“You!” I sob, broken, clinging. “It’s yours, Dax—it’s only ever been yours.”
His laugh is jagged, dangerous. His hand grips my throat, thumb pressing the necklace into my skin as his thrusts grow harsher, faster, pounding me against the rail until sparks shoot behind my eyes.
“You hear that?” he snarls. “That’s the sound of you breaking for me. That’s the sound of every man who looks at you knowing you’re already fucked full and ruined.”
My body convulses, heat tearing me apart from the inside out. The world vanishes—there’s only his cock, his breath, his voice commanding me to give him everything.
“Cum on my cock,” he orders, low and lethal. “Do it now, Butterfly.”
My scream rips the night open as my body bows against his, orgasm tearing through me violent and endless. My cunt clamps down, milking him, and his roar shakes the air as he slams deep and spills hot inside me, grinding until I feel every drop.
He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t move. Just holds me there, pinned against the rail, necklace glinting between us, his breath ragged, his forehead pressed to mine.
“You’ll never run again,” he whispers, filthy and reverent all at once. “Not while I’m still breathing.”
His cock is still buried in me when the tremors hit, little aftershocks that make my thighs shake and my nails drag down his back. I can feel him everywhere—inside, over me, stamped into me like bruises I’ll never be able to hide.
He doesn’t move. Not yet. Just grinds once, slow and punishing, making me whimper. The necklace cuts into my throat, his hand tightening on it until my breath hitches.
“Look at you,” he mutters, voice wrecked, teeth scraping my jaw. “Fucked open on a bridge with my cum dripping inside you. And you’d still beg for more, wouldn’t you?”
My lips tremble, but the word slips out anyway. “Yes.”
His laugh is low, sharp, dangerous. He pulls out only halfway, then slams back in hard, making me jolt, making the rail bite into my spine. “Good girl. My greedy little butterfly. Never enough, never clean. Always mine.”
I shiver, my body betraying me, clenching around him like I’m begging him to keep me full forever.
He dips his head lower, biting the sweat-slick hollow of my throat, then dragging his tongue up until he’s at my ear. “Tell me how it feels,” he demands.
My voice cracks, tears sliding down my face. “Like you own me.”
He growls, hips jerking sharp, brutal. “I do.”
The bridge groans with the rhythm of us, the night carrying the filthy slap of our bodies, the wet sounds of me giving him everything. His fingers smear my tears, but not gently—like he’s marking me with them.
“You’ll wear this necklace until you die,” he rasps, grinding deep, the metal chain tight in his fist against my throat. “And when people ask, you’ll smile like it’s pretty. But you’ll know. You’ll fucking know.”
My legs shake, but he holds me pinned, cock spearing me open again and again until I’m sobbing his name into his mouth and when he finally spills the second time, harder, rougher, grinding his cum deeper until it leaks down my thighs, he doesn’t let me go. Doesn’t let me breathe without his permission.
The necklace glints under the moon, shining against his throat where he wears it too, both of us tethered, chained, ruined and he whispers against my mouth, ragged and filthy: “I’ll never let you take it off, Butterfly. Not the necklace. Not my cock. Not my fucking name.”
The air tastes like iron and rain, even though the sky hasn’t broken. My body is shaking, slick and raw, but he doesn’t stop. His hips grind slower now, deeper, making every thrust feel like a brand seared into me.
“Dax—” My voice breaks, useless.
“Say it again.” His fist tightens on the necklace until the chain bites my skin.
“Dax.”
“Louder.”
“DAX!”
The word rips out of me, echoing into the night, and his cock slams into me so hard the railing creaks like it’s about to give. My legs wrap tighter around his hips, not because I can hold on—because I can’t. Because he’s holding me, carrying me, forcing me to take every inch like I was made for this and nothing else.
His mouth drags down my throat, biting until I taste copper. He smears his tongue over it, groaning into the wound like it belongs to him too.
“You’ll wake up with bruises everywhere,” he mutters, breath hot against my skin. “And every single one will spell my name.”
