“You are so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, voice low and rough and almost reverent. The sound of it wraps around my ribs and squeezes, and my stomach swoops, warmth curling there like sunlight through storm clouds.
Then I feel him.
His cock, hard and heavy, presses against the curve of my ass.
My breath catches, and I instinctively press back into him, seeking more, needing more.
His eyes meet mine in the mirror.
Blue. Bright. Blazing.
“Alex…” I whisper, my voice breathy and low, thick with need. “Please. I want you.”
There’s a flicker in his eyes like the request physically hits him. A flash of fire, a quiet inhale. But he doesn’t say anything. Not yet.
Instead, his hands move, one rising again to wrap gently and possessively around my neck. And I lean into it. I welcome it. All of it.
I don’t care that my body’s still trembling from the orgasm he just tore out of me.
I don’t care that my legs are weak or that my skin is still buzzing.
I want him.
I want him so badly I can barely breathe, so badly it silences everything else—the fear, the memories, the weight of what happened hours ago. It’s like all of it is a faraway storm now, faded into the distance. Irrelevant.
Because right now, all I know is him.
The way he holds me like I’m both breakable and his.
I want him inside me.
I want to feel him push into me and take up every space that’s ever felt hollow.
I want him to ruin me, mark me, make me his.
I want to be owned by him.
Not out of force.
But because I’d give myself to him freely. Because I already have.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” He asks, voice low and husky with restraint, and want.
His hand is still around my throat, not tight…just there, anchoring me, grounding me as his eyes stay locked on mine in the mirror.
“Yes,” I whisper, my voice barely holding steady.
He doesn’t move right away. He just watches me. Studies me like he’s peeling back every layer, looking for something buried deep in my gaze. And I let him. I want him to see me. To see that, I’m sure. That I’m not scared. That I want him. I want every dark, terrifying, beautiful part of him.
Then something shifts in his face.
He smirks.
That cocky, devastating smirk of his that makes my stomach flutter and my thighs press together instinctively.
“I’ve been waiting for that look,” he says, voice thick.
I blink. “What look?”
