She locked onto his gaze. Those golden eyes, steady and sure.
He entered her inch by inch. Slowly. Carefully. Watching her all the way. It was a stretch, a fullness that bordered on almost too much, but he paused every time she tensed, waiting for her to adjust, to accept him.
"More," she whispered when she was ready.
He gave her more. Another inch. Another pause. Her body opened for him, stretching and accommodating him. She hadn't thought it would be possible. But the stretch burned and ached and felt so good she couldn't separate the sensations anymore.
Her eyes squeezed shut. He stopped completely.
"Look at me,” he growled.
She exhaled, slow and shaky, and opened her eyes to lock onto his gaze.
"Right here." His voice was a low growl. "Only me."
Then he sank all the way in, filling her completely, and she felt it everywhere. She arched her back, a moan tearing from her throat.
It wasn't pain. It was the feeling of being possessed… of belonging.
He held still, letting her adjust, his forehead pressed to hers. She could feel his restraint in the tremor of his muscles, the tight clench of his jaw. He was holding back for her. This massive warrior who could break her without trying was shaking with the effort of being gentle.
"Move," she breathed. "Please. God, Kirr, please move.”
The movement began, slow and relentless. He didn't rush. He used his size, driving into her with a rhythm that ground her down into the mattress. Every stroke dragged against something deep inside her that made her vision blur. The friction of him sliding out and pushing back in, the slick, wet sounds of their bodies meeting, the heat of his skin against hers… it all blurred together into sensation so intense she couldn't track where she ended, and he began.
His hands pinned her wrists to the pillow above her head, holding her captive, stripping away her ability to do anything but feel.
"Mine," he gritted out, his control fraying as the pace picked up. "My female. Mine."
"Yes," she gasped, arching beneath him. "Yes."
The friction built, the coil of heat tightening in her belly, her clit aching and pulsing. It was too much and not enough. She needed more. She needed him closer, deeper. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she pulled him closer, changing the angle so he hit even deeper.
"Kirr." She pleaded, not even sure what she was asking for. "I need—I can't?—"
"I know," he rumbled against her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. "Let go, kelarris. Let me feel your pleasure."
He released her wrists to slide his hands under her hips, lifting her to meet his thrusts. The new angle was devastating, every stroke hitting that spot inside her that made her vision go white. She grabbed his shoulders, nails digging into muscle, holding on as he drove into her harder, faster.
The pressure built to a breaking point. Her head fell back, her world dissolving into white light and sensation. She fell, starting to spin, but he was there to catch her.
A second climax slammed through her. Her body convulsed, clamping down around him so tight he groaned through gritted teeth. Spasms of pleasure rolled through her in waves, taking her over and under until she couldn't tell where one ended and the next began.
"Kirr!"
Above her, he groaned, a guttural sound of triumph and lust. His rhythm stuttered, hips snapping forward once, twice, three more times before he buried himself deep and followed her over the edge, spilling his hot seed inside her with a roar that echoed off the walls.
He collapsed over her, catching himself on his forearms, and buried his face in her neck. They lay there tangled together, breathing hard, hearts pounding in unison. She could feel him still inside her, the occasional twitch as the last aftershocks rolled through them both.
She didn't want to move. Didn't want to think about tomorrow, the LMP, or anything. She just wanted to stay right there, wrapped in him, feeling safe for the first time in years.
His lips pressed against her throat, soft now, tender.
"Mine," he murmured against her skin.
She turned her head and kissed his temple, tasting salt.
"Yours," she whispered back, and meant it.
