I keep going. I’m not done. I want to mark her inside, want her to feel me for days.
Slowing only slightly, I fuck her through her orgasm. When she starts to wilt, I drag her back up, pinning her between my body and the wall.
I pull out and spin her to face me. Her face is wild, eyes glazed, lips swollen. She wraps her arms around my neck, clinging like she’ll drown if she lets go.
Lifting her and forcing her legs around me, I push up into her. She bites my shoulder, hard enough to draw blood.
I piston in and out, watching the shock on her face as she takes it all. Each time I bottom out, her head snaps back, mouth open on a moan.
She comes again, quieter this time, just a whimper and a full-body quake.
I can’t hold back any more. I fuck her up against the wall, my balls slapping her ass, until the pressure bursts.
I come hard, filling her, my vision going white at the edges.
We stand there, shaking, still joined.
She kisses me, slow, deep, tongue searching.
When I finally set her down, she can’t stand. I hold her up, one arm around her waist and find an old hay bale, laying her down before laying down beside her.
She looks at me, wrecked and beautiful.
“I hate you,” she whispers, but it’s a lie.
I kiss her forehead.
“I don’t hate you,” I say.
She nods, because there’s nothing left to say.
We stay like that until the sky goes pink with morning.
Neither of us wants to let go.
Her hair sticks to my face. My mouth is numb from kissing her, biting her, breathing her in. I bury my nose at her throat and stay there, listening to the way her pulse slows.
She’s shivering, but it’s not from cold.
I run my hands down her back, the bones sharp under the skin, the heat of her still burning. I want to keep her warm, but also want her to know the chill—want her to remember that there’s only one person in the world who’ll fight to keep her fire alive.
Me.
Her arms go loose at her sides, fingers twitching. She’s empty. I did that. I hollowed her out and filled her with something new.
She finally looks up, eyes rimmed red, a bruise already rising on her cheek.
She touches my jaw, thumb tracing the cut she left with her teeth. “You’re bleeding.”
“Does it bother you?”
She shakes her head. “I like it.”
I almost smile.
There’s a sound, far off—maybe the quad, maybe one of the Boys. It doesn’t matter. The rules say I claim her, that she’s mine now. But the old men who wrote those rules never understood what it meant to want something so much it ate you from the inside.
She’s not mine.
