That evening, the tension in the mansion was thick enough to choke on.
Asra had spent the entire day avoiding him. She stayed curled up in his bed most of the time, sore and silent, only leaving once to bathe. When Ather returned from his meetings, he found her sitting on the edge of the bed, still in one of his oversized black shirts, knees drawn to her chest.
He closed the door behind him with a soft click that sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room.
Asra didn’t look up.
Ather removed his suit jacket slowly, eyes locked on her small frame. “Still not talking to me?”
She stayed silent, lower lip trembling.
He walked over, towering above her. When she tried to turn away, he caught her chin roughly and forced her to meet his gaze.
“Answer me.”
Fresh tears welled up in her eyes. The soreness between her legs hadn’t faded, and the memory of last night made her voice crack.
“…Why?” she whispered brokenly. “Why… why do you care? You hurt me so much… you’re so rough and cruel… why do you even pretend to care now?”
Ather’s eyes darkened with dangerous hunger. In one swift motion, he pushed her back onto the bed, climbing over her and pinning her wrists above her head with one hand. His other hand yanked the shirt up to her waist, exposing her bare body underneath.
Asra gasped, legs instinctively trying to close, but he forced them apart with his knees.
“You want to know why I care?” he growled, voice low and feral.
He freed himself from his pants, already hard and throbbing. Without any warning, he thrust into her in one brutal stroke, burying himself to the hilt.
Asra cried out sharply, back arching at the sudden invasion.
“Because —” thrust
“You —” deep, punishing thrust
“Are —” harder
“My —” brutal snap of his hips
“Wife.”
Each word was punctuated by a powerful thrust that made the bed slam against the wall. Asra sobbed loudly, tears streaming down her face as he fucked her with raw, possessive force. Her small body jolted with every savage movement, the mix of pain and overwhelming pleasure tearing her apart.
“Mine to fuck. Mine to hurt. Mine to protect,” he snarled between thrusts, leaning down to bite her neck hard enough to leave a fresh mark. “You carry my name, Asra Chakrabortyy. You sleep in my bed. You take my cock whether you’re crying or begging. Wife.”
Asra’s sobs turned into broken moans, her fingers clawing at his shoulders as he drove into her relentlessly. The word “Wife” kept echoing in her mind with every brutal thrust.
“I don’t want to be your wife if you’re going to be so mean…” she whimpered through tears, even as her body clenched around him.
Ather laughed darkly, low and arrogant, never slowing his pace.
“Too bad, little one. You already are.”
He released her wrists only to grip her hips with both hands, angling her so he could go even deeper. His thrusts became faster, more punishing, claiming her completely.
“Say it,” he demanded, voice rough with lust. “Say you’re my wife while I’m inside you.”
Asra shook her head, crying harder, but her hips started moving weakly to meet his thrusts. The pleasure was drowning her fear.
“I… I’m… your wife, Sir…” she sobbed.
Ather groaned in satisfaction and fucked her even harder, driving them both toward the edge.
“Good girl.”
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