Chapter 9: Re-claiming
The hum of the ceiling fan in Trey’s room was a distant, rhythmic thrum, a sound that seemed to vibrate in Yumi’s bones. She stood in the hallway, just outside the master suite door, which was cracked open a sliver. From within, the heavier, more insistent sound of shower water hitting tile called to her like a siren song.
Her heart was a frantic bird against her ribs. Rex was still down at the clubhouse, laughing over a hand of poker. She had come upstairs alone, telling herself she needed to lie down. But her feet had carried her here, to this forbidden threshold.
The scent that wafted out was unmistakably him: that mix of expensive sandalwood soap, clean sweat, and the raw, masculine scent of Trey himself. It was the same scent that had wrapped around her on the pool table, that had filled her lungs as he’d taken her from behind. Her mouth watered. A slow, aching throb began deep in her belly, pulsing in time with the shower spray.
She couldn’t help herself. It was a physical compulsion. She nudged the door open wider, the hinges silent on well-oiled pins.
The room was vast, dominated by a heavy oak bed. It was neat, military-tidy, a stark contrast to Rex’s chaotic domain. Her eyes were drawn to the open bathroom door. Steam curled out, clouding the edges of the large, floor-to-ceiling mirror. Through the fog, she could see the vague, powerful shape of him moving behind the frosted glass of the shower stall.
Her breath hitched. She took one step inside, then another, moving as if in a dream. The plush carpet swallowed the sound of her footsteps. She stopped just inside the bathroom, the humid air clinging to her skin. The glass was fogged, but not completely. She could see the definition of his shoulders, the dip of his waist, the solid thrust of his ass as he turned under the water. His head was thrown back, water sluicing down his chest.
A heat, sudden and intense, bloomed between her legs. She was wet, instantly. Her hand drifted down, pressing against the denim of her jeans. The pressure was delicious, but it wasn’t enough. She needed to see. She needed to remember.
She closed her eyes. In the darkness, the memory was crystalline: his hands, bigger and rougher than Rex’s, gripping her hips. The feel of his cock, thicker, stretching her in a way that made her see stars. The commanding grunt in her ear. Her fingers fumbled with the button of her jeans, slipped inside her panties. She was slick, so slick. She traced her own folds, her touch feather-light, imagining it was his. A soft whimper escaped her lips as she found her clit, circling it with a trembling finger. In her mind, it was his thumb, calloused and demanding.
She was so lost in the fantasy—the memory of him slamming into her, claiming her—that she didn’t hear the shower stop. She didn’t see the silhouette on the other side of the glass become sharp, clear.
The shower door slid open with a violent screech.
Yumi’s eyes snapped open. Trey stood there, water dripping from his body, utterly naked and utterly still. His gaze pinned her where she stood, her hand still tucked inside her jeans. There was no surprise on his face. Only a dark, predatory understanding.
She froze, mortification icing her veins.
He didn’t speak. He simply stepped out of the shower, leaving wet prints on the black marble. He walked toward her, and the air seemed to thin. She tried to back up, but her feet were rooted. He reached her in two strides.
His hands came up, not to caress, but to destroy. He grabbed the collar of her t-shirt and ripped it downward in one brutal motion. The fabric gave way with a sickening tear. He did the same to her jeans, the denim tearing at the seams under his sheer strength. He shredded her clothes from her body until she stood shivering and exposed before him, her panties hanging in torn ribbons from one wrist.
He looked her up and down, his jaw tight. “You little slut,” he growled, the words rough and low. “I tried to leave you alone. Tried to let you be my son’s good little girl.”
He closed the final distance, his wet, heated skin pressing against hers. He smelled of soap and primal male. His erection, thick and already fully hard, pressed against her lower belly.
“But you walked right into the lion’s den,” he rasped, his breath hot against her ear. One powerful arm hooked behind her knees, the other around her back. He lifted her as if she weighed nothing.
She gasped, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. He carried her into the shower stall, not gently. He slammed the door shut with his elbow and turned the water back on, a blast of warm spray drenching them both.
He pressed her against the cold, slick tile wall, her feet dangling. He didn’t kiss her. He didn’t fondle her. He positioned the broad, swollen head of his cock at her entrance, already glistening with her arousal.
“You miss this?” he demanded, his voice a raw scrape against her soul.
She couldn’t form words. She could only nod, her eyes wide and terrified and hungry.
He drove into her with one brutal, unyielding thrust.
The fullness was shocking, a beautiful, burning stretch that stole her breath. She cried out, a sharp, broken sound lost in the spray. He was so much thicker than Rex, filling her completely, hitting a deep, secret place that Rex never could. He fucked her with immediate, punishing intensity, each thrust slamming her body into the tile. The water cascaded over them, mingling with the sweat already beading on his shoulders.
“Say it,” he grunted, his hands like vises on her ass, controlling every inch of her movement. “Say you missed my cock.”
“I—I missed it,” she sobbed, the pleasure already coiling, tight and urgent, in her core.
“Missed what?”
“Your cock!” she screamed, her nails digging into the hard muscle of his back.
“Tell me why.” He pistoned into her, the angle perfect, each stroke rubbing directly over her clit. “Tell me why you need it.”
She was babbling, losing herself in the sensation. “It’s bigger—it fills me—I can’t—oh God—”
He snarled, a sound of pure triumph. “You need it because it ruins you for anything else. This cunt belongs to me now. You know it.”
She did know it. The truth of it was in the way her body clenched around him, greedily, trying to pull him deeper. The coil snapped. Her orgasm ripped through her with a violence that stunned her, a white-hot detonation that made her back arch and a gush of liquid heat release from her, mixing with the shower stream. She screamed, her vision tunneling.
Trey didn’t slow. He fucked her through it, his pace relentless. “That’s it,” he panted, watching her face contort in ecstasy. “Squirt all over my dick, you hungry bitch. Show me how much you needed it.”
He kept pounding into her, his own climax building. He pulled her from the wall, turned her roughly, and bent her over, his hands pressing her face against the tile. He re-entered her from behind, deeper now, his balls slapping against her wet skin. The change in angle made her see stars again. She was limp, utterly spent, yet still her body responded, a second, smaller wave of pleasure trembling through her as he finally swore, a guttural “Fuck!”, and emptied himself inside her in hot, pulsing jets.
For a long moment, the only sounds were their ragged breaths and the pounding water. He stayed buried within her, his weight heavy on her back. Slowly, he pulled out. She slumped against the wall, weak-kneed and trembling.
He turned her around. His eyes were dark, fathomless pools of satisfied possession. He cupped her face, his thumb stroking over her bruised lips.
“You’re not just his,” he stated, his voice calm now, definitive. “You’re ours. You understand? You need this. You’ll always need this.”