I buck my hips, desperate, and he laughs again, letting go of my wrists to run his hands down my body, from my shoulders to my ribs to my thighs. He grips my legs, pushes them apart, and slides two fingers into me without warning. I’m so wet they go in easy, but he doesn’t move slow—he fucks me with his hand, hard, until I can’t do anything but claw at his back and beg for more.
“Colton,” I say, and he looks up, eyes black.
“What do you want?” he says, fingers still pumping.
“Your cock. Now.”
He pulls his hand out, wipes it on the sheets, and lines his cock up with my entrance. He teases the head against me, just barely pushing in, then pulls back.
I try to grab him, but he pins my arms again. “Not yet,” he says. “I want to watch you beg.”
He does it again, just the tip, then nothing. I whimper. It’s humiliating, and I love it.
“Say it,” he whispers, mouth at my ear.
“Please.”
He laughs, low and brutal. “You’re so fucking pretty like this.”
He pushes in, slow at first, stretching me. He bottoms out, stays there, holding me down, letting me get used to the size of him. Then he starts to move, hard, deep, every thrust making my whole body slide up the bed. I lose the ability to think, to speak, to do anything but feel.
He pounds into me, rhythm brutal, each thrust punctuated by his fingers on my throat, his mouth on my jaw, his hand twisting in my hair.
I come fast, the orgasm ripping through me so hard I scream. He doesn’t stop. He fucks me through it, relentless, until I’m shaking and limp and begging him to let up.
He pulls out, flips me onto my stomach, and enters me again. This time, the angle is deeper, meaner. He grabs my hips, fingers digging bruises into my skin, and drives into me until I’m sobbing into the mattress.
I love it. I want more.
He leans over me, his chest slick with sweat, mouth at my ear. “You’re mine,” he says. “No one will ever touch you again.”
He bites my shoulder, so hard I feel the skin break, and I come again, screaming his name.
He finishes with a groan, shoving in to the hilt, cock throbbing as he empties inside me. He collapses on top of me, both of us gasping for air.
We lie there, tangled, sweat cooling, the room filling with the smell of sex and salt and blood.
He rolls onto his back, pulling me with him so I’m draped across his chest. I trace the scars on his body, the new marks, the places where I left my claim.
He touches my hair, stroking it, winding it around his fingers.
“You good?” he asks.
I nod, too spent to speak.
And that’s the truth.
I am good. And I’m filled with the fury of a thousand suns, ready to scorch the earth.
Chapter 20: Colton
Morninginthecabinis sacred silence, the only noise are the birds chirping and my girl snoring softly.
Her body twists in the sheets, muscle memory locked in the position it fell to during the night—her arm across my chest, her hair a snaked around my shoulder. She looks nothing like the girl who once cowered in the back of Westpoint’s lecture hall. She’s more animal now. Even in sleep, she’s braced for the next move, jaw tight, knuckles peeking white beneath the skin. The mark I left on her collarbone has bloomed red overnight. I run my thumb over it, slow, so I don’t wake her. I want her to have at least one hour where no one wants something from her.
My phone vibrates on the nightstand. The text is from Bam.
Grill at mine. Noon.
