His Private Hell - Chapter 83: Chapter 83
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She didn’t know what time it was. Didn’t care.
All she knew was the echo of Garrison’s breath as it brushed her skin, the sound of his belt unbuckling like a sentence. The soft click of it slithering through his trousers was enough to send a tremor down her spine. Her wrists ached where he’d pinned them above her head, but she didn’t resist. She didn’t want to.
Because this wasn’t just sex.
This was surrender.
“You make me sick,” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “And I can’t stop.”
She could taste the poison of his obsession in every kiss, feel the crack in his control with every grip of her thigh. He was no longer the cold, distant tyrant of Ally’s Inc. He was something else—something wild, unhinged. Burning from the inside out.
And she had lit the match.
“Beg,” he snarled, trailing his belt down her inner thigh, a dangerous line of heat. “Beg me to ruin you.”
Her breath hitched. “I want it,” she whispered.
“Louder.”
“I want it,” she repeated, louder this time, her voice ragged. “I want you to break me.”
And he did.
The first lash of the leather belt wasn’t cruel. It was a promise. A caress edged with violence. She arched into it, her mind splintering between pain and pleasure, between terror and desperate want.
He licked the welt he left behind. “That’s mine now.”
She nodded, tears stinging the corners of her eyes.
“Say it.”
“I’m yours.”
“No,” he growled. “Say what I took.”
“My pain,” she whispered. “It’s yours.”
“And your pleasure?”
She hesitated.
Another slap. This one made her gasp.
“That too,” she choked. “It’s yours.”
He dropped the belt and ripped the last of her clothes off like they offended him. “Every part of you,” he said, voice dark as the room around them, “belongs to my hell now.”
And hell had never felt so good.
He didn’t kiss her sweetly. He bit. He devoured. Her throat. Her breasts. The place between her thighs that made her cry out in a voice she didn’t recognize. When he finally entered her, it was brutal and raw, the kind of thrust that made her body seize around him like he was a curse she couldn’t expel.
She wanted to die there. And she wanted to live forever in it.
He buried his face in her neck and groaned like it hurt, like her body was penance.
“I see her,” he growled against her collarbone. “Every time. Every time I fuck you, I see her.”
“Darcie,” she breathed.
His thrusts stilled. Then resumed, harder.
“She died on that floor, Eella. My fault. You don’t get it—I can’t fucking breathe without remembering how cold she was. And then you come in, and you smile like the world isn’t a graveyard.”
She wrapped her legs around him. “Then bury me in it.”
Something in him snapped.
He flipped her over and took her from behind, his fingers digging into her hips like anchors. Every thrust was a confession. Every slap of skin, a scream. Until the tension broke—until she shattered around him, eyes rolling back, nails digging into the mattress like it was her last lifeline.
He came with a roar, collapsing onto her back, his sweat mixing with hers.
They stayed like that for minutes. Hours. Eternities.
Until she turned her head slightly and whispered, “What really happened on the 33rd floor?”
He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
Then slowly, he pulled out, stood up, and disappeared into the shadows of her apartment.
She wrapped the sheets around herself and followed him.
He was standing in front of her mirror, still naked, his eyes hollow.
“You want the truth?”
She nodded.
He smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes.
“She didn’t fall. I pushed her.”
The silence shattered around them.
Eella’s breath caught in her throat. “What?”
“She was going to sell me out. Everything. The offshore accounts. The experiments. The employees who vanished. She found out too much.” His voice was void of remorse. “So I told her to stop. She said no. So I made her.”
“And the footage?”
“Gone. Scrubbed. I paid half a million for silence and blood.”
She felt like she was going to vomit.
He turned to her. “And you know what’s worse?”
She shook her head, tears slipping down her cheeks.
“I don’t regret it,” he said. “Not a single fucking second.”
“Why are you telling me this?” she whispered.
He stepped toward her. “Because if you stay, it makes you mine. And if you run, I’ll break you before you get a chance to scream.”
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.
His fingers brushed her jaw. “So what’s it going to be, Eella?”
Her lips trembled.
And she answered the only way she could.
She kissed him.
Like she was falling.
Like she didn’t care where they landed.
All she knew was the echo of Garrison’s breath as it brushed her skin, the sound of his belt unbuckling like a sentence. The soft click of it slithering through his trousers was enough to send a tremor down her spine. Her wrists ached where he’d pinned them above her head, but she didn’t resist. She didn’t want to.
Because this wasn’t just sex.
This was surrender.
“You make me sick,” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “And I can’t stop.”
She could taste the poison of his obsession in every kiss, feel the crack in his control with every grip of her thigh. He was no longer the cold, distant tyrant of Ally’s Inc. He was something else—something wild, unhinged. Burning from the inside out.
And she had lit the match.
“Beg,” he snarled, trailing his belt down her inner thigh, a dangerous line of heat. “Beg me to ruin you.”
Her breath hitched. “I want it,” she whispered.
“Louder.”
“I want it,” she repeated, louder this time, her voice ragged. “I want you to break me.”
And he did.
The first lash of the leather belt wasn’t cruel. It was a promise. A caress edged with violence. She arched into it, her mind splintering between pain and pleasure, between terror and desperate want.
He licked the welt he left behind. “That’s mine now.”
She nodded, tears stinging the corners of her eyes.
“Say it.”
“I’m yours.”
“No,” he growled. “Say what I took.”
“My pain,” she whispered. “It’s yours.”
“And your pleasure?”
She hesitated.
Another slap. This one made her gasp.
“That too,” she choked. “It’s yours.”
He dropped the belt and ripped the last of her clothes off like they offended him. “Every part of you,” he said, voice dark as the room around them, “belongs to my hell now.”
And hell had never felt so good.
He didn’t kiss her sweetly. He bit. He devoured. Her throat. Her breasts. The place between her thighs that made her cry out in a voice she didn’t recognize. When he finally entered her, it was brutal and raw, the kind of thrust that made her body seize around him like he was a curse she couldn’t expel.
She wanted to die there. And she wanted to live forever in it.
He buried his face in her neck and groaned like it hurt, like her body was penance.
“I see her,” he growled against her collarbone. “Every time. Every time I fuck you, I see her.”
“Darcie,” she breathed.
His thrusts stilled. Then resumed, harder.
“She died on that floor, Eella. My fault. You don’t get it—I can’t fucking breathe without remembering how cold she was. And then you come in, and you smile like the world isn’t a graveyard.”
She wrapped her legs around him. “Then bury me in it.”
Something in him snapped.
He flipped her over and took her from behind, his fingers digging into her hips like anchors. Every thrust was a confession. Every slap of skin, a scream. Until the tension broke—until she shattered around him, eyes rolling back, nails digging into the mattress like it was her last lifeline.
He came with a roar, collapsing onto her back, his sweat mixing with hers.
They stayed like that for minutes. Hours. Eternities.
Until she turned her head slightly and whispered, “What really happened on the 33rd floor?”
He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
Then slowly, he pulled out, stood up, and disappeared into the shadows of her apartment.
She wrapped the sheets around herself and followed him.
He was standing in front of her mirror, still naked, his eyes hollow.
“You want the truth?”
She nodded.
He smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes.
“She didn’t fall. I pushed her.”
The silence shattered around them.
Eella’s breath caught in her throat. “What?”
“She was going to sell me out. Everything. The offshore accounts. The experiments. The employees who vanished. She found out too much.” His voice was void of remorse. “So I told her to stop. She said no. So I made her.”
“And the footage?”
“Gone. Scrubbed. I paid half a million for silence and blood.”
She felt like she was going to vomit.
He turned to her. “And you know what’s worse?”
She shook her head, tears slipping down her cheeks.
“I don’t regret it,” he said. “Not a single fucking second.”
“Why are you telling me this?” she whispered.
He stepped toward her. “Because if you stay, it makes you mine. And if you run, I’ll break you before you get a chance to scream.”
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.
His fingers brushed her jaw. “So what’s it going to be, Eella?”
Her lips trembled.
And she answered the only way she could.
She kissed him.
Like she was falling.
Like she didn’t care where they landed.
End of His Private Hell Chapter 83. Continue reading Chapter 84 or return to His Private Hell book page.