"Good girl," he murmurs. "So wet for me already. Been thinking about this, haven't you? Been touching yourself and wishing it was me?"
"Yes," I admit, my cheeks flushing.
"Tell me what you thought about."
"Your hands," I gasp as he slides one finger inside me. "Your mouth. You... taking me."
"Taking you how?" He adds another finger, stretching me, and I whimper. "Tell me, Grace. I want to hear you say it."
"Like this," I manage. "Hard. Rough. Making me yours."
"That's exactly what I'm going to do." He withdraws his fingers and I hear the sound of his belt buckle, the rasp of his zipper. "Gonna fuck you right here against this fence. Gonna make you scream my name. Gonna fill you up until you're dripping with me."
The dirty talk should shock me.
Instead, it makes me clench with need.
He lifts me easily, my back against the fence, my legs wrapping around his waist.
I can feel him, hard and thick, pressing against my entrance.
"Last chance to stop this," he says, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.
I meet his eyes. "I don't want to stop."
"Good." He thrusts into me in one hard stroke, and I cry out at the stretch, the fullness, and the overwhelming sensation of being completely possessed. "Because you're mine now, Grace. And I don't let go of what's mine."
He doesn't give me time to adjust. Just starts moving, hard and deep and relentless, one hand gripping my hip, the other braced against the fence above my head.
"So tight," he groans. "Taking me so good, darlin'. Like you were made for my cock."
I can't form words.
Can only hold on and feel as he takes me apart with brutal, claiming thrusts.
"You feel that?" he asks, his voice rough. "Feel how deep I am? How perfectly you fit around me? This pussy's mine now, Grace. Mine to fill. Mine to fuck. Mine to breed."
The word sends a shockwave through me. "Shadow?—"
"Gonna put a baby in you," he continues, his pace increasing. "Gonna fill you up over and over until you're round with my kid. Everyone's gonna know you're mine when you're carrying my child."
It should terrify me.
The idea of being pregnant, of being that tied to him.
But it doesn't.
It makes me clench around him, makes me moan his name, makes me want exactly what he's promising.
"You like that?" He bites down on my shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark. "Like the idea of me breeding you?"
"Yes," I gasp. "God, yes."
"That's my good girl." His hand slides between us, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves. "Come for me, Grace. Come on my cock like a good girl."
The combination of his words, his fingers, the relentless thrust of him inside me—it's too much.
I shatter.
