I press my own hand against the bulge and squeeze, feeling him move inside me through my skin, and he roars.
"Fuck, Adelaide," he growls, pulling back and slamming into me again, forcing another inch deeper. "You're going to kill me. You're going to fucking kill me."
“Good,” I say more breathy than I mean to. He laughs in response.
The wounds on his side bleed with every movement, blood soaking the ground beneath us, but he doesn't stop.
When he's finally seated fully inside me, we both go still. I look down between us and see it fully now. The bulge in my stomach where he is. Where he's so deep inside me that I can see the shape of him.
"Oh God," I breathe, somewhere between horrified and aroused.
"Too much?" His voice is strained, like he's holding himself back with every ounce of control he has.
I smile. For the first time in over a century, I smile. "No. Not too much."
Something shifts in his expression. The careful control cracks. "Adelaide—"
"Move," I command. "I want to feel it."
He does. He grabs my hips and makes me move up and down on his shaft. Slow, deep thrusts that make me feel every inch of him. His hand goes between us, working that sensitive spot, and the pleasure builds like a wave.
"Such a good girl," he praises, his tail wrapping around my thigh, holding me close to him. "Taking my cock so well. Being so perfect for me, even when you hate me." He kisses below my ear. My jaw. My neck.
"I hate you," I moan, and my walls clench around him.
"I know." His hand wraps around my throat, not squeezing, just holding. A question.
I nod, and he applies gentle pressure. Not enough to truly restrict my breathing, but enough to make me feel owned. The pressure makes everything more intense, makes my body clench around him again.
"Fuck," he groans. "You like that, don't you? You like it when I hold you like this. When I show you exactly how much stronger I am than you."
"Yes." I'm past pretending. Past lying. "Yes, I like it."
He squeezes harder, and I see stars. His thrusts get deeper, harder, and I'm drowning in sensation. His mouth is everywhere. My lips, my face, my neck, my breasts. He releases my throat to take a nipple in his mouth, sucking hard, and I cry out.
"More," I demand. "I want more."
"Greedy little thing." But there's affection in his voice, dark and possessive. "Want me to ruin you? Want me to fuck you so hard you forget everything but me?"
"Yes." I'm shameless. "Yes, please."
He shifts the angle, hitting something inside me that makes me scream. "There it is. That's what you need, isn't it? Need me to take you apart?"
"I hate you," I sob, but I'm pulling him closer, meeting his thrusts as I bounce on his cock.
"I know." His hand is back on my throat. "Hate me all you want. You're still mine. Still taking my cock so perfectly. Still clenching around me like you never want to let go."
It's filthy. It's perfect. It's everything I knew I needed.
I press my hand against the bulge in my stomach again, feeling him move inside me, and he loses control completely. His thrusts become erratic, desperate. His hand tightens on my throat, and I clench around him, my own orgasm building.
"Come for me," he commands. His voice vibrates through me. "Let me feel you."
And I do. I shatter around him, my body convulsing, my vision going white. He follows immediately, spilling inside me with a groan that sounds like my name.
We stay like that for a long moment, tangled together, breathing hard. His hand releases my throat, and he kisses the marks he left there gently.
"I hate you," I whisper, but there's no heat in it now.
