I rise up on my knees, one hand bracing on his shoulder while the other guides his cock to my entrance. The broad head presses against my wetness, and even that slight contact makes us both groan.
"Fuck, you're so wet for me," he says, voice strained as I begin to sink down.
The stretch as he fills me is intense, almost overwhelming. He's so much bigger than I remembered, thick enough that I have to go slowly despite how desperately I want him inside me. Each inch I take sends shockwaves of pleasure through my oversensitive body.
"That's it," he encourages, hands tightening on my ass as I work myself lower. "Take all of me."
I bottom out with a cry that's half pleasure, half relief. The feeling of being completely filled, stretched to my limits around his thick length, makes my inner muscles clench involuntarily. Through our bond, I feel his answering surge of sensation, the way my body gripping his drives him closer to the edge of control.
Without warning, his palm cracks against my ass in a sharp slap that makes me jolt with surprise. The sting fades quickly into warmth, then into a deeper ache that somehow intensifies the pleasure of having him buried inside me.
"More," I gasp, already addicted to the combination of pleasure and pain only he can provide.
"Greedy little thing," he says approvingly, then delivers another sharp slap to my other cheek.
I moan at the impact, inner muscles clenching around his cock in response to the delicious pain. His breathing grows ragged as I begin to move, rising up until only the head of him remains inside me before sinking back down with deliberate slowness.
"Faster," he commands, hands gripping my hips with bruising force.
I obey eagerly, setting a rhythm that has us both panting within moments. The angle lets him hit that perfect spot deep inside me with every thrust, pleasure building with each movement of my hips. His mouth finds my throat again, teeth leaving a trail of marks down the column of my neck.
"You feel so perfect around me," he groans against my skin. "Like you were made for my cock."
The crude words make me clench around him, drawing a harsh curse from his lips. His hands guide my movements, helping me ride him harder, deeper, until I'm gasping with each thrust.
When his mouth moves to my breast, I expect more of the same hard bites and sucking. Instead, his teeth close around my nipple with enough force to break skin and make me cry out, the sharp pain sending lightning through my nervous system.
"I love hearing you scream for me," he says against my skin, then soothes the sting with his tongue.
The combination of pain and pleasure has me trembling on the edge of release already. Through our bond, I can feel his own mounting pleasure, the way my responses drive his arousal higher. It creates a feedback loop that intensifies everything—each sensation amplified by feeling it through both our perspectives.
"Please," I beg, movements becoming more frantic as the pressure builds. "I need?—"
"I know what you need," he interrupts.
I'm so close, trembling on the very edge of release, when flames suddenly flicker to life around his fingers.
The sight of flames dancing around his fingers makes my breath catch in my throat. Memory crashes through me—the first time at Vestige, when he'd introduced me to sensations I never knew I craved. The fire hadn't burned me then, just kissed my skin with heat that somehow translated into the most exquisite pleasure I'd ever experienced.
"You love my flames," he says, voice thick with satisfaction as he reads the recognition in my eyes. "I can feel your excitement through our bond."
The flames flicker higher, casting golden shadows across his face as he holds his hand near my breast without quite touching. The heat radiates against my skin, making my nipple tighten in anticipation. My hips stutter in their rhythm, nearly stopping entirely as I wait for that first contact.
"Please," I whisper, trembling with need and barely contained fear. The contradiction of wanting something that should terrify me makes my pulse race.
His eyes burn brighter than the flames as he watches me beg for something so dangerous. "Such a perfect little masochist," he murmurs. "Only you would plead for fire against your skin."
Without warning, he brushes the flames across my nipple in one swift motion. The heat bites into my sensitive flesh for just an instant—long enough to make me cry out, short enough that it doesn't truly burn. Just that perfect edge between pleasure and pain that makes my vision blur.
"Fuck," I gasp, inner muscles clenching around his cock so hard it draws a harsh groan from his throat.
The skin of my nipple glows pink from the brief contact, hypersensitive and throbbing with an ache that somehow makes me want more. Through our bond, I feel his satisfaction at my response, his own arousal spiking at the way I've gone molten around him.
"More," I beg shamelessly, already addicted to the sensation.
"Ride me," he commands instead, hands gripping my hips. "Harder. I want to feel you falling apart."
I obey eagerly, lifting myself up before slamming back down on his length with enough force to make us both curse. The position drives him impossibly deep, hitting that spot inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyelids. But even as pleasure builds, my attention remains fixed on the flames still dancing around his other hand.
