The first thrust drives a moan from my throat. “One.”
The second knocks it into an erotic breath. “Two.”
By the seventh, I forget the numbers entirely, and he stops, pulling out of me with maddening slowness.
“Lorian, it’s too much. I can’t remember how to count.”
“Start again,” he says. “Remember why we’re doing this. To prove to you that this is real.”
I start over. I’m shaking and sweating. My body and mind are torn with all these thoughts and sensations.
When I lose count a third time, he withdraws, leaving me cold and empty, and rolls me onto my stomach.
Then, Rafe binds my wrists with a silk tie that appeared out of nowhere, anchoring my wrists to the bed.
“You want to be punished?” Lorian says, dragging his fingers between my legs.
“Yes,” I say, surprising myself. But through the haze of sex, I realize that after what happened between us at the Obsidian Palace, Lorian needs this. Needs to reassure himself.
Lorian begins to spank me. First firmly, just enough to make me yelp with pleasure. Then again. And again. Until an erotic pain spreads across my skin, grounding me in the now, anchoring me in my body.
I cry out, not in protest but in release. “Please, Lorian,” I beg him breathlessly, “take me as your wife.”
Those are the words he so desperately needs to hear, and he stops spanking me and enters me hard and rough from behind, one hand on my bound wrists, the other curved possessively over my hip.
The slap of skin, the wet sound of my arousal, my breath ragged and open—he inhales it like forgiveness. And that’s what it is. I don’t need to say it out loud. My body is saying it.
I forgive you, Lorian.
“This is what it means to bemine.” He lets out a low sound of feral satisfaction as his pace grows punishingly fast, thighs slapping against mine as he chases both our ends.
When I start to reach the peak of another orgasm, he slows.
“Not yet.” Lorian slips a hand beneath me, finds my clit, and rubs tight circles that make my spine arch like a bowstring.
I tremble. I cry. I beg. “Please, Lorian, let me come.”
He removes his hand from my clit, and I’m left desperate. I squirm my hips, but he holds me in place. His lips find his mark on my shoulder blade, kissing the alien symbol tattooed into my skin. “My beautiful sinner,” he whispers, stroking my bound hands. “We are reminding you that this is real.” Then, he withdraws his enormous, ridged penis, leaving me utterly empty and wanting.
“No, please.”
“I’m glad you’re so eager,” Rafe says. “Now we’re going tobothbreak you apart at once.”
Rafe unties me and flips me on top of his strong muscular body. Then he positions himself and enters me. It feels so elegantly primal, and I try to move my hips, but he grabs them strongly to hold me still. “Not yet.”
Lorian comes behind me. I feel the press of his chest, his hands on my ass, spreading me open from behind. One of his fingers teases my ass, slick with oil, rubbing slow then pushing in. I gasp for air and try to rock forward, but Rafe continues to hold me still.
“Are you ready?” Rafe asks. “We may rip you apart? But this isourfantasy.”
“Yes,” I whisper, dizzy with anticipation and fear. “Please.”
Lorian’s breath is fire against my ear. “Say it properly.”
“Please, break me open. Make me yours the way you’ve fantasized about. Make this real.”
Because nothing is more authentic than pain.
“Open for me,” Lorian says, as he pushes slowly into my ass, and I choke on the fullness, on the overwhelming sense of being takencompletely.
