Chapter 2: The Release
His mouth crushed against hers before she could speak, before she could think, before she could do anything but moan into the kiss as his tongue forced its way past her lips. Grace's back hit the bathroom door with a thud that rattled the frame, the doorknob digging into her spine, and she didn't care. She didn't care about the noise, about the party thumping on the other side, about anything except the way Jay's body pressed into hers, hard and unyielding, pinning her in place like she weighed nothing.
His hand found her throat again—not squeezing, not yet, just holding. A warning. A promise.
"You sure about this?" His voice was rough against her ear, breath hot and smelling of cheap whiskey and something minty underneath. "Because once we start, I don't stop."
Grace swallowed against his palm, felt her pulse hammering against his fingers. "I told you what I wanted."
"You told me some of it." He pulled back just enough to look at her, those blue eyes dark and hungry in the flickering fluorescent light. "But I saw your face when I mentioned the cuffs. You've never done that shit before, have you?"
Her silence was answer enough.
Jay's grip tightened—just slightly, just enough to make her gasp. "Thought so. Pretty little goth girl with all the attitude, but underneath you're just scared to ask for what you really need."
"I'm not scared of anything."
"Bullshit." He laughed, low and mean, and the sound went straight to her cunt. "You're scared of how much you want it. Scared of what I'll think when you beg me to hurt you."
Grace's hands came up to push at his chest, but the movement was half-hearted at best. "You don't know me."
"I know enough." He caught her wrists, one in each hand, and pinned them above her head against the door. The position arched her back, pushed her tits against his chest, and she could feel every ridge of muscle through his shirt. "I know you've been watching me all night. I know you bit your lip when I mentioned tying a girl down. I know your panties are soaked right now, and I've barely even touched you yet."
"Fuck you."
"Soon." He released her wrists, but only to grab her hand and pull her away from the door. "But not here. I'm not fucking you where people can hear you scream."
Grace stumbled after him as he yanked her down the hallway, past closed doors and muffled laughter, past a couple making out against the wall who didn't even look up. The house was a maze of dark corners and sticky floors, and she followed Jay through all of it like she was tethered to him, like her body had already decided what her brain was still catching up to.
He pushed open a door at the end of the hall—a spare bedroom, barely furnished. A bed with a bare mattress. A desk with an old lamp. A chair in the corner. And a mirror, full-length, propped against the wall like an afterthought.
The door clicked shut behind them, and the party noise faded to a dull roar.
Jay turned to face her, and for a moment they just stood there, three feet apart, breathing. The room smelled like dust and old wood, and the only light came from a streetlamp outside the window, casting everything in shades of amber and shadow.
"Take off your clothes," he said.
Grace's fingers twitched at her sides. "Make me."
He moved fast—faster than she expected for someone his size. One hand fisted in her hair, yanking her head back, while the other wrapped around her throat again, this time with pressure. Real pressure. Her air cut off just enough to make her head swim, and she felt her knees go weak.
"I said." His face was inches from hers, his voice a low growl. "Take. Off. Your. Fucking. Clothes."
She clawed at her top, pulling it over her head with shaking hands, and the second it was off he shoved her backward. She hit the mattress with an oomph, bouncing once before he was on her, his weight pressing her down into the springs.
"Better," he murmured, and then his hand was on her throat again—not squeezing, just holding her there while he looked at her. Really looked. Her black lace bra, the tattoos curling up her ribs and over her shoulder, the fishnets clinging to her thighs.
"You're gonna do exactly what I say," he told her. "You're gonna take everything I give you, and you're not gonna complain. You understand?"
"Yes."
"Yes what?"
Grace's jaw clenched. "Yes, sir."
Something flickered in his eyes—surprise, maybe, or hunger. "Good girl."
He flipped her onto her stomach before she could react, one hand pressing between her shoulder blades while the other reached into his pocket. The sound of metal clinking made her heart stutter, and then she felt it—cold steel against her wrists as he pulled her arms behind her back.
"Wait—"
"Shut up." He clicked the first cuff into place, then the second, and Grace gasped as the restraints locked tight. Her shoulders strained, her tits pressed into the mattress, and she couldn't move. Couldn't do anything but lie there, vulnerable and exposed, while Jay settled his weight behind her.
"How's that feel?" he asked, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "Arms getting tired yet?"
"Fuck you."
"That's not what I asked." His hand came down on her ass without warning—a sharp crack that made her yelp and buck against the cuffs. "I asked how it feels."
"Like I want to kill you."
"Liar." Another slap, harder this time, and Grace bit down on the mattress to keep from screaming. "Your cunt's so wet I can smell it. You love this."
She did. God help her, she did. The sting of his hand, the bite of the cuffs, the way he had her completely at his mercy—it was everything she'd ever fantasized about and never had the guts to ask for.
Jay's hand smoothed over the spot he'd just hit, soothing the sting for just a moment before he pulled back and slapped her again. And again. And again, until her ass was burning and she was crying—not sad tears, not scared tears, but the kind that came from somewhere deep and primal, somewhere she hadn't known existed.
"That's it," he said, his voice low and rough. "Cry for me. I want to see those pretty tears."
She heard him shift behind her, felt him reach for something. When she turned her head, she saw him pull out his phone.
"Wanna see something?" He swiped the screen, tapped a few times, and then held it up where she could see. "This is the last girl I had like this. Cute little blonde cheerleader. Kept her for a whole weekend."
The video started playing, and Grace's breath caught in her throat.
The girl on the screen was tiny—maybe five feet, maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet. Her wrists were cuffed just like Grace's, her blonde pigtails wrapped around Jay's fist as he pounded into her from behind. She was screaming, sobbing, her face a mess of tears and smeared makeup, and she was loving every second of it.
"Look at her," Jay murmured, and Grace could hear him undoing his jeans. "Look at how good she takes it. You think you can take it like that?"
The girl on the screen came with a shriek, her whole body shuddering, and Jay didn't stop. He kept going, kept fucking her through it, kept using her until she was limp and whimpering beneath him.
"That's gonna be you," he said, and dropped the phone onto the bed beside her. "Except I'm gonna make you scream louder."
Grace barely had time to process before she felt his hands on her tights—grabbing, pulling, tearing. The fishnets ripped open with a sound that made her gasp, exposing her bare skin and the soaked scrap of black lace between her legs.
"These are ruined," Jay said, and she could hear the satisfaction in his voice. "Too bad."
He hooked his fingers into her panties and yanked. The fabric tore away like paper, and then there was nothing between them—nothing but skin and heat and the overwhelming need to feel him inside her.
"Please," she heard herself say. "Please, Jay—"
"Please what?"
"Please fuck me."
He didn't answer with words. He answered with his cock, sliding into her in one brutal thrust that made her scream into the mattress. She was so wet, so ready, but he was thick and she hadn't been stretched like this in months.
"Shit," he groaned, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. "You're so fucking tight. This cunt's been waiting for me, hasn't it?"
"Yes—"
"Say it. Say this pussy's mine."
"It's yours." The words came out broken, desperate. "It's yours, please, just—move—"
He did. He pulled out almost all the way and slammed back in, and Grace saw stars. The angle was perfect, hitting something deep inside her that made her whole body jolt, and she couldn't stop the sounds spilling out of her—moans and whimpers, filthy words she didn't remember learning.
Jay fucked her like he hated her. Like he wanted to break her. Every thrust was brutal, punishing, driving her further into the mattress until she could barely breathe. The cuffs bit into her wrists, her ass stung from his earlier slaps, and she loved it. Loved every second of it.
"Look at you," he grunted, his rhythm faltering as he got close. "Damn. Look at you in that mirror."
She hadn't noticed the angle before—hadn't realized that from this position, she could see both of them reflected in the glass across the room. Jay's muscular body looming over her, his face twisted in concentration. Her own wrecked expression, mascara running down her cheeks, hair a tangled mess.
"You see that?" He grabbed her hair again, yanking her head up so she couldn't look away. "That's what you look like when you take my cock. That's what you look like when you're mine."
"Jay—"
"I'm gonna come inside you." It wasn't a question. "You want that? You want me to fill you up?"
"Yes, fuck, yes—"
His hips stuttered, his grip tightened, and then he was coming with a groan that sounded like it was ripped from somewhere deep in his chest. Grace felt it—felt the heat spreading through her, felt the way his cock twitched and pulsed as he emptied himself inside her.
And then, before she could catch her breath, his hand slipped between her legs and found her clit.
"Come for me," he ordered. "Right now. I want to feel it."
The pressure was too much, the sensation too intense. She shattered almost immediately, her cunt clenching around his softening cock, her whole body shaking as waves of pleasure crashed through her.
When it was over, she collapsed into the mattress, boneless and trembling. Jay pulled out slowly, and she felt his come trickling down her thigh, warm and slick.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. The only sounds were their breathing and the muffled thump of the party still going on somewhere down the hall.
Then Jay's hand found the key to the cuffs, and she heard the click of the locks releasing.
"Don't move yet," he said, and his voice was different now. Softer. He rubbed her wrists where the metal had bit in, working the circulation back into her fingers. "Just breathe."
Grace did. She lay there, face down on the dirty mattress, and breathed. Her body was humming, every nerve ending singing, and she felt something she hadn't felt in a long time.
Safe.
It didn't make sense. Nothing about what they'd just done was safe. But lying there with Jay's hands gently massaging her wrists, his body warm beside her on the bed, she felt something she couldn't name.
"Hey." He touched her shoulder, rolled her onto her side so he could see her face. "You okay?"
"Yeah." Her voice was hoarse. "I'm okay."
He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes searching. "That was intense."
"Was it?" She managed a smile. "I couldn't tell."
He laughed—a real laugh, not the mean one from before. "You're something else, you know that?"
"So I've been told."
He reached up and brushed a strand of hair from her face, and the gesture was so tender, so unexpected, that Grace felt her throat tighten.
"Give me your phone," he said.
"Why?"
"Because I want to see you again." He held out his hand. "And because I'm not done with you yet."
Grace stared at him, her heart pounding. She'd heard that before. Heard it from guys who never called, guys who disappeared the next morning, guys who wanted nothing but a warm body for one night.
But something about the way Jay looked at her made her believe him.
She gave him her phone.
He took it from her hand, his fingers brushing hers, and started typing. His number. A new contact. Then he flipped the camera around and pulled her against his chest, one arm wrapped around her throat from behind—not squeezing, just holding her there.
"Smile," he said.
She didn't. She just stared at the lens, mascara smeared, lips swollen, looking like she'd been through a war and won. He snapped the picture anyway, then turned the phone to show her. His face was half in shadow, his jaw sharp, his eyes dark and satisfied. She looked wrecked beneath him.
"Perfect," he said, and saved it to her contacts under his name.
He tossed the phone onto the mattress and stood. Grace watched him tuck his cock back into his jeans, zip up, run a hand through his hair like he hadn't just fucked her brains out against a stranger's bed. She was still lying there, cuffs off but wrists aching, her body a map of everything he'd done to her.
Then his hands were on her—gripping her arms, hauling her up off the mattress like she weighed nothing. She stumbled, her legs barely working, and before she could find her balance he dropped her.
Her knees hit the floor hard. The impact shot pain up through her thighs, and she gasped, her hands flying out to catch herself on the dirty carpet.
"Stay there," Jay said, and she heard the click of a phone camera.
She looked up. He was standing over her, his phone pointed down, capturing every angle of her ruined state. The torn fishnets. The come drying on her inner thigh. The black tears tracking down her cheeks. The way her tits nearly spilled out of her bra.
"Fucking beautiful," he murmured, and took another picture.
Grace should have felt humiliated. She should have felt used, discarded, like something he was documenting for later, for bragging rights, for whatever sick collection he kept on his phone.
Instead, she felt powerful. He wanted to remember this. He wanted proof.
"Done?" she asked, her voice hoarse.
"For now." He pocketed his phone and reached down, offering her his hand. She took it, and he pulled her to her feet with the same effortless strength he'd used to throw her around.
Her legs were shaking. He noticed. Of course he noticed—his arm looped around her waist, steadying her, and for a moment they just stood there, her body pressed against his, her breath still ragged.
"Where's your top?" he asked.
She pointed vaguely toward the door. He retrieved it, helped her pull it over her head, smoothed the lace down over her shoulders like he'd done it a hundred times. Then he found her skirt, her ripped panties.
"These are trash," he said, holding up what was left of the lace.
"I know."
He stuffed them in his pocket anyway. A trophy. She didn't ask why.
He helped her step into her skirt, zipped it up, adjusted the waistband. His hands were gentle now, careful, like she was something fragile. The shift was jarring, and she didn't know what to do with it.
"You good to walk?" he asked.
"I think so."
"Good." He pulled out his phone—not the one he'd used for pictures, a different one—and typed something quick. "I'm gonna get you home."
"You don't have to do that."
"I know I don't." He looked at her, and there was something in his expression she couldn't read. "I want to."
Grace didn't argue. She didn't have the energy.
They slipped out through a back door, past a couple smoking on the porch who didn't even look up, down a set of rickety stairs to a gravel driveway. His car was parked at the end—a black Jeep, clean, expensive-looking. He opened the passenger door for her and waited while she climbed in.
The drive to her dorm was quiet. Not awkward, just... quiet. The radio played low, some indie station she didn't recognize, and Grace leaned her head against the window and watched the streetlights blur past.
When he pulled up outside her building, he killed the engine and turned to face her.
"Can I see you again?" he asked.
"You already put your number in my phone."
"That's not what I asked."
She looked at him. In the dim light of the car, he looked younger somehow. Less intimidating. Just a guy who'd fucked her senseless and was now asking for permission to do it again.
"Yeah," she said. "You can see me again."
He smiled—a real smile, not the sharp one from before. Then he leaned across the console and kissed her. Hard. Rough. His hand fisted in her hair, tilting her head back, and his tongue slid against hers like he was trying to memorize the taste.
When he pulled back, she was breathless, her heart hammering, her lips tingling.
"Goodnight, Grace."
"Goodnight, Jay."
She got out of the car. Her legs still weren't working right, and she had to grip the doorframe to steady herself. She felt his eyes on her the whole way to the building, and when she finally turned around at the entrance, he was still there, watching.
He waved. She waved back. Then he pulled away, and she was alone.
The walk to her dorm room was agony. Every step sent a dull ache through her body, a reminder of what he'd done to her, what she'd let him do. Her ass was sore from his hand. Her wrists were raw from the cuffs. Her cunt was still slick with his come, and she could feel it drying on her thighs.
She didn't regret a single second of it.
Her dorm was empty when she got there. She stripped off her ruined clothes, stuffed them in the trash, and stood in front of the mirror. The girl looking back at her was barely recognizable. Smudged makeup. Wild hair. A bruise forming on her hip where he'd gripped her too hard.
She should have been horrified.
She wasn't.
She pulled on an oversized t-shirt and crawled into bed. Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, and she grabbed it, her heart leaping.
A text from Jay. Just a picture—the selfie he'd taken earlier, his face half in shadow, his eyes dark and intense. Underneath, a single word: Mine.
Grace stared at the screen for a long time. Then she saved the picture to her favorites and set the phone down.
She was still staring at the ceiling when the door opened an hour later. Chloe stumbled in, giggling, her lipstick smeared and her hair a disaster.
"Oh my god, Grace, you will not believe—" She stopped mid-sentence, her eyes going wide. "What the fuck happened to you?"
Grace propped herself up on her elbows. "What do you mean?"
"Your neck. Your wrists. You look like you got into a fight and lost." Chloe crossed the room and grabbed her arm, turning it over. "Are those bruises?"
Grace pulled her arm back. "They're not bruises. They're... marks."
"Marks?" Chloe's voice went up an octave. "From what?"
Grace hesitated. Then she told her.
She told her about Jay, about the party, about the little bathroom and the bedroom down the hall. She told her about the cuffs and the spanking and the way he'd fucked her from behind while she watched herself in the mirror. She told her about the pictures, the selfie, the text that just said Mine.
When she was done, Chloe was staring at her like she'd grown a second head.
"You let him do that to you?" Chloe whispered. "You just... let some guy you barely know tie you up and beat you?"
"He didn't beat me."
"His handprints are on your ass, Grace. I can see them through your shirt."
Grace pulled the blanket up to her chin. "It's not a big deal."
"Not a big deal?" Chloe sat down on the edge of the bed, her face pale. "Grace, that's assault. That's—"
"It's what I wanted." The words came out sharper than she intended. "I asked for it. I wanted it."
Chloe shook her head slowly. "You don't know what you want. You're just confused, and he took advantage of that."
"He didn't take advantage of anything."
"Promise me you won't talk to him again." Chloe grabbed her hand, her grip urgent. "Promise me, Grace. That guy is bad news. I've heard things about him. He's dangerous."
Grace looked at her friend—at the concern in her eyes, the fear, the genuine worry. She knew Chloe meant well. She knew Chloe was just trying to protect her.
But Chloe didn't understand. She didn't understand what it felt like to be wanted like that, to be desired so completely that someone couldn't control themselves around you. She didn't understand what it felt like to let go, to give someone else the reins, to trust them not to hurt you even when they were hurting you.
She didn't understand that it was the best sex of Grace's life.
"Fine," Grace said. "I won't talk to him again."
Chloe exhaled, relief flooding her face. "Thank you. I'm just looking out for you, you know?"
"I know."
Chloe squeezed her hand, then stood up and started getting ready for bed. She chattered on about Marcus, about the chair in the garden, about how he'd made her come twice before she'd even touched his cock.
Grace nodded along, making appropriate sounds, but her mind was elsewhere.
Her phone buzzed again. She glanced down.
Another text from Jay. This time, just a question: When can I see you again?
She stared at the screen, her thumb hovering over the keyboard. .