Michael pulled back just far enough to watch my face, thumb rubbing soft circles on my hip as he stretched me out. “You ready? Tell me you want it.”
“I want it, Michael. Want you to fuck me. Want you to fill me up. Please—” My voice broke, desperate and open. I’d never needed anything so much.
He grinned, slow and predatory, then pulled his fingers free, slick and glistening. He slicked his cock, long and thick and flushed dark with want, dripping precum onto my stomach. The sight alone was almost enough to finish me.
He lined himself up, head pressing against my hole, and paused—just for a heartbeat—making sure I was looking at him, making sure I knew exactly who was about to take me apart.
“Mine,” he said, voice rough and steady. “All fucking mine, Daniel.”
Then he pushed in, slow and relentless, the head stretching me wide, making me gasp, then groan as the thick length filled me, inch by inch. I tried to breathe, to stay loose, but the burn was so good—just on the edge of too much, just what I’d been craving.
He fed it to me, steady and unyielding, not stopping until his hips were flush with my ass, his cock buried deep inside. We both froze there, shaking, sweat-slick and panting, hearts racing.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he hissed, voice breaking. “So fucking perfect—gripping me like you never want to let go.”
I clamped down around him, greedy, wanting every inch, wanting it to last forever. “Don’t ever want to let go,” Iwhispered. “Want you to fuck me, Michael. Want you to breed me—fill me up, make me yours.”
That snapped whatever restraint he had left. He drew back, slow, almost gentle—then slammed back in, hips snapping, driving his cock deep with a force that made me cry out. Over and over, he set a merciless rhythm, fucking me with everything he had, the bed creaking, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the dark.
“Take it,” he snarled, hands gripping my hips, holding me in place. “Take all of me. Gonna fill you up, Daniel. Gonna make sure you feel me dripping out of you for days.”
I was gone, lost to the feeling of him inside me, stretching me open, hitting every spot that made me see stars. My cock drooled against my stomach, untouched but aching, every thrust sending sparks of pleasure up my spine.
Michael bent over me, pressing his chest to my back, his mouth at my ear, teeth grazing the shell as he fucked me. “You love this, don’t you? Love being fucked open, love knowing I’m breeding you. Say it. Tell me you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” I gasped, voice barely more than a whimper. “Yours, Michael. No one else. Just you. Always.”
He kissed my neck, biting down, leaving a mark that would last for days, then pulled almost all the way out before slamming back in, harder, deeper, relentless. I met him thrust for thrust, pushing back, wanting more, taking everything he could give.
He spat in his hand, smeared it over the place where we joined, making it even wetter, filthier. The sound of it—our bodies, the slick, the moans, the desperate slap of flesh—filled the room, made everything feel raw and real and alive.
Michael pulled my hips up, changing the angle, hitting my sweet spot over and over until I was nearly sobbing, begging for more, for everything. He didn’t let up—just kept driving into me, hips relentless, voice a rough litany of praise and filth.
“Gonna come inside you,” he groaned, voice breaking. “Gonna fill you up, Daniel, so full of me you’ll never forget who fucked you open, who made you his.”
I was so close, so fucking close, the pleasure a razor edge that left me raw and desperate, lost in him, in us, in the claiming that was everything I’d ever needed.
“Do it,” I begged, meeting every thrust. “Breed me, Michael. Fill me. Please?—”
He grunted, snapped his hips one last time, buried himself deep and finally, finally let go—filling me, marking me, making me his, just like he promised.
And I came with him, the world going white-hot and endless, knowing that nothing had ever felt so right.
After, we lay tangled in sheets that smelled like us, breathing hard, and I felt more settled than I had in years.
“I love you,” I said roughly.
Michael's hand found my chest, pressed flat over my heart. “I love you too. Even when you're being an overprotective former Alpha.”
“Former Alpha. That's going to take getting used to.”
“You'll manage.” He yawned, exhaustion pulling at him. “We both will.”
I was about to respond when Michael went absolutely still. Not sleep-still. Alert-still. The kind that came when every sense focused on one thing.
“Daniel.” His voice was quiet, careful. “The wards. They moved.”
I felt it then. Not a breach—nothing violent or aggressive. Just a touch against the boundary. Gentle. Deliberate. Like something was asking permission instead of forcing entry.
