I was hers, and I suddenly realized that was all I’d ever fucking wanted.
She straddled my thighs without warning, soaking wet and utterly divine, her knees bracketing my hips as she settled just close enough for heat to flare between us, but not close enough for relief.
I reached for her hips, desperate for something. Anything.
She slapped my hands away with a soft smirk.
“No touching,” she said sweetly, dragging her wet hair over one shoulder. Water beaded along her collarbones, trailing down the curves of her breasts and gliding lower, disappearing between her legs where I ached to be buried.
“Kieran…” I groaned, my voice already hoarse, breath scraping in my throat.
She leaned forward, slow and deliberate, until her lips brushed the shell of my ear. Her damp hands flattened to my chest, guiding me to lie back fully.
“You’re going to be good,” she whispered sinfully, “and let me take care of you. You can do that, can’t you, Bash?”
My eyes fluttered closed, and I barely managed to nod. “Yes,” I rasped.
“Good boy.”
Her praise ripped a sound from my throat I didn’t recognize—half-agony, half-prayer.
She started slowly, just barely touching. Ghosting her fingertips down my chest, following the rivulets of water still sliding from my hair and skin. She traced my abs, circled my hips, skimmed my thighs. Never once where I needed her. Always just close enough to make my cock twitch and throb, angry and leaking against my stomach.
I bucked my hips, a silent plea.
She stilled, dragging her nails down my thigh in a featherlight scrape.
“Patience, Bastian.”
I bit down on a moan, my hands fisting in the sheets beside me.
Then her mouth joined the torment. Wet kisses traced a path down my chest, over my ribs. Her tongue flicked at the dip of my navel. Her teeth scraped lightly over the sharp bones of my hips, and I twitched beneath her.
I was shaking by the time she finally gripped me at the base.
“You’re so hard for me,” she murmured, wrapping her wet palm around my cock and stroking so slowly I nearly begged for mercy. “Is this all for me?”
“Yes,” I choked out as my eyes opened, drinking her in. “Creator, yes. All for you, always.”
She slowly rose, one hand wrapped around me as she lined me up with the slick heat between her thighs. My hips jerked at the first brush, breath stalling in my lungs. Inch by inch, she took me into her—tight, wet, and impossibly warm—and mywhole body arched beneath her like it couldn’t resist. I groaned like it had been torn from my soul, fingers clutching the sheets until the fabric bit into my skin.
She gasped softly, her hands flattening over my chest as she settled fully, taking every inch of me.
“Such a good boy,” she whispered, and there was no teasing in it now.
Her praise wrecked me.
No one had ever touched me like this. No one had everwantedme like this—not as an experiment, not as a weapon, not as a monster to be managed or feared.
Only her, and she wanted every broken piece.
I stared up at her, vision blurred with emotion I didn’t have the words for, and whispered hoarsely, “Is this what love is supposed to feel like?”
The heat between us didn’t vanish, but it changed, shifting into something slower and softer. Her hands smoothed over my chest, reverent and sure, and she leaned forward until her forehead rested against mine. The scent of her wrapped around me like a blanket.
Her voice was a breath against my lips. “This is what it feels like to be loved. To be wanted. To be cherished.”
I couldn’t breathe. Not because I was overwhelmed, though I was. Not because her body was wrapped around mine, though it was. But because no one had ever said those words to me before. Not like that. Not with that kind of fierce, unshakable certainty.
