"I—" My face burned. "I didn't mean?—"
"I like it." His voice was rough. "Say it again."
"Husband."
His kiss was searing. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark with want.
"Let's go."
We barely made it through the bedroom door.
Axel pressed me against the wall, mouth hot on my neck, hands already working at my shirt. The claiming cut fell to the floor, followed by the purple fabric, then his shirt, then everything else in a trail of discarded clothes.
"Been thinking about this all day," he growled against my skin. "Watching you in that ceremony, wearing my name?—"
"Your property." I gasped as his teeth found my collarbone. "That's what the cut says."
"Damn right." He pulled back, eyes blazing. "Mine. Finally, officially mine."
"Yours." I grabbed his face, kissed him hard. "So do something about it."
He lifted me—hands under my thighs, my legs wrapping around his waist—and carried me to the bed. Dropped me onto the mattress, covered my body with his, and proceeded to make good on every promise his eyes had made across that crowded room.
This wasn’t the desperate, healing intensity of our first times. Not the careful tenderness of Axel's surrender. This was celebration, joyful and fierce and free. We laughed between kisses, grinned against each other's skin, let the happiness of the day infuse everything we did.
"I love you," I said as he worked me open, fingers knowing exactly where to touch.
"I love you too." He kissed my hip, my abs, the hollow of my throat. "My husband."
"Not officially."
"Yet." He positioned himself, met my eyes. "Someday."
"Someday," I agreed, and then he pushed inside and I couldn't think anymore.
He fucked me slow at first, savoring it. Long, deep strokes that hit every spot, his eyes never leaving mine. But I wanted more—wanted to feel this tomorrow, wanted the ache that would remind me it was real.
"Harder." I dug my nails into his glutes. "Come on, Axel. I'm not fragile."
"I know you're not." He snapped his hips, drove deeper, and I arched off the bed with a moan. "But I like taking my time with you."
"You can take your time later. Right now—" I clenched around him, watched his eyes flutter. "Right now I want you to fuck me like you mean it."
Something broke loose in him.
His pace turned relentless. Pounding into me with force that shook the bed, hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. I met every thrust, chasing the pleasure building in my core, the sound of our bodies meeting filling the room.
"Touch yourself," he demanded. "I want to watch you come."
I wrapped my hand around my cock, stroked in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation was overwhelming—filled and stretched and stroked, his cock hitting my prostate on every pass.
"Fuck, you're beautiful," he breathed. "The way you take me—the sounds you make?—"
"Close," I gasped. "So close?—"
"Then come." He drove in deep, held there, fullness taking over me, grinding against that spot inside me. "Come for me, Kai."
I shattered.
