Carmine’s back arched, her muscles spasming around his fingers, but she couldn’t move far when he pressed his greater weight down on her. A garbled, helpless sound escaped her throat when began to shuttle his fingers in and out with obscene, sticky sounds. The gentleness was gone. Now his touch was urgent, almost too much.
In between peppering kisses across her shoulder and the nape of her neck, he gravely assured her, “You can take this, doll. Fuck yourself back on my hand.Fuck.Yes, just like that. Such a perfect, perfect little doll.”
The matron had always warned that sex would most likely be unpleasant at best, but Atticus had gone to great pains to show her that wasn’t the case. With him, even the overwhelming, borderline painful parts of sex were pleasurable. She often stayed up well past dawn, her thoughts consumed by the sting between her legs, the bruising of her nipples that had been loved almost too much, and the soreness of her muscles after he bent her into some improbable shape.
So when he slid another finger in, stretching her past the point of fullness as he whispered praise in her ear, and kept up that relentless pace, Carmine didn’t balk or panic. She submitted to the sensations, the sparks of pleasure and the burn of the intrusion, and clung to the smoky sound of his voice guiding her to the precipice.
She rocked her hips back, desperately meeting his pistoning fingers. Familiar wet sounds filled the air. Carmine lurched toward her orgasm, pushed a little further each time he dragged his fingertips over the sensitive spot inside her. It was a brutalthing that awaited her, an orgasm unlike any he’d given her before — a shattering force that shortened her breath and threatened to remake her, cell by cell.
A scream erupted from her throat when he yanked his hand back. Her hips moved uselessly, undulating beneath him in a fruitless attempt to regain their fullness. Instinct howled at his cruelty, at his lack of claim.
The animal part of her wanted to tear at him for abandoning her right when she needed him most, when she was nearly claimed and bred. Higher thought had already shut down. There was no reasoning, no logic, no quiet voice reminding her that instinct wasn’t reality and there would be no real breeding this time.
There was only the wildfire of her need and the feral urge that compelled her to scream and hiss and claw at him until he claimed her in all ways.
Atticus sat up, leaving her sweat-slicked flesh cold. Before she could demand his return, she was flipped onto her back again.
Carmine stared up at him through watery eyes, her chest heaving, and dug her fingers into the sheets.“Please,”she begged, spreading her thighs as wide as they could go. “Please, Atty.Please.”
His cheeks were flushed, the look in his eyes wild. The shock of ginger hair on his head was mussed, and when she glanced down, she found his cock lined up with her cunt, ruddy, veined, and quite a bit larger than his fingers.
The blunt tip pressed in. “Keep your eyes on me,” he grated. “I want to see them when I make you come on my cock.”
It was hard to do as he commanded when the sting of his entry made her eyes water even more than they already were, but Carmine did her best. Even if he hadn’t ordered her to, she would have. The sight of him slowly pushing into her body, thestriking lines of his face, the way his eyes blazed with the same wildness she felt…
She wouldn’t have missed that for anything.
His rough palms landed on her inner thighs, pushing them as far as they could go before he gripped them hard. “Deep breath, doll.”
Carmine sucked in a lungful of air heavy with their scents, but it exploded out of her not a moment later when he sheathed himself in one forceful thrust.
Her back arched off the bed. “Atty!”
Letting go of her trembling thighs, Atticus braced his palms by her ears and bent over her. Their noses brushed as their harsh breaths mingled. “You okay, doll?” he gasped, cupping the crown of her head.
Carmine fought to catch her breath, to think around the burn and stretch of what felt like an invasion. Her body didn’t feel like her own anymore. It was a different thing, all of her nerves misfiring, sending conflicting information to her brain.
She wasn’t sure she liked having his cock inside her. It was too much. Too full. He’d impaled her, pinned her there beneath his bulk, and while her instincts crowed with victory, her mind hadn’t yet caught up to why that was a good thing. Understanding the mechanics of the body had always grounded her, but in this instance she thought perhaps every textbook, every observation she’d made on the slab, was wrong.
This can’t be right. He ‘s not supposed to fit in there.
Desperate to make some sense of things, Carmine wrapped her arms around him. Feeling the sweaty topography of his muscles, she whimpered, “I need you.”
“You have me.” He sipped at her lips with small, reverent kisses. “You have all of me, Carmine. I’ll make this better. Just relax. Breathe for me.”
Her lashes were heavy with tears, but she nodded. “Okay.”
Still sheathed to the hilt, he gently turned her head to one side, presenting her throat to his questing mouth.
Her breath caught. All thoughts of burning muscles and size incompatibility were shunted aside.
Yes,she thought, toes curling.Finally.
She craved his bite, his claim. It was exactly what she needed to find her pleasure again.
Atticus whispered something against her skin, the softestI love you,before his fangs slid through. There was the smallest flash of pain, barely anything compared to the burn between her legs, and then…euphoria.
Warmth spread from that perfect bite. It bled into her veins like the sweetest syrup. Every beat of her heart spread it a little further, until she could taste it in the thin lining of her cheeks and feel it all the way down in her toes.
