“You’re… so thick.” I wince at a pinch—a sting of pain. “I didn’t practice with—” I bite back my words, embarrassed that I’ve only used polished dildos down there.
He stills. “Flori…”
“Keep going.” He’s not even fully seated.
“I’m hurting you.”
“It’s okay.” I nibble my lip. “It’s not supposed to hurt every time. Is it?”
“But you’re…” His gaze darts over my inked badges of mastery. “They say Vespers are trained in every activity between a husband and wife.” Emotion flashes on his face. “I wanted to die when I found out the fate I’d left you with. I intended to visit you, but each time I saw you through the Pen’s windows—another mark on your skin, and I…”
It’s not disgust, like I feared, shining in his eyes. It’s shame. Regret. Self-blame. I slide my hands around his sweat-dampneck and tug him close. “I never blamed you,” I whisper, lips fluttering against his. “For my being there. Even now, knowing what I know about you, I still don’t.”
He exhales and rests his forehead against mine. For a long, breathless moment we stay like that, head to head, his cock half inside me.
“So I’m your first,” he mutters, voice deep. “In this.”
“Yes.”
Hot, carnal eyes meet mine. “Then I’m sorry, sweetheart. This is going to hurt before it feels good.”
He thrusts hard. I gasp, digging my nails into his shoulders as he fills me. It burns. Stretches. But he’s already distracting me from the pain by cupping my breast and tonguing my nipple. Tingling pulls of molten fire shoot down to my womb. When he reaches down and plays with my clit until I squirm. Whimper. Pant with needy sounds.
“Shh,” he soothes, trailing kisses up my neck and jaw. “This is the good part now, love.”
He captures my lips in a deep, languid kiss as he moves—slow, shallow thrusts at first, letting me adjust to his size. The initial discomfort fades, replaced by a building pleasure that makes me pant and arch against him, meeting his movements, wanting more.
“That’s it,” he mumbles. “Take me deeper.”
His pace quickens, hips snapping against mine with increasing urgency. The sound of skin slapping skin mingles with our gasps and moans. I dig my heels into his lower back.
“Harder, Dray,” I beg.
“Bossy.”
“I won’t break.”
“And fucking dramatic.”
Our breathless laughs cut short when he hooks my legs over his shoulders and rears back, gifting me with the perfect view offlexing abs. The new angle has him hitting a spot that makes me see stars. I cry out, overwhelmed by the intensity. His powerful thrusts rock my body, knocking my head back onto his rolled-up shirt. I’m lost in sensation, drowning in the feel of him.
“You’re mine.” His voice is rough with possessive need. “Say it.”
“Yours,” I gasp.
“Don’t ever doubt how I feel for you.”
“Never.”
He rewards me with a particularly deep thrust that has me whimpering, reaching for him. I don’t know what I’m asking, but he gives it to me. He slides my legs off his shoulders and flattens against me, hips never faltering their pace. The closeness. The weight of him. The heat. It’s exactly what I need.
My teeth clamp gently on the tendon between his neck and shoulder. My fingers claw at his back. He hisses, the pain spurring him on.
“That’s it,” he growls. “Mark me. Show everyone I’m yours.”
His words ignite something primal within me. I bite down hard enough to bruise. He roars, hips slamming into me with renewed vigor.
“Fuck, Flori!”
