Finn hisses through his teeth as I stroke him, his fingers working deeper inside me. There's an urgency building between us that's different from before—not desperation born of anger, but of purpose. Of alignment.
"Together," he agrees, his voice a rough whisper against my ear. "No more shadows between us."
I guide him to my entrance, both of us beyond teasing now. He replaces his fingers with the thick head of his cock, pressing against me but not entering. Not yet. His hands grip my thighs, positioning me at the edge of the desk.
"Look at me," he commands, though there's no need. I couldn't look away if I tried.
When he pushes inside, it's with deliberate slowness—inch by delicious inch, stretching me, filling me, claiming me into him with deliberate precision. I gasp as he fills me completely, my body stretching to accommodate him. There's no pain, only fullness, rightness, completion.
"Perfect," he breathes against my throat, his hands sliding to my hips. "Always so perfect for me."
I wrap my legs around his waist, drawing him deeper. The wood of the desk is hard beneath me, solid and unyielding like the man between my thighs. Papers crumple, a pen rolls to the floor. None of it matters.
"Move," I command, my fingers digging into his shoulders.
He smiles against my skin—not the smile he gives his men, not the smile he wears for the cameras. This one is real, almost reverent. "As my queen commands."
The words send a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the chill of the room. He begins to move, setting a rhythmthat's neither punishing nor tentative. Just sure. Confident. Like he knows exactly what I need.
"Look at us," he murmurs, one hand sliding up to cup my face. "Made for this."
I meet his gaze, refusing to look away. This isn't surrender—it's alliance. Partnership. The final pieces clicking into place after years of misalignment.
"We were always meant for this," I whisper, rolling my hips to meet his thrusts. "Not just the violence. Not just the revenge."
His grip tightens on my hips, fingers digging into flesh already marked from nights before. Each thrust drives me back slightly on the desk, the wood creaking beneath us.
"Tell me what we were meant for," he demands, his voice rough with need.
"This," I gasp as he hits that perfect spot inside me. "Ruling. Together."
The word seems to ignite something primal in him. His rhythm changes, becoming deeper, more deliberate. One hand slides up my back, supporting me as he leans me backward over the desk. Papers scatter to the floor. An inkwell topples, black liquid spilling like blood across ancient wood.
"Say it again," he growls, his forehead pressed to mine, breath hot against my lips.
"Together," I repeat, my voice breaking as pleasure builds inside me. "No more secrets. No more lies."
His hand slides up to my throat, not squeezing, just resting there—a reminder of his power and my willingness to surrender it to him. Only to him.
"My queen," he whispers again, the words vibrating against my skin.
I arch into him, taking him deeper. This isn't like before—the frantic coupling against walls, the punishment, the rage. This is something else entirely. A coronation. A claiming that goes both ways.
"Yes," I breathe, my fingers digging into his shoulders. "Yours."
He pulls me up from the desk, one arm wrapping around my waist while the other cradles the back of my head. The position changes the angle, driving him impossibly deeper. I gasp against his mouth, my body clenching around him.
"And I'm yours," he says, eyes locked on mine, pupils blown wide with desire. "Every broken piece of me."
My hands frame his face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. I can feel him trembling beneath my touch—not with weaknessbut with restrained power. With emotion he's finally letting himself feel.
"I know," I whisper. "I know every piece."
Something wild and possessive flares in his eyes as he lifts me completely off the desk, my legs still wrapped around his waist. He carries me to his chair, sitting down with me straddling him, still joined, still full of him. The leather creaks beneath our weight.
"Rule from here," he says, his voice rough with desire. "Show me what power looks like on you."
I place my hands on his shoulders and begin to move, setting my own pace. Slow at first, savoring the feeling of him filling me completely. His hands grip my hips but don't guide—he's letting me lead, watching with reverent hunger as I take what I want from him.
