Jungkook ff
Continuation of part 4 TIED TO HIM .......
You are nothing in this mansion without my permission. Do you understand that?"
She held his gaze.
Didn't nod. Didn't agree. Just looked at him with eyes that were terrified and exhausted and refusing all at once — that same look that had stopped him cold before, that look that got under his skin in ways he couldn't cauterize —
He had her on the bed, wrists pinned above her head with one hand. The other traveled down her body, fingers pressing into the bruises he'd left earlier. She didn't flinch. Didn't cry out. Didn't beg.
Just stared at the ceiling, tears spilling silently down her temples.
That stillness... it grated on him. Where was the fight? The whimpering? The pathetic pleas he'd grown accustomed to?
Jungkook's jaw tightened. He released her wrists and grabbed her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his.
"Look at me."
She did. But those eyes—they were hollow. Empty. Like she was already somewhere else. Somewhere far away from this room, from this bed, from him.
Something twisted in his chest. He didn't like it.
So he'd make her feel something. Anything.
He shoved her legs apart roughly, pushing them up until her knees were nearly touching her shoulders. She was bare underneath the thin, torn shirt he'd left her in. Exposed. Vulnerable.
But still—nothing.
"I said you regained your strength," he murmured, voice low and dangerous. "That's why you ran. So now I'm going to make sure you can't run again."
He lowered his head.
The first touch of his tongue against her cunt was calculated—a shock to her system. He licked her clit deliberately, slow and wet, dragging his tongue through her folds like he was tasting something he owned.
Her body betrayed her. A sharp inhale. A tremor through her thighs.
Good.
He pulled her clit between his lips and sucked, hard, circling it with his tongue in rough, merciless strokes. He could feel her pulse against his mouth, could feel the way her hips tried to jerk away—but he held her down, his hands gripping her thighs hard enough to bruise.
"Running makes you strong," he said against her skin, his breath hot and damp. "So I'll keep you weak. Keep you stuffed full of me so you can't think straight. Can't move. Can't leave."
He pressed his mouth back to her cunt, lashing her clit with his tongue until she was shaking. Not from pleasure. From the sheer violation of it—the way her body responded despite her mind screaming no no no.
She turned her face to the side, tears soaking into the pillow. In her head, she was floating. Disconnected. She thought about how easy it would be to just... stop. To let herself fade into nothing. To find the sharpest edge in this room and press until—
A broken gasp escaped her lips as he sucked harder.
He pulled back, dragging his tongue through her dripping slit before looking up at her. Her chest was heaving. Her eyes were glassy.
"You hate this, don't you?" he said, voice rough. "Hate that I can make your body sing even when your soul is rotting."
He rose up over her, positioning himself at her entrance. The head of his cock pressed against her slick folds, teasing, taunting.
"I'm going to fuck you now. And you're going to take it. Every. Last. Inch."
He thrust in.
No warning. No gentleness.
He buried himself to the hilt in one brutal motion, and the stretch—the fullness, the invasion—made her clench around him involuntarily. Her lips parted. A silent scream.
He started moving. Hard. Deep. Each thrust knocked the air from her lungs, rattled her bones, ground against the raw, oversensitive bundle of nerves he'd been abusing with his mouth.
"I should have tied you to the bed the first night," he growled, gripping her hips and slamming into her. "Should have kept you plugged and panting and too full to think about running."
Her body rocked with each impact. The headboard banged against the wall. His grunts filled the room.
But she was quiet.
So quiet.
He grabbed her throat—not enough to choke, just enough to feel her pulse flutter beneath his palm. "Say something," he demanded.
Nothing.
"Say something."
A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, disappearing into her hairline.
Something inside him cracked.
He kept fucking her—harder, faster, chasing a release that felt hollow—but his eyes stayed locked on her face. On the emptiness there.
When he finally came, spilling deep inside her with a guttural groan, he collapsed forward, his forehead pressing against her shoulder. His breath was ragged. His body was spent.
And she lay there. Still. Silent.
He pulled out slowly, and his release trickled down her thigh. He should get up. Clean himself. Leave her here to rot.
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