"You're mine," he growls against my ear, and the possessiveness in his voice makes me clench around him.
"Yes." I dig my nails into his back, scoring down his shoulders, marking him the way he's marking me. Drawing blood maybe—I don't care. I want to leave evidence on his skin the way he's leaving it inside me. "Yours. And you're mine."
"Fucking mine." He captures my wrists, pinning them above my head with one hand. The position arches my back,changes the angle, and suddenly he's hitting even deeper. Impossibly deep. "Say it again."
"I'm yours." The words come out broken as he pounds into me. "Only yours. Always—oh God—"
His free hand grips my hip, holding me steady for his claiming. There's nothing gentle about it now—just raw need and possession and years of loneliness being exorcised with every desperate thrust.
The pleasure builds to something almost painful in its intensity. My thighs shake. My vision blurs. I'm so close, teetering on the edge, and he knows it.
"Look at me," he demands.
I force my eyes open. Meet his gaze—dark and wild and burning with something that looks like worship and dominance all at once.
"I want to watch you fall apart," he says, voice rough. "Want to see it in your eyes when I make you come."
His fingers find my clit again—circling, pressing, working in perfect rhythm with his thrusts—and I shatter.
The orgasm rips through me like lightning. I arch off the bed, screaming his name, clenching around him so hard he curses. Wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over me, whiting out everything except the feel of him inside me, the sound of our bodies meeting, the brutal perfection of this moment.
"Fuck—Charity—" His control fractures. Rhythm turns erratic, desperate, and then he's coming too. Driving deep one last time and staying there, pulsing inside me, my name torn from his throat like a battle cry.
Weshudder together, riding it out, and it seems to last forever. Every nerve ending firing. Every muscle locked. Two bodies fused into one perfect, devastating whole.
When the tremors finally subside, he releases my wrists, and I immediately wrap my arms around him, holding him close. He's still inside me, both of us too wrung out to move, too overwhelmed to do anything but breathe.
He presses his forehead to mine, eyes closed, chest heaving. "Holy—"
"Yeah." I can't form full sentences either. Can barely think past the bone-deep satisfaction, the rightness of having him still buried deep inside me.
"Did I hurt you?" His voice is rough with concern.
"No." I kiss him softly. "You were perfect. That was perfect."
He pulls back enough to look at me, searching my face for any sign I'm lying. Whatever he sees satisfies him because he kisses me—slow and deep and tender in a way that makes my chest ache.
We collapse together, breathing hard, hearts racing in sync.
He pulls out carefully, then gathers me against his chest. I can hear his heartbeat beneath my ear—steady and strong and alive.
"I love you," I whisper into the darkness. "I know it's fast and crazy and probably too soon to say, but I love you."
His arms tighten around me. "I've loved you since you asked me to stay instead of calling the police."
Outside, the world is still spinning. Still judging. Still questioning our choices.
Buthere, in this bed with this man, I've found something no one can take away.
I've found home.
Lucky stirs on the second bed, then hops down and ambles drunkenly across the room—his cone bumping gently into the bed frame as he approaches.
Draco laughs—soft and genuine and full of happiness I've never heard from him before.
"Our chaperone approves," he says.
"Good." I snuggle closer. "Because I'm never letting you go."
