“Take it.” My voice is a growl. “You can handle it. You’re mine.”
She grinds down hard, and I swear I see stars.
I catch her nipple in my mouth, biting just enough to make her yelp, then soothe the sting with my tongue. Her pussy clenches hard around me in response.
Her body begins to tremble. She’s close.
“Come for me,” I command. “Show me who you belong to.”
She comes apart with a scream, her pussy spasming violently around my cock. Her release soaks us both, her thighs shaking, her cries ragged and raw.
But I’m not done.
I flip her onto her back without pulling out. Her bound arms strain behind her, arching her chest up perfectly. I drive into her hard, my cock pistoning in and out, the sound of wet slaps echoing in the chamber.
“Say it,” I growl against her mouth. “Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” she sobs. “Fuck, Kallus—I’m yours!”
I roar as I spill inside her, filling her with pulse after pulse of thick, hot cum. Her body drinks me in, and I don’t stop moving until I’ve wrung out every last drop.
We collapse, tangled and gasping, the scent of sex and sweat thick around us.
She rests her head against my chest, her breath a soft echo of mine.
“You’re insane,” she whispers.
I stroke her hair, her bindings dissolving with a thought. “And you’re still here.”
She doesn’t reply.
She doesn’t have to.
She’s mine.
I carryher to the bathing basin, still warm from earlier. The glowstones shimmer beneath the surface, casting pearlescent shadows on the obsidian tiles.
She’s trembling, her muscles tired and shaky, but she doesn’t resist as I step into the water with her still in my arms. I ease her down onto a submerged seat. Her thighs float open. Her lashes flutter.
Gods.
I take a deep breath and focus.
I clean her carefully, thoroughly, letting her rest against the edge of the tub. Her arms are still bound, but she doesn’t complain. Not with words. She watches me, eyes glassy, pupils wide.
When I take the cloth over the curve of her hip, her breath hitches.
“You’re worshipping me now,” she whispers.
“Wrong,” I growl, voice thick with truth. “I’mclaimingyou.”
And I am.
Every slow pass of the cloth. Every glance I drag down her trembling, beautiful form. Every scar I memorize, every freckle, every soft patch of skin.
Iownher now. And worse—Iwanther. More than I should. More than Ican.
And that realization? It’s a fucking problem.
