The world collapsed around us. All that existed was this—his body over mine, inside me, claiming every inch with a force that shattered thought and language.
He moved deep and unyielding, his hips driving into mine with a rhythm that bordered on brutal. The bed groaned beneath us; the headboard slamming the wall in time with every thrust, but I barely heard it.
All I could feel was him.
His mouth found my throat, hot breath skating across my skin before his teeth grazed a tender spot near my collarbone. He marked me there. Again. And again. A trail of ownership blooming across my body, one bruise at a time.
Every touch of him was a brand. Every gasp I gave was a surrender.
My fingers clawed down his back, nails digging into muscle, dragging red lines into his skin like a plea he answered with a growl—a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through my chest.
I arched into him, legs wrapping around his waist, needing more. Needing all of him.
And he gave it to me.
He whispered my name against my ear, voice hoarse and reverent, as if I were something sacred he couldn’t stop worshipping. The sound of it cracked something open inside me.
“Persephone.”
A vow. A demand. A confession.
I pulled him closer, hips rising to meet each relentless thrust, and it felt like we were falling together—spiraling toward something neither of us could stop.
His rhythm turned frenzied. Uncontrolled.
I felt him unraveling, tension coiling tight inside his body, and the power of that—the knowledge that I could break him with this—set fire to my blood.
We moved like we were made for it. For this.
And then it hit.
My orgasm tore through me like lightning, ripping the breath from my lungs, arching my spine, turning my bones to ash. I cried out—his name, a gasp, maybe both—as the pleasure surged through every nerve ending and left me trembling beneath him.
I was wrecked. Ruined. Completely his.
And I never wanted to be anything else.
He flipped me over like he couldn’t stand not to see all of me—couldn’t take one more second without more.
I gasped as my chest hit the cool sheets, the contrast sharp against the heat simmering under my skin. His hands found my hips, strong and commanding, pulling me back until I felt him—all of him—pressed against my ass, hard and hungry.
There was no warning.
He drove into me in one deep, brutal thrust, and I cried out, the sudden fullness tearing the air from my lungs.
His arms wrapped around me instantly—an anchor, a cage, a promise—and he held me there, our bodies locked tight as he began to move. His thrusts were deep and unforgiving, and I wanted every single one.
Then his fingers found my clit.
Slow circles. Precise. Devastating.
I moaned, the pleasure twisting inside me like a fuse burning too fast. The coil in my core wound tighter and tighter with each drag of his cock, each flick of his fingers. He leaned in, breath hot against my neck.
“You’re mine, Seph. All mine.”
His voice was low, gravel and want, and the words hit harder than anything else ever had. I whimpered in response, too wrecked to speak. My body trembled beneath him, every nerve lit up like lightning beneath my skin.
He was so deep inside me, filling me completely, claiming every inch with each brutal thrust. I could feel the way he held back just enough not to break me—and part of me wanted him to.
