I don’t know where I end and he begins. My body’s already broken open, sweat slick down my chest, thighs trembling, throat raw from screaming. But Dax doesn’t slow. He doesn’t stop. He fucks me like he’s trying to erase every version of me that existed before him.
His cock drives so deep I swear I can feel him in my lungs. My nails claw down his back, leaving bloodied lines he doesn’t flinch from, his teeth sinking into my throat like he’s marking prey.
“Don’t look away,” he growls, forcing my chin up with his blood-slick fingers, shoving them into my mouth until I gag around them. “You look at me while I own you.”
Tears sting my eyes, my jaw aching as he fists deeper. The taste of salt, sweat, iron coats my tongue.
“Good little Butterfly,” he hisses. “Choke on it. Choke on me.”
My body convulses, another wave tearing through me, violent and humiliating. My cunt clenches around him so hard he snarls into my neck, his thrusts punishing, savage, grinding me further into the sheets.
“You feel that?” he spits, pulling his fingers free to smear my spit across my cheek. “That’s mine. Every twitch. Every sob. Every orgasm—mine. You don’t come without me. You don’t fucking breathe without me.”
I whimper, broken, wrecked. My hips try to buck against him, greedy even in my ruin.
He slams me flat, pressing me into the mattress with his weight until I can’t move, can’t think, can only take. His cock pistons into me mercilessly, dragging cries out of my throat I don’t recognise as mine.
“You’ll cum again,” he snarls, hand gripping my jaw so hard my bones ache. “Not because you want to. Because I fucking told you to.”
And God help me—I do. My body obeys him, betrays me, another brutal climax ripping me open as his cock splits me deeper. My scream chokes into a sob, my eyes rolling back as he grinds through my orgasm, forcing me to feel every inch of him.
When he finally pulls out, I collapse, trembling, ruined. Relief doesn’t come. Because he fists his cock, hard and slick, and shoves my thighs apart again.
“Open your mouth, Butterfly.” His voice is ragged, feral. “You’re not done until I say you’re done.”
I obey. Broken. Helpless. His.
And when the heat of him floods my tongue, spilling down my throat, his filthy growl burns through me, a brand on my soul:
“You’ll swallow every drop. Because you’re mine. My whore. My Butterfly.”
The air is thick.
Sweat. Musk. Him. Me. Us.
My body’s shaking, wrung out, every nerve still strung tight like the echo of his voice is tattooed beneath my skin. I can’t move. I don’t want to. Not when he’s still inside me, heavy and hot, pinning me down like his cock is the only thing keeping me tethered to this earth.
Dax doesn’t soften in his eyes. Not even now.
Not even when he drags his mouth across my damp cheek, tasting the salt of my tears like he earned them.
“You cry so fucking pretty for me,” he mutters, his breath scorching my ear. His hand slides down my throat, not squeezing, not yet—just resting there like a claim. “And you’re still mine when it’s over. Especially when it’s over.”
I gasp, my body clenching around him. He feels it. Of course he does. His smirk cuts sharp against my skin.
“That’s right, Butterfly,” he whispers, grinding deeper, so slow I choke on the aftershock. “Even your cunt knows who it belongs to. Still gripping me like you don’t want me to leave. Like you’d break if I did.”
“I would,” I whisper, the confession ripped raw from my chest before I can swallow it.
His hand tightens at my throat, just a fraction, just enough for me to feel my pulse hammering against his palm. “Say that again.”
“I’d break,” I choke, tears spilling hot again. “If you left me, I’d break.”
He exhales like it’s a victory. Like I’ve just given him something sacred. His lips brush mine, filthy and reverent all at once. “Good. Because you’re supposed to. You’re supposed to break for me. Every time. Forever.”
My nails dig into his arms, weak, shaking, but clinging anyway. He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t give me space. He stays buried, keeps me open, keeps me filled like he’s afraid I’ll forget what he’s done to me if he lets me go.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, dragging his thumb across my swollen lower lip. “Fucked wide open, dripping, ruined. And you’re still here. Still mine.”
