Chapter 7: The First “No”

His knees shoved my thighs apart with brutal ease, the thin mattress dipping under his weight as the blunt head of his cock nudged past my slick folds and started to push inside. I bucked hard, palms slamming against the solid wall of his chest, nails scraping skin that didn’t yield. “Javier—no!” The word tore out raw, cracking on the second syllable. My hips twisted sideways, trying to dislodge him, but he simply shifted his grip, one massive hand locking both my wrists above my head while the other pinned my hip flat. The mosquito net brushed my face like a veil I couldn’t tear away, the faint hum of a lone insect somewhere in the rafters mixing with the low roar of the ocean outside.

Panic clawed up my throat. This wasn’t happening. Not after the way I’d ridden him minutes ago, moaning his name like I meant it. “Please—get off me, I changed my mind, I swear I changed my mind!” I slapped at his shoulder, the sound sharp and useless against muscle hardened by years behind that bar. He didn’t flinch. Instead his free hand slid down between us, fingers rough and insistent as they parted my lips and plunged two thick digits straight into my soaked heat. The stretch burned for half a second, then my body—still tender and dripping from the orgasms he’d already forced out of me—betrayed me with a fresh gush of wetness that coated his knuckles.

“Shh, cariño,” he murmured against my ear, voice low and almost gentle, the Spanish wrapping around the English like smoke. “You feel too good to stop now. Mira cómo te mojas para mí.” His fingers curled hard, stroking that spot inside that made my vision spark white. I sobbed, legs kicking uselessly against the mattress, heels drumming the sheet. Tears slipped from the corners of my eyes and slid into my hair. Every push of his hand made an obscene wet sound that filled the bungalow, louder than the fan spinning lazily overhead, louder than my own broken pleas.

He pulled his fingers free with a slick pop and lined himself up again. This time there was no slow sink. He drove forward in one long, bare thrust, burying himself to the hilt. The sudden fullness punched the air from my lungs. I felt every thick inch stretching me open, the head nudging so deep it pressed against something tender and unprotected inside. My walls fluttered helplessly around him, squeezing even as my mind screamed no. “Stop—oh God, please stop, you’re not wearing anything—”