I don’t answer. I step behind her, hands on her hips, chin tucked over her shoulder. I press my mouth to the place where her pulse beats, slow and even. “What I meant was, I want to make you mine. In every way.”
She shivers, but not from the wind.
“Then do it,” she whispers, and I feel the invitation like a gun pressed to my temple.
I turn her around, grip her by the jaw, and search her face for any trace of doubt. There is none. Only anticipation, dark and bottomless. I want to see her undone, to watch the last vestiges of girlhood burn away and leave behind the woman I built from the bones of her old life.
Picking her up, I heave her over my shoulder and carry her inside before dumping her on the bed.
Unbuttoning my shirt slowly, I let it slide to the floor. I do a small thrust and grin, running my hand through my hair and flexing. A little strip tease to turn her on. Unzipping my pants slowly, I slide them off, my cock hard in my boxers. A small gasp escapes her as I pull them off and watch her reactions.
She stands before me, silent, eyes wide as she slowly tears her eyes from mine and looks down the length of my body and back up. Her hands are steady as she strips off the shirt, the jeans, the panties. She is perfect, every inch of her, but it’s the “flaws” that make me want her more: the faint line of stretch marks over her hips, the dimples in her thighs.
Walking forward, her hands press against my chest until I hit the bed and sit. She climbs into my lap, knees bracketing my hips, and wraps her arms around my neck.
I kiss her, slow. Not because I want to savor it, but because I want to own it—every gasp, every tremble, every intake of breath. She opens for me, tongue slick and hot, hands tangled in my hair.
Her cunt is already wet, slick against the length of me, and I could take her now, fast and brutal, but I don’t. I want this to last. I want it to scar her, to haunt her every time she tries to forget what I’ve done to her.
Laying her back on the mattress, I crawl over her, and kiss my way down her body. I bite the inside of her thigh, hard enough to leave a mark, then soothe it with my tongue. She squirms, hands gripping my head, nails raking my scalp.
I taste her, slow and deliberate, mapping her every nerve ending with the tip of my tongue. I want to make her beg, to squeal, but she’s not quite there yet. She just moans, low and guttural, like she’s afraid the neighbors will hear. I want them to hear. I want the whole city to hear.
She comes on my tongue, squirting all over my face, hips bucking, fingers pulling at my hair, riding out her pleasure. I don’t stop until she begs, not for mercy, but for more.
I slide up her body, pin her wrists above her head, and press my cock against the slick heat of her pussy. She bites her lip, eyes on mine, daring me to claim her.
“Say it,” I whisper, my voice ragged. “Say who you belong to.”
“You,” she gasps. “Always you.”
That’s all I need.
I thrust into her, hard and deep, and her back arches off the bed, mouth open in a silent scream. I keep her pinned, my hands bruising her wrists, my hips pounding against her until we’re both shaking.
She takes everything I give her, every inch, every word, every filthy promise whispered into her ear. She wraps her legs around my waist and pulls me deeper, nails scoring my back, teeth grazing my shoulder.
I fuck her until we’re both exhausted, until the sweat and the tears and the come mix together on the sheets. I want to fill her up, to ruin her, to leave her so completely wrecked that even her shadow belongs to me.
When I finally come, it’s with her name in my mouth, the taste of her still lingering on my tongue. I collapse beside her, chest heaving, heart pounding so loud I’m sure she can hear it.
We lie there, tangled in the wreckage of the bed, trying to calm our breathing.
She traces the scars on my chest, one by one, her touch light but sure.
“Why did you really go against your father to save me?” she whispers.
I don’t answer right away. I watch the way the moonlight glows on her skin, the way her hair falls over her eyes.
“Because I wanted to see what you’d do with your freedom,” I say, at last. “Because I wanted to see if you’d choose me.”
She laughs, soft and bitter. “I never really had a choice.”
I grip her jaw, force her to look at me.
“You have one now. It’s the only time I’ll ever offer this, so think it through. I want to give you the choice your circumstances never allowed you,” I sigh, barely able to believe that I’m about to say this. “You can walk away. Or you can stay.”
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.
