His palm flattens against the small of my back. His other hand clamps down on my hip, his fingers stretching wide, damn near spanning the whole thing.
“I can’t forget. I fucking worship it.”
He doesn’t ease in. He doesn’t ask. He slams into me in one brutal thrust, stretching me wide, punching the air from my lungs.
A choked sob rips from my throat as my body jerks forward, my breasts dragging against the frigid marble. My knees buckle under the force of it.
“Look at me.”
His hand wraps around my throat. I drag my gaze up and lock eyes with him in the mirror. What stares back at me isn’t just hunger. It’s madness. A black hole of need that borders on agony.
This isn’t just fucking.
This is claiming.
This is him falling apart and pulling me down with him.
My fingers slip on the marble, my body trembling as he drives into me harder. My knees go weak. I’m so fucking full I could break in two. The friction is a burn. The pressure is brutal.
“Who do you belong to, kitten?”
“You,” I gasp. “You.”
His hand shifts, slides from my throat to my belly.
“Marry me, Arlo.”
The words crash into me harder than his body. I freeze, every thought stripped away. But he doesn’t stop.
“You heard me.” He grinds deeper. “This is mine. You are mine. Our children are mine. Marry me.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I can’t think. Can’t breathe. He fucks the words into me, carving them into my bones.
“Answer me.” His thrusts grow sharper. Harsher.
A Sovereign wedding? I hate the Sovereign…I can’t…I…
“I can’t…” I pant, trying to keep up. “I can’t take a Sovereign vow, Priest. I can’t?—
“Not Sovereign vows.”
His hand slips from my stomach. The other fists my hair, yanking my head back.
“You’ll vow yourself tome. Me alone.Igave my life to the Sovereign.Yourlife is mine.” My back arches under the pressure. “Be my fucking wife, Arlo.”
The command shreds whatever’s left of me. His hips piston. The pressure builds. And when it hits?—
“Yes,” I sob. “Yes.”
He drives into me once—twice—then a third time, the sound in his chest almost animal as he empties into me. The heat of him floods me, and the shock of it shatters me completely. Mybody clamps around him, wringing every last drop as I break against him.
We fold forward together, my spine collapsing into his chest, his breath stuttering across my shoulder. His palm stays curved under my belly.
The bathroom is quiet except for our breathing and the faint hum of the coronation waiting above us. His sweat drips onto my back. My lips are parted against my arm, still trembling.
Then his mouth finds my ear.
“I need you to say it again,” he whispers, “Arlo…please.”
