“Please, please, please—” I gasp, heart louder than my words. “Fill me, sir—please—I need it—need you—”
“Good boy,” he groans, and his hips slam forward one last time.
I scream. My back bows, and then I feel it. Heat, sudden and deep, spilling inside me with a possessive snarl at my throat.
He doesn't pull out. He presses in deeper, keeping everything right there, one hand dragging up my thigh, the other braced on my jaw. “You’re perfect,” he whispers against my lips. “Mycenter. My fucking pride. You won me the game, and now look at you. Letting me break you open just to fill you again.”
I cry out—broken and so full.
“You take it so well, Elias,” he murmurs, brushing wet curls from my face, kissing the sweat from my temple. “Every inch. Every order. Every win. You were made for this.”
My throat works around a sob. “Yours,” I whisper. “Always yours.”
He kisses me again, slower this time, gentler. “Shhh…” Damian whispers. His voice is a rasp against the raw of my lips as his fingers work the knot above my head. The sleeves loosen and my wrists fall free, trembling from strain, sore from pulling. But he doesn’t let go of me. Doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t shift. He stays inside.
The second I’m loose, my arms snap tight around his neck, clawing him down, mouth dragging his into mine like I’ve earned it. Like I need it more than air. Our lips crash desperately and I sob into the kiss, ruined and needy and too full to think straight.
His cock twitches deep inside me. Still hard. Still owning.
My thighs twitch around his waist, trying to pull him closer, trying to keep him in. I don’t want distance. I don’t want space. I want this—him. Inside me, around me, claiming me until there’s no part of me that doesn’t scream his name.
He groans into my mouth, one hand on my jaw, the other dragging slow down my side. “You don’t stop, do you?” he murmurs, kissing the corner of my lips, the edge of my jaw, his teeth grazing the wet skin. “Always needing. Always mine.”
I nod. “Need you.”
“You have me.” He rolls his hips slow.
I moan into his mouth, high and ragged, and his praise follows. “Good boy. Look how perfect you are. Tied up, full of me, still begging.”
“Yours,” I whisper again, hoarse. “All yours.”
His hand slides into my curls, fisting again—grounding me in the mess he made. “Damn right,” he growls. “Now sleep like this.”
“Inside?” I whimper.
“Yes.”
“Still full?”
His smirk brushes my throat. “That’s the point, pup.”
He doesn’t warn me. One second I’m clinging to his neck, lips still swollen from the kiss, and the next he’s pulling out slowly. I sob into his throat at the loss, my whole body twitching around the emptiness, already desperate to have him again.
“Easy,” he murmurs, barely a rumble against my jaw.
Then—hands. One braced under my thigh, the other curled around my ribs, and I’m turned gently onto my side. My back against his chest, his legs caging mine, one arm hooking low around my waist like a goddamn brand.
He pushes back in. One long, slow thrust that splits me again, deeper now with this angle, with the curve of his hips against my ass. My breath punches out of me, half-moan, half-sob, and I melt.
He doesn’t fuck me. He just sinks in and stays there, cock twitching inside me, arm tight around my waist.
“Sir…” I whisper, his body locking around mine. “You’re still—fuck—”
“Yeah,” he says into my hair. “You’re mine. And we’re sleeping like this.”
I whimper, pressing back against him, overwhelmed tethered to him in every way that counts. My whole body fits into his like I was carved to sleep this way.
His lips graze my neck once, then go still. His chest rises behind me, and I finally sleep.
