Kaan doesn't give me time to recover.
The moment my breathing stabilizes the instant my legs stop trembling quite so violently, he moves with sharp focus.
His hands clamp onto my waist—hot, shaking, bruising—and he flips me with a force that knocks the air from my lungs. My palms slam into the mattress, knees digging into torn sheets, hair spilling over my shoulders as shadows roar through the room in a storm of unleashed need.
The bedframe screams. Wood splinters. The entire chamber tilts around the gravity of his hunger.
"Kaan—"
It isn't a protest. It's recognition. The monster is loose now, and I unleashed it.
He drags me back against him, and I can feel every inch of him—the heat radiating from his body like molten iron, the hard length of his cock pressing against me, the barely restrained violence in every muscle.
One of his hands grips the back of my neck—not hurting, simply holding, steadying, grounding me as if he's terrified he'll tear reality apart if he lets go.
His other hand clamps my hip. His fingers dip inside me first, sliding through the wetness his mouth created, and I gasp at the intrusion. He groans at what he finds—how ready I am, how my body opens for him despite everything.
Then his fingers withdraw and something much larger replaces them.
His cock presses against my entrance—thick, hard, demanding. For a heartbeat neither of us moves. Then he pushes inside with one brutal thrust that fills me completely.
The stretch is immediate and intense. My body struggles to accommodate him, inner muscles clenching around his girth. I feel every inch as he enters me, the way my walls have to yield to let him in, the pressure building as he sinks deeper.
I swell around his cock, my body adjusting to his size, and he groans—a sound pulled from somewhere primal—as he buries himself to the hilt.
"Gods," he chokes out. "You feel?—"
He can't finish. Can't articulate what this is, what we're doing. Instead he pulls back almost completely, then slams back in.
The rhythm he sets is punishing from the start. There's no gentle buildup, no careful consideration. Just the brutal sound of flesh slapping against flesh, the obscene wet sounds of our coupling filling the air.
Each thrust sends shockwaves through me. I can feel everything—the drag of his cock against my inner walls, the way my body grips him, the fullness that borders on too much. Every nerve ending fires with sensation.
His shadows rise again, hungry for more of me. They race across my body, snaking over the curves of my hips with frantic urgency. When they slide between my ass cheeks again, I tense, remembering the forbidden pleasure from before.
They circle my rear entrance slowly at first, teasing. Then they push inside.
The dual penetration makes me cry out. It's overwhelming—his cock pounding into me from behind while his shadows fill myass with cold, slick darkness. The contrast between the heat of his body and the chill of his magic is dizzying.
My body stretches to accommodate both intrusions, pleasure and pressure blending until I can't distinguish between them. Every thrust of his hips drives him deeper while the shadows match his rhythm, fucking my ass in time with his brutal pace.
"Nesilhan," he groans, his voice wrecked. "You're taking me so well. Taking all of me."
I can only whimper in response, my mind fracturing under the onslaught of sensation. I'm being claimed from both sides, filled completely, used exactly as I demanded.
And gods help me, my body loves it. I'm dripping around his cock, my arousal making each thrust easier despite his size. My inner muscles pulse with building pleasure, another orgasm already gathering like a storm on the horizon.
Kaan's hand leaves my neck and I almost fall forward, but then his fist tangles in my hair. He yanks my head back hard, and I let out a squeal as pain lances across my scalp.
But the pain transforms immediately into something else—another jolt of electricity that races down my spine and pools between my legs. My body clenches around him involuntarily, drawing a savage groan from his throat.
"Yes," he hisses. "Feel that. Feel what you do to me."
His breath hits my shoulder in harsh, ragged bursts. Each exhale is punctuated by his hips slamming against my ass, by the shadows driving deeper, by the pull of my hair keeping my back arched at a painful angle.
I'm utterly helpless in this position—held in place by his grip, impaled on his cock and his shadows, bent to his will. But somehow, this is still my choice. I asked for this. I demanded he make me feel.
And gods, I feel everything.
