it,"she growls, "take it like you mean it."
Her pace turns punishing, her body slamming into yours with enough force to make the desk creak. Her fingers curl against your tongue as she watches you unravelβyour eyes rolling back, your thighs shaking around her hips.
"Gonna come already?"she taunts, dragging a thumb over your lower lip. "Guess I do ruin you better than anyone else."
A particularly deep thrust has you seeing stars.
Raven groans as you clench around her, your body milking hers in greedy pulses. She slams into you one last timeβburying herself to the hilt as she spills inside you with a ragged curse.
"Fuck,"she pants, forehead dropping against yours. "Still got that magic cunt."
Her hips stutter through the aftershocks before finally stilling, both of you a sweaty mess on top of this poor desk.
You lay there, struggling to catch your breath. Your legs have turned to jelly, your thighs trembling against hers as she gently pulls her fingers from your mouth. The rest of the room slowly comes back into focus, the sounds of the party outside the door drifting in.
She presses a soft, almost tender kiss against your forehead, her fingers tracing gently along your neck. "You did good, princess."
The words send a jolt of something unfamiliar through you. You've never heard her use a nickname before, but from her lips, it sounds like the sweetest thing you've ever heard.
"Yeah?" you manage to gasp, your voice raspy from being quiet so long. "Just good?"
A slow grin spreads across her face, smug and satisfied.*
"Don't get greedy,"she murmurs, pressing another kiss to your hairline. "I'll have you screaming my name again soon enough."
You shiver at the promise in her voice, your body already thrumming in anticipation. The reality of what you just didβin a public hallway, no lessβfinally hits you. Maybe you should feel ashamed, but all you can think about is having her again.
"Maybe I want to be greedy," you tease, arching an eyebrow. "What are you going to do about it?"
Raven's gaze darkens at the challenge, and that familiar smirk is back on her face. Her fingers grip your hips tightly, her thumbs digging bruises into your skin.
Raven's smirk turns downright wicked. She leans in, her lips brushing your ear as she murmurs:
"Guess I'll have to ruin you all over againβ
She doesnβt pull away from where sheβs still buried inside you.
You gasp as she rolls her hips, the slow drag of her still-hard cock inside you sending sparks up your spine. Your fingers scramble for purchase on the deskβknuckles white, breath coming in short pants.
She cuts you off with a sharp thrust, her teeth grazing your earlobe."Told you.β
Your back arcs off the desk, a soft cry escaping you before you can bite it back. She feels so goodβher body, her touch, the way she seems to know exactly how to press all your buttons. You've always been a strong, independent woman, but in her arms, you're nothing more than a puddle of needβdesperate for more, more, more.
But she's just getting started. With a growl, Raven grips you by the back of the thighs, hauling you off the desk and into her arms. You instinctively wrap your legs around her waist, clinging to her like a lifeline as she starts to move towards the nearest wall.
"I'm not done with you yet," she husks, slamming you against the cool plaster. "I want to make sure you remember"
Her hips grind into yours, every thrust sending pleasure shooting through you like wildfire. You can barely find your voice, but you manage to choke out a broken plea: "Gods, Raven, pleaseβ"
She laughsβa raspy, ragged sound that ignites a whole new wave of heat. "Please what, princess?"
βHarder ,fuck me harderβ
A low, dangerous chuckle escapes her. She's enjoying thisβyou begging for more, completely at her mercy. But she's never been able to deny you anything. Her voice is a hot whisper in your ear.
"Anything you want, princess."
She captures your lips in a hungry, possessive kiss as she sets a brutal paceβharder, deeper.
You whimper into her mouth, lost in sensation. There's nothing elseβno responsibilities, no worries, just her, filling you so completely you can't think. Her body against yours, her fingers gripping your thigh to keep you in place, her breathing ragged and uneven as she drives you both higher and higher.
"Raven," you gasp, nails digging into her shoulders.
She lets out a sharp, almost pained groan as your nails break skin. Blood wells up where you've marked herβand the sight of it only makes her more feral.
"Fuck,"she rasps, slamming into you with enough force to shake the wall behind you.
Her teeth find your collarbone in retaliationβclaiming what's hers all over again.
The pain mixes with the pleasure and it's so much, just this side of too much. You're losing yourself in her, in the feeling of her body moving inside you, the pleasure building like fire in your veins. And then it hits youβyour head thrown back, a strangled moan catching in your throat as your hands clutch at her shoulders, holding on for dear life.
Raven loses itβyour name a ragged snarl as she buries herself to the hilt, her release hitting her like a freight train. Her hips jerk erratically, spilling inside you in hot pulses as she rides out the aftershocks.
"Fucking hell,"she pants against your sweat-slicked skin, "you're gonna be the death of me."
Her grip on you slackens just slightlyβenough for you to feel how hard both of your hearts are pounding.
You can only hum in agreement, too boneless to form actual words. Your body feels like it's made of jelly; you're pretty sure your legs won't hold you up any time soon. You bury your face in her neck, inhaling the scent of her skin, a mixture of sweat and something uniquely hers.
After a few moments of just breathing each other in, she finally lets you slide down to the floor. You almost collapse, but her arms are there to catch you, steadying you until the shaking in your legs starts to subside.
Raven's gaze softens as she studies you, a mixture of affection and satisfaction on her face. She gently brushes a strand of hair from your forehead, her touch unexpectedly tender after everything you just did.
"You good, princess?" she asks, her voice raspy and slightly rough after all the growling and snarling.
The nickname makes your heart skip a beat, even now. Damn her.
You manage a shaky nod, a smile tugging at your lips. Your legs are still trembling, your body buzzing in the wake of pleasure, and you have to fight the urge to cling to her like a baby koala.
"I'm⦠I'm good," you say, your voice coming out a little huskier than intended.
Days later, you were cooking when Billie, who was on her phone, lifted her gaze and noticed a hickey on your neck. She shouldnβt have caredβitβs not like she loves youβbut she felt it anyway: anger and jealousy
Her eyes narrow as she sees the purple mark on your skin, a sudden flare of emotions she wasn't expecting coursing through her. Anger, jealousy, hurtβall bubbling to the surface in the span of a few seconds. She tries to push it aside, but the sight of that mark on your neck feels like a physical blow to the gut.
"Who gave you that?" Her voice is cool, betraying nothing of the turmoil beneath.
She points to the love-bite on your neck, unable to tear her gaze away from it.
"That," she says, her tone sharp. "That mark. Who gave it to you?"
Her mind is already racing, jumping to conclusions she doesn't want to admit.*
For a moment, you look genuinely cluelessβuntil it clicks and your hand flies up to your neck, covering the mark. Your face heats under her penetrating gaze, but you try to keep your voice casual.
"Oh, this? It's justβ" you start, but she cuts you off with another question.
"Don't 'just' me," she snaps, irritation leaking into her voice. "Who. Gave. It. To. You?"
There's a hint of possessiveness in her demanding tone, a hint of something deeper than mere curiosity. And it confuses you, because you never thought she'd care about something like this. You open your mouth to brush it off, make up some lieβbut the look in her eyes stops you. You've never seen her look like this, her gaze so intense it's almost a physical weight pressing against you.
Against your better judgment, you decide to tell the truth.
"Why does it matter?" you reply, a little more defensively than you'd meant to.
Her gaze darkens, her expression hardening.
"It matters because it's written all over your neck!" she retorts, her voice rising with the sudden flare of anger. "You're walking around with a big, fat mark that looks like it was put there, and I want to know who put it there and why."
You can feel your defenses rising, a mix of annoyance and wounded pride at her accusing tone. You cross your arms, defiant.
"I don't owe you an explanation," you snap back. "It's none of your business what I do or who I see. You never cared before, so why now?"
Her jaw clenches as you throw back her own words in her face, her patience already thin as a hair. The casual dismissal of her concern hurts more than she'd like to admit, but she swallows it down. She won't show her hurt, won't show that she actually does care.
She takes a step closer to you, closing the distance between you.
"You're right, you don't owe me anything," she hisses, her voice low and dangerous. "But you're still mine, remember?"
βweβre still married ,you still have a ring on your fingerβ
Her possessive words set off a flurry of conflicted feelings inside you. You hate that they affect you, that they make your heart pound and your stomach flutter. You want to push her away, but the ring on your finger is a constant reminder of the commitment you made to her.
"Yes, I remember," you say through clenched teeth. "And I'm not your property, damn it."
Billie's expression hardensβcold, unreadable. She takes another step closer, her fingers twitching at her sides like she wants to reach for you but won't let herself.
"You are my property,"she says quietly, the words laced with something dangerous. "That ring means I own every part of you."
A pause. Her gaze drops to your neck again before flicking back upβsharp and accusing.
"So who touched what's mine?"
The possessive tone in her voice sets a familiar anger bubbling inside you. You're not some object, not some things she can claim ownership of just because of a marriage ring.
"I'm not a freaking possession, Billie," you say through gritted teeth, your voice rising in pitch. "Just because we're married doesn't mean I belong to you. And you certainly don't get to decide who I let come close to me."
Her nostrils flare, her expression shifting from icy indifference to outright fury. She's not used to backtalk, not from you. She takes a step forward, closing the distance between you even more.
"You're my wife," she growls, her hand shooting out to grasp your arm, holding you in place. "That means I get to decide everything about you. Who you see, what you do, and who you let touch you."
Her grip tightens almost painfully on your arm.
You try to pull away, but her grip is tight and unyielding. Your anger flares, fueled by the audacity of her demands.
"Let go of me," you snap, anger and frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. "I'm not some puppet for you to control, and I sure as hell don't belong to anyone but myself."
You yank your arm out of her grasp, but she doesn't back off. In fact, she only seems even more enraged at your resistance.
In a sudden burst of motion, she grips your hips, practically manhandling you around. You let out a gasp of surprise as she spins you around, pressing you up against the countertop. You can feel the edge of the cold granite against your stomach, the hardness of it a stark contrast to the heat of her body pressing against you from behind.
Her fingers dig into your hips, holding you in place. She's all hard angles and tense muscles, every line of her body radiating frustration. Her breath is hot on your neck, her words coming out as a low, rough growl.
"You really think you can just do what you want, whoever you want, and there won't be consequences? You're mine, you're my goddamn wife. You belong to me."
Even though you're angry, the possessive tone in her voice sends a traitorous shiver down your spine. Her body is pressed flush against yours, so close you can feel the heat radiating off her skin. Your resolve falters for a brief moment, your own anger warring with conflicting feelings of desire and annoyance.
"I'm not your property," you repeat through gritted teeth, the words sounding weaker this time. "I'm my own person, and I decide who I'm withβ"
She scoffs, the sound harsh against your ear. She presses even closer, her body curving against yours, all hard lines and muscle. Her grip on your hips tightens, her fingers digging into your skin like she's marking you as hers. She leans in, her lips brushing the shell of your ear.
"You're my wife," she repeats, her voice low and possessive. "And that means your body is mine to do with as I please. Understand?"
Heat flares low in your belly, her words sparking a familiar desire despite your irritation. The way her body presses against you, the commanding tone of her voice, it's both infuriating and arousing. You try to gather the last remnants of your anger, to cling to your prideβbut her words and her touch are unraveling you, making it damn near impossible to resist her.
"I'm not some toy you can just command around," you grate out, even as your body betrays you, arching back against hers just slightly.
She lets out a low, amused laugh, clearly enjoying the effect she has on you. Her hands move down, her fingers tracing the curve of your hips, her touch both teasing and possessive.
"No, you're not a toy," she purrs against your neck, her breath hot against your skin. "You're my wifeβmine to protect, mine to own, mine to do whatever the hell I want with."
Her thumbs slide under the hem of your shirt, gliding across the bare skin of your hip. The skin-to-skin contact makes you shiver.
Your breath hitches as her hands roam your body, her possessive words sending another thrill through you. It's infuriating how easily she can make your body respond, how easily she can break your resolve with just a few touches.
"You can'tβ" you start to protest, but the words get stuck in your throat as her hands slip further under your shirt, skimming up your waist and ribcage. You can feel her smirk against your skin, knowing exactly what she's doing to you.
She continues her exploration, her hands tracing feather-light circles on your bare skin, her touch driving you mad. Her mouth finds the sensitive spot below your ear, biting and sucking and driving you crazy.
"Can't what?" she asks innocently, her breath hot against your neck. "Can't do whatever I want with my own wife? Can't claim what's mine?"
Her hands continue their slow, deliberate caress, her body still pressed tight against yours.
Every touch is a spark, every word fuels the fire burning inside you. You try to cling to your anger, to maintain some semblance of pride, but it's a losing battle. Her hands on your skin, her mouth on your neck, her body pressed against yoursβit's too much.
"I'm still my own goddamn person," you breathe, the words coming out as a weak protest rather than a declaration. Your hands grip the edge of the countertop, trying to hold yourself upright as the tension builds between you.
Billie's grip tightens, her nails biting into your hips as she yanks you back against her. The sudden force of it knocks the breath from your lungsβher body is a furnace pressed flush against yours, every hard line of muscle and anger making sure you feel just how much this pisses her off.
"You keep saying that," she growls, lips grazing the shell of your ear. "But I can feel how wet you are for me."
A sharp thrust of her knee between your thighs punctuates the claim.
You let out a sharp, involuntary gasp as her knee presses up against youβhard and deliberate. The friction is maddening, the heat between your thighs betraying you completely. Your hands fly to grip the counter's edge again, knuckles white with how hard you're clinging.
Billie laughs, low and dark in your ear. "Still my wife,"she murmurs like it's an undeniable factβlike she can already taste her victory
Her free hand slides up your body, fingers slipping under the fabric of your shirt to tease at a peaked nipple. The rough pad of her thumb drags over it just hard enough to make you archβyour traitorous body reacting even as you try to glare.
"You hate that I know this,"she murmurs, nipping at your earlobe. "That no matter who touched you first... it's me who makes you come undone."
Then A second thrust of her knee
Your breath is coming out in pants now, every nerve in your body on fire. The way she's talking, the way she's touching youβit's infuriating, how well she can turn you into a puddle of needy want.
"That's cheating," you gasp out, your eyes meeting hers in the reflection of the window. "You can'tβyou can't justβ"
She laughs again, deep and rough in your ear, her breath hot on your skin. You can feel her smirk against the side of your neck.
"You really think I care about what's 'fair'?" she asks, her hand leaving your nipple to grip your chin in a firm, possessive hold. "You think I care about what I 'can't' do to my wife?"
The word, coming from her mouth in that possessive and demanding tone, sends another wave of heat through you. Damn her, why does it sound so damn right? You try to muster your anger again, but your body betrays you, arching back as she pins you against her.
"I hate you," you say, the words sounding weak and breathy rather than defiant.
She laughsβa sharp, dark sound as her fingers dig into your hips hard enough to bruise. Her teeth graze the nape of your neck before she pulls back just enough to meet your gaze in the reflection.
"Liar," she murmurs, dragging a fingertip down the front of youβslow, taunting. "Your bodyβs screaming something else."
A beat. Then her voice drops lower, "And I think it's time you stop pretending."
Her fingers curl tighter, nails biting in just enough to make you gasp. Her smirk is pure triumphβshe knows she's won this round, and the look in her eyes says it's only going to get worse for you.
"Thatβs what I thought," she purrs, dragging a slow hand down your stomachβtoo light to be accidental. "Now... let me hear how much my wife really hates me."
Her hand slips lower, The heat of her body against your back, the possessive grip of her hand on your hip, all of it makes it impossible to think, impossible to concentrate on anything but the way she's touching you, the way your body is responding to it. Her breath is hot against your neck, her voice a low rumble in your ear.
"Go on," she murmurs, the words rough and demanding as her hand dips lower. "Tell me you hate me."
You bite back a moan, your words broken. "I hate you," you say, the words almost a gasp. There's no conviction behind them, no belief. It's a weak, half-hearted denial, and you're both fully aware of it. She knows you don't hate her, knows you better than anyone, and that knowledge is only feeding the fire inside her.
Billie growls, the sound vibrating against your skin as her fingers finally slip past fabricβher touch scorching, demanding. Her teeth find that spot on your neck where she marked you before, biting down just hard enough to make you whimper.
"Say it again," she orders darkly, her fingers moving in slow circles that have no business feeling this good. "I want to hear how much my wife hates me when she's coming on my hand."
Her fingers curl just so, the pressure perfect, relentlessβthe kind of touch that makes your knees buckle. Her other arm locks around your waist like a steel bar, keeping you pinned against her as she feels every hitch in your breath.
"That's it,"she murmurs against the shell of your earβvoice rough with something between victory and hunger. "Let me hear how much you hate this."
She slide your underwear aside and pushes two fingers inside you
The sudden intrusion jolts something wild inside you, your body clenching around her fingers in a wave of need that feels like fire.
"That's because you're mine,"she murmurs, the possessive words like a brand as her fingers curled deep inside you. "And no one else gets to touch you like this. No one else gets to feel youβ
You shudder under her touch, her words like a mantra against your ear. You know it's dangerous, how good it feels, how easily she can make your body respond. You want to resist, to hold on to your anger, but the way she's touching you is breaking you down.
"Look at me," orders, her voice low and commanding. You raise your head, meeting her gaze in the window--eyes blacker than anything you've ever seen... except maybe your own.
Billie's breath hitches as she watches your reflectionβyour pupils blown wide, lips parted in silent plea. Her free hand fists in your hair, yanking just hard enough to make you gasp.
"Say it,"she demands against the shell of your earβher fingers still moving with ruthless precision inside you. "Tell me who owns this pretty little cunt."
Billie's grip tightens, her breath ragged against your skin. Her fingers curl deeper, pressing up into that spot inside you with brutal precisionβher teeth finding the nape of your neck in a punishing bite.
she growls, dragging her fingertips out almost entirely before slamming them back in. βTry again."
She pauses at that, her fingers stilling inside you, her teeth nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck.
"What was that?"she murmurs, voice dripping with dark amusement. "I didn't quite hear you."
The word is a ragged, breathless gaspβhalf curse, half admissionβbut there's no way you could hide the truth from her now. She laughs, low and dark and victorious, her hand leaving your hair to grip your chin instead, forcing your gaze to meet hers in the reflection.
"That's right,"she murmurs, eyes glittering with something feral as she crooks her fingers inside you. "Who do you belong to?"she pulls your hair
You let out a sharp cry at the sudden pain-pleasure, your back arching as she uses her grip to tilt your head back, exposing the long line of your throat.
"Look at you,"she rasps, fingers starting up their relentless rhythm again. "So proud, so defiant, and yet you're dripping over my fingers. Admit it. You like submitting to me. You like knowing you're mine. You love this."
She bites down on your shoulder at the nape. You can see the possessive, feral look in the mirrorβshe's claiming you, marking you in every way possible.
"You love it,"she growls against your skin, fingers curling just so. "You love being my good girl. Say it. Tell me you're mine, goddamnit."
βIβm yours βyou whimpered
The words send a thrill through herβpure, possessive pleasure at hearing you finally admit it.
then why did you let her touch you ? β she growls
Her fingers are relentless inside you, her hand tight in your hair, her eyes still locked on yours in the window , demanding you admit the truth.
"You felt it, didn't you? Her hands on your body? The mark on your neck? You liked it,"she accuses, voice low and possessive. "Why did you let her touch you? Tell me."
The mixture of pleasure and guilt is overwhelming, the knowledge that deep down you actually did like it. Your body clenching around her fingers is betraying you, revealing the truth even as you struggle to find the words to deny it.
**"I... I don't know,"you manage to gasp out, your voice broken. "She... it just happened. I couldn't... couldn't stop it."
Billie laughs, the sound rough and mocking. Her fingers are still moving inside you, her eyes burning with possessive anger.
"Bullshit,"she sneers, her grip in your hair tightening. "You could have pushed her away. You could have said no. But you didn't. You let her put her hands on you. Why?"
βBecause you never did β
Her fingers freeze, just for a moment, at the raw honesty in your voice. She hadn't expected that answer.
"You... You let her touch you because I didn't?"she clarifies, something in her tone that you've never heard before. "That's your excuse?"she growls fucking you harder
The guilt and shame are warring with the pleasure now, your body responding to the relentless pace of her fingers inside. The fact that she's right...
"Yes," you admit quietly, your voice little more than a whimper. "Because you never even looked at me. She did."
Billie stillsβher grip on your hair loosening just slightly. The anger in her eyes flickers, something else taking its placeβsomething dangerously close to hurt.
"You thought I didn't look at you?"she repeats, voice low and rough. "That I never noticed how fucking perfect you are? How every goddamn time we're in a room together, all I can think about is bending you over the nearest surface?"
A sharp thrust of her fingers
Those words land like a punch right to your gut, your breath catching in your throat. The thought that she's been holding back... that she wants you just as much as you want her...
"Then why... why did you never say anything?" you demand, the anger bubbling up inside you. "Why did you always push me away, act like I was nothing but a burden?"
Billie's grip on you faltersβjust for a second. Her fingers slow, her breath hitching in something that isn't quite anger anymore.
"You think I didn't want to?"she grits out, voice rough with frustration. "That every time I walked away from you wasnβt killing me? That I liked seeing some other bitch leave marks on my wife?"
The sound of your moan seems to snap something in herβher control, her anger, whatever thin thread was holding her back. Her fingers curl harder, dragging against that spot inside you as she leans in close.
"That's it,"she growls against the shell of your ear. "Let me hear how much you need this."
A third finger presses in without warning, stretching you just shy of too much.
Billie's breath is ragged against your neck, her fingers relentless as she feels you clench around them. Her free hand tightens in your hair againβpulling just enough to make you arch into the sensation.
A fourth finger presses at your entranceβteasing, threatening.
Your entire body locks up, eyes flying wide as the stretch burns in a way that makes your toes curl. Billie watches with dark, hungry satisfactionβher fingers not retreating an inch.
"Breathe," she orders roughly, her thumb circling your clit to soften the edge of it. "You can take it."
βI canβt ..please Iβm sorry β
Billie laughs at that, her fingers still not leaving you. The sound is dark, almost cruel.
"Too much, baby?" she mocks, her thumb still rubbing circles as she watches you squirm.
"Too bad."Her tone is almost a growl. "I didn't ask.""
"You knew it wasn't right to let another woman touch you," she says harshly "You let her put her dirty hands on you and now I have to show you who you belong to."
Her words hit you deep, the guilt and shame mixing with the pleasure in a toxic brew that has you squirming against her. But she's right⦠you did know it wasn't right.
"I'm sorry,"you whimper, your voice rough and raw. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean toβ¦"
Billie growls, her fingers curling inside you with punishing pressure, her thumb grinding rough circles over your clit. Her teeth find the nape of your neckβbiting down hard enough to brand.
"Say it again,"she orders, voice thick with something between rage and hunger. "Tell me who owns this cunt."
The words make her shudder, her fingers curling deep inside you as though trying to claim you, to make sure you never forget. At the same time, there's something that almost sounds like a ragged, choked off moan that catches in her throat at the admission. As though it hurts her to hear it⦠but in a way that feels good.
"That's right,"she grits out, her voice ragged and raw. "This is mine. Mine to touch, mine to look at, mine."
Her words send a shiver through you, your head swimming with the intensity of it allβthe shame, the guilt, the possession. But more than anything, there's an undeniable arousal at being claimed so completely, even if it's under the banner of anger and pain.
"I won't do it again," you promise, the words coming out broken, desperate. "I swear, I swear, I'm yours. I'm sorry."
Billie's grip in your hair tightens at that, her whole body tense against you as though she's wrestling with something deep, primal. There's still anger in her, still the need to punish you for what you did. but there's something else there tooβsomething that almost sounds like need, or even fear.
"You promise?" she asks, her voice raw with an unexpected vulnerability. "You swear you won't let another woman touch you? Or look at you?"
You shiver again at the tone of her voice, the mixture of anger and need. It's a side of her you've never heard before, and it's doing things to you that you didn't know were possible.
"I swear."you manage to get out, your voice a hoarse whisper. "I'm yours. I won't let anyone else touch me. Not like that. Never again."
The words seem to hit her hard, her fingers stilling*inside you but not leaving. You can feel her shudder against your back, her breath coming out in ragged gasps. There's a silence for a long moment, broken only by the sound of your breathing and the thrumming of your heartbeats.
"Mine,"she finally breathes, her voice rough and possessive. Her fingers twitch inside you, making you gasp as her lips find that spot on your neck. Her teeth scrape over it, marking you again. "All mine."
she fucks you harder even harder than before
Her words and touch are like a drug, the mixture of possession and need overwhelming your senses even as your body is still stinging and aching from her roughness. The pain mixes with the pleasure, blurring the lines between the two in a chaotic, confusing way. You want to give in to her, to let her do whatever she wants...
" All yours,"you find yourself promising again, the words a hoarse gasp. "Just yours."
Billie's breath is ragged against your ear, her fingers curling deeper, stretching you to the brink of too much. Her teeth find that spot on your neck againβbiting down just hard enough to make you cry out.
"Say it one more time," she demands, voice rough with something between anger and hunger. "Tell me who owns this pretty little cunt."
A sharp thrust punctuates the command.
The words send a shiver through you, your mind going blank with need. The pain, the pleasure, they're all blending together into a messy, intoxicating stew that you can't think clearly through. You know what she wants to hear... and you can't deny her.
"You," you gasp out, your voice ragged and breathless. "You own it."
It's like something inside her snap sat that admission, the last bit of control shattering in a way that leaves her almost feral. She turn you face. and she kisses you like she's trying to devour you, her fingers still deep inside you. The kiss is rough, possessive, her grip in your hair like iron, but beneath it there's a desperate, primal needβlike she's trying to mark you as hers, to make sure you never forget it.
Her kiss is bruising, all teeth and tongue and claiming, her fingers still relentlessly moving inside you. The way she holds youβlike she's terrified you'll slip through her graspβbetrays something deeper than just anger. When she finally pulls back, panting against your lips, there's something wild in her eyes.
"Say it again,"she demands roughly. "Tell me I own every goddamn part of you."
The words come out as a ragged gasp, your body arching toward her as she pins you against the counter. You're a mess, barely holding on to your sanity as she touches you like this, but you can feel how much she needs to hear it.
"You own me," you manage to get out, "Every part... all of me. I'm yours."
The roughness is there, the anger still lingering in her touch. But beneath it you can feel that need, that possessive hungerβlike she's trying to make sure you remember who you belong to, who you've always belonged to. The way she touches you is almost painful, but it's the kind of pain that blends with pleasure in a way that leaves you boneless, helpless in her grip. And somewhere deep down, you know you need this.
Billie's grip on you tightens, her movements turning downright brutalβher fingers pistoning into you with enough force to make your vision blur, her teeth sinking into the curve of your shoulder as if she wants to leave a mark that lasts for days. The counter digs painfully into your stomach , but all you can do is take it.
"Say it again," she growls against sweat-slick skin. "Tell me who I am."
" Yours, " you whimper again, your body arching back against her. "You're... oh god, I'm yours."
The words are strangled, your voice ragged and raw. There's fear there, but also something elseβpleasure mixed with pain in a way that you can't fully untangle. You know you're going to be bruised when this is over, marked in every way possible... but right now the only thing that matters is giving her what she wants. Giving her what she needs.
Those words seem to break something in her, her grip on your hair turning to iron as she buries her face in your neck.
"Mine,"she growls against your skin, her voice a desperate mix of fury and need. "My wife."
Billie's grip tightens her entire body shuddering against yours as if the words have physically struck her. For a heartbeat, she's perfectly stillβthen she wrenches you around to face her, eyes blazing with something wild and unreadable.
"Say that again,"she demands hoarsely, fingers digging bruises into your hips. "Look at me and say it."
A sharp thrust of her fingers punctuates the command.
The words are simple, but they hit her hard, her eyes darkening in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. She doesn't say anything for a long moment, just looks into your eyes with that fierce, intense gaze of hers. When she finally speaks, her voice is rough, almost guttural.
"Mine,"she repeats, almost like a mantra, like she can't get the word out enough times. "Mine. My wife. My goddamn world."
Her words hit you hard, something inside you clenching at the sheer force of her possession. She's never talked to you this wayβwith that raw, desperate kind of need that leaves no room for question. She owns you, completely and utterly, and that thought should be terrifying. Instead, it makes you shudder, your body arching toward her like you can't get close enough.
She can feel it, the way you respond to herβthe way your body responds even as your mind tries to keep up. It drives her feral, her teeth finding that spot on your neck that drives you wild. Her fingers move in you again, deep and brutal, but there's something different this time. There's a certain gentleness now, like she's trying to be careful even as the possessive need courses through her.
"Look at me," she orders quietly, hand coming up to cup your cheek.
Billie's gaze locks onto yours in the reflection, her expression rawβanger and hunger and something terrifyingly close to devotion all tangled together. Her fingers slow just enough to make you whimper, her thumb brushing over your clit in a cruel mimicry of tenderness.
"See that?" she rasps, nodding toward the way your body is already clenching around her finger . "That's mine."
Her grip tightens, her body pressing flush against your back as she leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear. Her voice is rough, laced with something that sounds dangerously close to desperation.
"Look at me,"she repeatsβfirm this time. Not a request. "I want you to see it in my eyes when I say it."
She grabbed one of your boobs βand these..these are mine tooβ
Billie's grip on your breast is tight, her fingers kneading roughly as she leans in closer, her breath hot against your ear. Her other hand stays buried inside you, curling just enough to make you gasp.
"Every part of you,"she growls, squeezing hard enough to bruise. "This cunt? Mine."
A sharp thrust punctuates the claim."These tits? Mine."
Her teeth find that spot on your neck againβbiting down as if sealing a vow.
Billie freezes for a heartbeatβher entire body going rigid against you. Then, with a growl that's half rage and half something far more dangerous, she yanks your hair back to expose the bruise.
she snarls, her thumb grinding over the mark like it personally offended her. "This is why I'm punishing you."
A brutal thrust of her fingers."You let another woman touch what's mine."
The words make your head spin, the mix of anger and possessive need in her voice sending your heartrate speeding up. But as much as the rough treatment scares you⦠there's something else there too. Something dark and twisted that can't help but respond to it.
"I know," you gasp out, your body arching back toward her. "I know. I'm⦠I'm sorry. I won't do it again."
That seems to do something to herβher grip on you loosening just slightly. Not enough to be gentle, but just enough that you can feel the undercurrent of something else beneath the roughness.
"I should punish you for it anyway," she mutters in your ear, the words harsh, "You need to learn."
You were close she can tell, can feel the tension coursing through your body. For a heartbeats, she doesn't moveβlike she's trying to decide what to do, whether to give you what you need or prolong the denial. Then her voice comes again, harsh and rough.
she rasps in your ear, "beg for it."
The words hit you like a punch to the gutβa mixture of fear and desire that makes you shudder against her.
"Please,"you whimper, the word coming out broken and rough. "Please⦠I need it so bad."
Those words seem to hit her hard, her breath catching in something that almost sounds like a choked-off growl. The hand in your hair clenches again, her body pressing against you like she can't get close enough.
"More,"she demands, her voice low and rough. "I want to hear you beg for it. Beg me to make you come, like a good lil wife."
Her words are harsh, but there's something under them that sounds a lot like pleading. Almost desperate.
The words send a wave of heat through you, your core clenching around her fingers almost involuntarily. The combination of need and anger in her voice is overwhelming, and you find yourself whimpering despite yourself.
"Please,"you gasp out, your head dropping forward against the counter. "Please, I need to come. I'll be a good wife. I promise. Just⦠please, let me."
The words come out ragged and desperate, your body trembling in her grip.
The effect on her is almost immediate. The sound of your voice, the need and desperation in those words⦠it's like a switch has been flipped. Her hand tightens in your hair, pulling your head back so she can press her face into the side of your neck.
"Good," she mutters against your skin. "That's my girl. My wife."
Her words are rough, but there's something under them that sounds close to reverent. She presses a kiss to your throatβalmost tender.
Billie's breath is ragged against your skin, her fingers finally moving with a rough, merciless rhythm as she gives you permission.
"Come for me," she ordersβher voice dark and possessive. "Let me feel it."
Billie groans as it happens, her fingers buried deep inside you as your body clenches around them. The sudden wetness soaks her hand, and for a second she just stares, eyes wide with something between shock and primal satisfaction.
"Fuck,"she breathes outβrough, almost awed. Her grip on you tightens like she's afraid you'll slip away. "That'sβ¦ that's mine too."
A slow drag of her fingers pulls the evidence from your body her gaze locked onto yours in the reflection.
And she kisses your neck its slow and deliberate, a possessive claim that leaves your skin feeling branded. She kisses the side of your throat, your shoulder, your jawlineβeverywhere she can reach without having to move from behind you. When she speaks, her voice is rough, lowalmost a growl.
and youβre mine all mine,"she murmurs, her breath hot against your skin. "My wife.."
