He drives into me, dragging every nerve in my body to the surface. Every thrust makes my breath stutter, makes my fingers curl tighter in the sheets. His grip on my wrists tightens as he watches me squirm beneath him, helpless and wild.
He leans down again, mouth brushing my ear. “You take me so well,” he murmurs.
I whimper in response, arching into him.
Suddenly, he stops.
Before I can ask why, he grabs me by the hips and flips me over onto my stomach. I gasp, the movement dizzying. He pulls me up onto my knees, chest still pressed to the mattress, and slides back inside me from behind.
This new angle has me seeing stars.
“Fuck,” I groan, my voice muffled in the sheets.
He moves with more force now, one hand gripping my waist, the other snaking up to tangle in my hair. He pulls just enough to lift my head.
“I want to hear you when you come,” he says, his voice like gravel and fire. “No more hiding from me.”
My only answer is a sob as he thrusts deeper, harder, angling perfectly to hit that spot inside me that makes my whole body tense.
I can’t think. Can’t breathe. I can only take him.
His rhythm stutters once, then picks back up, slower but even more intense. His hand releases my hair and slides around to cup my breast, fingers teasing the sensitive peak. The sensation sends sparks through me.
“Alaric,” I moan, broken and desperate. “Please.”
He groans low behind me. “Not yet.”
He pulls out of me, turns me over, and lifts me, my legs wrapping around his waist on instinct, arms clinging to his shoulders as he carries me across the room.
The wooden chest of drawers presses cool against my bare thighs as he sets me down. It’s the perfect height. He nudges my legs apart with his hips, spreading me open. My skin prickles from the chill of the surface and the heat pouring off his body.
I grab him by the jaw and kiss him like I’m trying to steal the air from his lungs.
“Fuck me,” I whisper against his mouth, “like I’m your real fucking wife.”
His eyes flare.
He shoves in hard—a deep, brutal stroke that makes me cry out. My legs fly open, wrapping around his hips to hold him there.
“You want to be my wife?” he growls. “Then take all of me. Take everything.”
He fucks me hard, deep, savage. My breasts bounce with every thrust, nipples peaked and aching as his mouth finds one, then the other, sucking until I moan.
“You like being owned, don’t you?” he rasps, voice wrecked. “Like being stuffed full of your husband’s cock.”
“God, yes,” I pant. “I want it. I want you to ruin me.”
He growls low and snaps his hips harder. The dresser creaks. My skin slaps against wood. The sound of our bodies fills the room.
“You’re gonna come on my cock, aren’t you?” he snarls, biting the side of my neck. “Gonna soak me while I fuck you full.”
“Yes,” I gasp. “Make me come. Make me yours.”
“Already fucking are.”
He grabs my ass with both hands, slams me harder onto his cock, filling me to the root. The stretch, the pressure, the burn. It’s everything. My body trembles. My walls clamp down. I dig my nails into his back and scream.
He groans into my skin, his breath hot in my ear. “That’s it. Come all over your husband’s cock.” And with a raw groan, he follows me into release, hips jerking, spilling inside me.
