“Asher—fuck—”
“Say it,” he demands, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips glistening with me. “Say‘Asher, please make me come with your filthy mouth.’” His thumb presses against my clit, rubbing in slow, maddening circles while his tongue pushes inside me again, curling,fuckingme with it.
I’m going to die. I’m going tocombust.
My fingers tighten in his hair, yanking, and he groans, the sound sending another wave of heat through me.
“Such agoodgirl,” he praises, voice rough, his breath hot against my skin. “Taking my tongue so well. You like that? Like beingusedlike this?”
I can’t form coherent thoughts, let alone words, but my body answers for me—my hips rocking,achingfor more. He gives in, his mouth sealing over me again, his tongue working me over like he’sstarving, like he’ll never get enough.
And when his fingers finally join in, two of them sinking inside me, curling at just the right—
Ishatter.
Kissing his way back up, he hovers above my face, eyes searching mine. “Once I've been inside you, Venom, you're done. You don't touch your husband ever again.” I'm about to tell him the truth, that I—his cock slips in as he groans over my mouth.
Goosebumps rise across his skin. “I mean it.”
He drags his cock through my folds, coating himself in how wet I am. The slow, deliberate slide makes my breath catch, makes me aware of every nerve ending between my legs. Back and forth, he works himself against me, gathering my slickness on his length while I fight not to move, not to push down and take what he's denying me.
I sink my teeth into my cheek until copper floods my mouth. The metallic taste spreads across my tongue, mixing with the salt of sweat beading on my upper lip. My heart slams against my ribs—each beat violent enough to crack bone. I can hear it in my ears, feel it in my throat, this frantic rhythm that belongs to him now whether I want it to or not.
Heat pools low in my belly, my thighs trembling where they bracket his hips.
My body opens for him, betraying every wall I've built, every promise I made about keeping him out. Years of control, of careful distance, and here I am melting against him like wax near flame.
My hair spills over the sofa's edge as his body drives mine deeper into the cushions, air punching out of my lungs. His hips pin me, legs spreading me without asking, every muscle in me going loose under the press of him.
His tongue drags along my jaw, hot and slow, each stroke deliberate, possessive. His hand moves down, knuckles brushing over my ribs, my waist, the dip between my hips until silk stops him. He cups my pussy through the thin fabric, his whole palm covering me, fingers flexing like he owns the place. Heat floods out from that point, sharp and needy.
My spine arches, limbs useless, bones turning to water under his hands.
Our tongues collide, wet and demanding, and then he pulls back just enough to control the pace, kissing me slow, deep, dragging it out until my head spins with regret.
Regret that I waited so damn long to go all in.
Pressure coils tight in my core, a spring wound to breaking point, my release hovering just beyond reach.
His lips peel away from mine, his breath ghosting over my swollen mouth.
“I've never—” My words dissolve into a gasp as he fills me completely, stretching me in ways I never knew possible.
My nails dig crescents into his shoulders as he drives back in, claiming me with a possessive force that steals my breath and my sanity in equal measure.
He drives into me with calculated brutality, each thrust designed to break me apart. The rhythm punishes—slow enough that I feel every inch, fast enough that I can't catch my breath.
His eyes hold mine, feral and focused. The hunger there swallows me whole. All those years of circling each other, all that vicious restraint—it was foreplay stretched across time itself. Every memory, every loaded glance, every moment we denied this was just winding the spring tighter.
Now it snaps.
He doesn't fuck me—he dismantles me, piece by broken piece, and savors every second of my unraveling as if he saw it all along and lived for the day I allowed him to pet it.
Taste it.
Own it.
Resting his forehead against mine, his hand cradles my cheek as he forces my gaze to his.
