Not yet.
He spreads her open and licks her from behind—one long, deep stroke that makes her whimper. Again. Again. Until she’s shaking and whispering curses and pleas that blur together.
Then he spits—hot, filthy—and rubs it into her clit with his thumb. Circles it slowly until her legs tremble again.
She tries to lift her hips for more, but he grips her down hard.
“You don’t move unless I say so.”
Her breath stutters. Her thighs quake.
“Now turn over and open your mouth.”
She obeys instantly.
He straddles her chest and brings his cock to her lips. She wraps her hand around the base, looks up with eyes wide and wanting.
Then she sucks him deep.
Jaxon groans, head dropping back, hips twitching as her mouth takes him. Lips sliding down his shaft. Tongue swirling. Spit pooling.
She moans around him, and he pulses against her tongue.
She bobs her head slow, then faster—stroking the rest with both hands, messy and unhinged.
He grabs the back of her head and starts guiding her, thrusting slowly, letting her take him deeper, until she gags—and keeps going.
He pulls out, panting. Barely holding on.
“On your back.”
She flips without hesitation.
He grabs her by the thighs, pulls her down to the edge, and slams into her with a single brutal thrust.
She screams.
He groans—fuck—and does it again.
Hard.
Ruthless.
Her body takes him like it was made to. Slick, tight, soaked. Every thrust punches a moan out of her throat.
He wraps one hand around her throat—not choking, just owning her. His other hand grips her thigh and throws it over his shoulder.
He hits deeper.
Harder.
“Yours,” she breathes. “I’m yours—fuck—Jaxon—”
“You fucking better be,” he snarls, pounding harder, sweat dripping from his skin onto hers.
She claws at his back. Bites his shoulder. Writhes under him like she’s burning alive.
Then he grabs her wrists, pins them above her head, and wrecks her.
