CHAPTER TWO

Bella

When I didn't say anything, he kissed me roughly. My breath became unsteady as my back pressed against the mattress. His sudden weight pinned me down, making it clear he had no intention of letting me go.

The room felt dark and hot. His body surrounded me, his hands were firm and demanding, and his mouth was rough on my skin. There was no gentleness or hesitation; only urgency and control, as if he decided to take what he wanted before thought could catch up.

My legs locked around him without me realizing when it happened. I gripped his shoulders, my body reacting faster than my mind could keep up. I knew where I was. I knew who he was. I knew what this was.

And I didn’t stop him.

Harry slowly took off my clothes, and I removed his. When I saw his member, I swallowed hard as my clit hardened.

“I will take it slowly,” he said, spreading my legs before thrusting into me. I winced.

He moved slowly at first, and a loud moan escaped my lips.

Then suddenly, once I was comfortable, he moved faster. It was as if he was trying to burn something out of himself. His breath grew heavy, and his grip tightened whenever I made a sound. He never asked if I was ready or if it was too much. He didn’t slow down either. He pressed closer and deeper into my space. His control was physical and precise, as if he needed to feel that I was there, that this was real.

"Quiet," he whispered once, his voice low and deep. His hand slid up to my throat, not squeezing, just holding me there to remind me who was in charge.

I nodded, even though my chest felt tight, even though my body shook under him, even though part of me wanted to pull away while the other part wanted him closer.

I had wanted him for too long to pretend this wasn’t everything.

The bed shifted as he moved, the sheets tangled beneath us while the night stretched on without any sense of time. There was no tenderness, no kisses meant to convey something. There were only mouths, hands, and heat. His focus was on possession, while mine was on surviving the way my body kept responding.

I hated myself for how easily I gave in.

I hated that my body welcomed him, that my thoughts got blurry, that I stopped thinking about tomorrow and only focused on what was happening right now. I knew this had no future, and also definitely knew it would end badly, he would wake up and regret it. Still, I held on and wanted more.

Harry barely spoke. When he did, it was commands, low and sharp. He told me where to put my hands, how to stay still, and when not to move.

This wasn’t love. This was hunger and denial colliding.

Later, when the room cooled and his breathing slowed, I lay beneath him, half-aware. My body still buzzed. My thoughts felt slow and scattered. His arm rested heavily across my waist. His face turned away from me, already distant even in contact.

That was when it happened.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t even welcoming.

It hit me all at once, very deep, like something inside my chest locked into place without asking for permission. My breath caught painfully. My body tensed hard as panic swept through me, sudden and absolute.

I knew.

I didn’t need words or confirmation. The bond snapped into place with a force that stole the air from my lungs. It was demanding, permanent, and terrifying.

Mate.

My heart started racing, fear crashing into me so fast it made my head spin. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t how it was meant to feel.

I turned slightly, my hand lifting instinctively to press against my chest, as if I could push the feeling away.

Harry stirred immediately.

He woke like a predator sensing movement, his body reacting before his mind, his hand tightening around my waist, his breath hitching once as his eyes opened.

For a brief second, instinct pulled him toward me. I felt it, the draw, his body leaning in, his breath brushing my neck.

Then understanding hit him.

He froze.

His hand dropped away from me so fast it felt like rejection in physical form. He sat up abruptly, shifting to the edge of the bed, his back to me, tension radiating off him in quick waves.

“No,” he said quietly, like he was correcting a mistake.

My chest tightened. “Harry..”

“Don’t,” he snapped, turning just enough for me to see his face, his expression hard, controlled, afraid in a way he would never admit. “Don’t say anything.”

The silence between us stretched, very suffocating.

He stood, pulling on his clothes with quick, rough movements, putting distance between us piece by piece, like proximity itself was dangerous.

“This didn’t mean anything,” he said, his voice cold now, deliberate. “You understand that.”

I sat up slowly, the sheets clutched around me, my body still shaking, the bond pulsing painfully through my chest with every breath.

“Yes,” I said, because I knew what he needed to hear.

“You will forget this,” he continued. “You will not speak about it. To anyone.”

He didn’t say the word. He didn’t acknowledge what had happened, what existed between us now whether he wanted it or not.

“And if you think this changes anything,” he added, his gaze sharp and warning, “you’re wrong.”

I nodded. Though, tears welled in my eyes but didn’t cry nor did I argue.

I dressed quietly, my movements careful, controlled, my hands steady even as everything inside me cracked. When I stood, he didn’t even look at me.

I left the room without another word.

The corridor outside was dim and silent, but the moment I stepped into it, I felt the way the air seemed to tighten around me.

I kept walking, my steps even and my face blank. My chest was burning with every pulse of the bond reminding me of what I could not undo.

By the time I reached the far end of the hall, my legs gave out.

I slid down the wall, my breath breaking, my hand pressed hard against my chest as the bond surged again, relentless and unforgiving.