His steel-blue eyes darken, that tactical mind already calculating possibilities, angles, how much time we have.
He kisses me with no hesitation, hands bracing either side of my jaw, holding me in place so the only thing I can do is taste him,let him own my mouth. There’s no preamble, no gentle teasing—he’s on top of me, rolling so our bodies align, so the length of him presses against my thigh and the heat between my legs throbs, desperate and electric, every nerve ending ringing with want.
His hand slides up, palm broad, wrapping nearly from the tip of my chin to the shell of my ear. He forces my head back, deepening the kiss—tongue demanding, teeth nipping my lower lip until I gasp, until the breath leaves me in a single, melting ribbon. When I reach for him, palms seeking the thick cords of his shoulders, he intercepts my wrists and slams them to the mattress above my head.
A shock goes through me. I can’t move, can’t even twist away, can only arch my back as his body covers mine, the weight of him pinning me down. My pulse hammers in my throat, matching the cadence of his exhale against my mouth.
“Jace,” I whisper, barely a plea.
He bites the curve of my jaw, and his voice is rough and guttural. “You want to be in control, princess. But you’re mine now.”
It’s never been a safe word between us, never a negotiation. With Jace, the boundaries are implicit, bone-deep. He would stop if I wanted—but what I want, right now, is this: a world narrowed to his grip, his mouth, the hardening line of his cock rutting against the seam of my thighs.
He kisses down my neck, tongue tracing the groove between tendon and artery, teeth scraping. His free hand rakes up the side of my ribcage, thumb swiping the soft underside of my breast before palming the entire thing, kneading until I whimper and try to writhe away. He pins my wrists even harder, tightening the cord of our bodies so I can only move if he lets me.
I’m squirming beneath him, already soaked, already hot enough that each drag of his mouth sends a wet, electric pulse right to my clit. The way he touches me—it’s clinical and wild at the same time, a surgeon’s precision, a beast’s hunger.
He lets go of my breast only to seize my jaw, thumb and fingers pressing into my cheeks so my lips part for him. He spits in my mouth, the slick taste of him sharp and obscene and ridiculously hot. For a moment, I see stars.
“Swallow,” he orders, and I do, throat flexing on command.
My pussy clenches with the shame of it, the heat of being so thoroughly handled. He sees it—he always sees it, and his mouth slants in a feral half-smile even as he goes back to kissing me, marking me, hands never easing their grip.
He grinds against me, the rough slide of our bodies enough to make me shudder. My wrists twist in his grasp but it’s no use; he’s stronger by far, unyielding. I can only squeeze my thighs together, try to trap him, to make him feel what he’s doing to me.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he growls. He releases my jaw, trailing down my body, mouth latching to my breast and sucking, hard, enough to leave a bruise in seconds. I moan, high and helpless, and he releases it with a popping sound, rolling the nipple between his teeth before moving to the other.
I arch up to meet him, needing more, wanting everything, and he finally relinquishes one of my wrists to slide his hand between my legs, two fingers rubbing my slit, finding me soaked and swollen.
He watches my face as he slides inside. I feel him stretch me—first one finger, then two, then the thick, relentless pressure as he scissors them apart and fucks me with slow, measuredthrusts. His gaze is locked on mine, and for a second I can’t breathe.
When he takes his fingers away, I almost cry out. But then he’s lining up, pinning both of my wrists in one hand now so his other is free to guide his cock to my entrance.
He goes slow at first, rocking against me, teasing, barely letting the head crest my opening before pulling back.
“Jace—please,” I whine, unable to bear the anticipation.
He crushes his mouth to mine, stifling the noise, and then in one smooth, brutal motion pushes all the way inside, so deep I see explosions behind my eyelids. My whole body goes rigid. The pain is sharp and sweet, laced with the humiliation of how much I want it, how much I need him to fuck me until I forget my own name.
He sets a pace, not frantic or desperate but relentless: each thrust angled so he grinds against the spot that makes me see stars, every push a statement, a reminder that I am his, that he can take me however he wants and I will say yes, will always say yes.
He doesn’t relent with his hands, either—one still gripping my wrists, the other on my throat, thumb pressing just enough to make my skin light with fire, to make me gasp for air.
“Look at me,” he demands, and I do: I look up at him pinning me to the mattress, his face twisted with emotion that’s too raw to be anything but love, his eyes steel blue and wild.
He fucks me until my arms go numb, until I’m sobbing against his palm, until the knot in my belly goes taut and electric, so tight it’s almost painful.
It’s only then, when I’m right at the edge, that he lets my wrists go. My hands go instantly to his back, nails raking down the muscle, clinging to him as if I might otherwise fly apart.
He shifts, pulls me up so I’m sitting in his lap, chest to chest, his cock never leaving me. He fucks me like that, hard and fast, my hair tangled over my face and our sweat slicking the press of skin. I wrap my legs around him, ride the wave as it crests and breaks, orgasm tearing through me—loud, ragged, helpless.
He doesn’t stop. He keeps going, chasing his own release, fingers digging into my ass, mouth glued to mine as if he can’t get enough.
When he comes, it’s with a hoarse shout, whole body tensing, spilling inside me as he buries his cock to the hilt and holds me there, trembling.
We collapse together, bodies tangled, gasping for breath.
He kisses my neck, my jaw, the hollow of my collarbone.
