His Dangerous Love On Ice Chapter 49: Olive's Pov

"Zane—please—"

"Please what?" He pushed his finger in deeper, and I cried out. "Please fuck you? Please stop? Tell me what you want, Muffin."

"Fuck me—" I was sobbing now. "Please just fuck me—"

"Where?" He pulled his finger out, his cock pressing against my pussy now, sliding through my wetness. "Here?"

"Yes—god, yes—"

"Then tell me." He grabbed my cuffed wrists, yanked them up above my head, pinning them against the wall. "Tell me how mad you are at me. Scream it."

"What—"

He slammed into me.

No warning. No gentleness. Just one brutal thrust that buried him to the hilt and had me screaming, my voice echoing off the walls.

"That's it," he growled against my ear. "Louder. Tell me how much you fucking hate me right now."

He pulled out and slammed back in, hitting something so deep I saw stars.

"I hate—" I choked on the words. "I hate that you lied to me—"

"Keep going." Another thrust, harder, and I felt the wall shake.

"I hate that you didn't tell me about the racing club—" I gasped as he hit that spot again. "I hate that you made me look stupid—"

"Good." His hand tightened on my wrists, the other gripping my hip so hard I knew I'd have bruises. "What else? Tell me everything."

"I hate that you make me feel like this—" The words were pouring out now, unstoppable. "Like I can't breathe without you—like I need you more than I should—"

"More," he demanded, fucking me so hard my cheek kept rubbing against the wall. "Give me more."

"I hate that you're in my head all the time—" I was crying now, tears mixing with the spit still on my face. "I hate that I can't stop thinking–about you—that I want you even when I'm mad at you—"

"Fuck—" His voice broke. "Fuck, Olive—"

"I hate that you make me feel like I'm yours—" The sob that came out was half pleasure, half pain. "Like I belong to you—like I was made for you—Even when everyone says you are dangerous–"

He groaned, his thrusts getting rougher, more desperate, and his hand left my hip to slide around to my throat, not squeezing, just holding, just claiming.

"You are mine," he growled. "Every fucking inch of you. Say it." I gasped hard, feeling the burn, the way my pussy clenched hard against him, taking him deeper,

"I'm yours—"

"Louder."

"I'm yours!" I screamed it. "I'm yours, Zane—"

"Damn right." His hand moved from my throat to my clit, rubbing in hard, fast circles. "Now come. Come on my cock while you tell me you're mine."

"I can't—it's too much—"

"You can." He thrust harder, his fingers working my clit relentlessly. "You're going to come so hard you forget your own name. The only name you'll remember is mine."

The orgasm hit me like a punch to the gut.

I screamed—actually screamed—so loud my throat went raw, my whole body seizing up as pleasure tore through me. But he didn't stop. Just kept fucking me through it, kept rubbing my clit until I was sobbing, until I was begging him to stop because it was too much, too intense.

"One more," he growled. "Give me one more, Muffin."

"I can't—Zane, please—a*w––godddd––"

"You can." His teeth sank into my shoulder, biting hard enough to leave marks. "Come for me again. Show me who owns this pussy."

His hand moved faster, his thrusts getting deeper, and impossibly—impossibly—I felt it building again.

"Zane—fuck—I'm—"

"Come." It was a command. "Come right fucking now."

I shattered.

Broke apart completely, my vision going white, my legs giving out. But he held me up, one arm around my waist while he kept fucking me, kept working my clit until I was nothing but a sobbing, shaking mess in his arms.

"That's my girl," he groaned, and I felt him swell inside me. "Fuck, I'm going to—where do you want it?"

"Inside—" I gasped. "Please, Zane, inside—"

He slammed into me one last time and came with a shout, his cock pulsing as he filled me, marked me, claimed me from the inside out.

We stayed like that for a long moment—both of us gasping for air, his forehead pressed against my shoulder, his cock still twitching inside me.

Then slowly, he pulled out.

I felt his cum drip down my thighs, hot and thick, mixing with mine, and something about that made everything feel real. Made this feel permanent in a way I wasn't ready to examine.

He turned me around gently, reaching up to unlock the handcuffs. My wrists were red where the metal had dug in, and he kissed each one softly, his lips gentle against my skin.

"You okay?" His voice was rough, concerned.

I nodded, too wrecked to speak.

"Look at me."

I forced my eyes up to meet his.

"You're mine," he said quietly, his thumb brushing away the tears on my face. "Not for two months. Not because of some deal. You're mine because I say you are. Because I'm never letting you go. Do you understand?"

My heart was hammering. "Zane—"

"Say you understand."

"I understand," I whispered.

He kissed me then—soft, gentle, so different from the brutal way he'd just fucked me. Like he was trying to show me something he didn't have words for.

When he pulled back, his eyes searched mine.

"Stay with me tonight," he said. "No running. No disappearing. Just stay."

I should've said no. Should've kept some distance.

But I was so tired of running. And I was already too deep, too deep to leave, to tell him to stop because I wanted to know who the hell Zane Mercer was.

I wanted to know… to feel… what it was like to be in the same Axis as Zane Mercer.

"Okay," I whispered.

And the smile that broke across his face made every complicated feeling in my chest worth it.