The orgasm rolled through me in waves, my body clenching around his fingers in rhythmic pulses, my voice breaking on his name. My back arched so hard my shoulders came off the blanket, and I felt slick gush against his chin, heard the wet sounds of him groaning into me, drinking me down. He gentled as the aftershocks faded—licks turning soft, almost lazy—pressing kisses to the crease of my thigh, my hip, the damp skin where my muscles were still twitching.
"That's one," he said, crawling back up my body, his face wet with my arousal, his lips swollen and glistening. He licked them slowly, savoring the taste, and the sight of it—this massive, controlled man with my slick coating his jaw—made something clench hard and low in my belly. "I want at least one more before I'm inside you."
"Greedy," I managed, barely getting the word out past the ragged sawing of my breath, my chest heaving, my fingers still twisted in the blanket above my head.
"For you?" He kissed me, and I tasted myself on his tongue—tangy and sweet, mixed with the lingering burn of whiskey. His hand cupped my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone. "Always."
He shifted us then, rolling onto his back and pulling me on top of him. I straddled his hips, my palms flat on his chest, looking down at him spread beneath me—all that power, willingly pinned.
"Ride my face," he said, his voice a low command that went straight to my core. His hands slid up my thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh, spreading me open. "I want you to come on my tongue before you take my knot."
I shuffled up his body, my thighs shaking, the insides of them slick and oversensitive. When I was poised over his face, I hesitated—the vulnerability of it hitting me, being this exposed, this open above him. He looked up at me with those storm-colored eyes blown wide, his lips wet and swollen, his face still glistening with me, and all my hesitation evaporated.
His hands gripped my hips, fingers pressing into the flesh hard enough to dimple the skin, and he pulled me down onto his mouth. The angle was different this way—deeper, more intense, gravity working with him. His tongue pressed into me flat and wide while his nose nudged my clit with every movement ofhis jaw. I braced my hands against the wall behind us, feeling the cool plaster under my palms, and rocked against his face, grinding down, chasing the pleasure that was building again in tight, spiraling waves.
"Oh god—Harper—" My head fell back, my spine arching, my nails scrabbling against the wall. He groaned beneath me—I felt it more than heard it, the vibration traveling from his mouth into my core, radiating outward until my toes curled. His fingers dug into my hips hard enough to leave bruises I'd wear like badges tomorrow. He was devouring me, his tongue relentless, alternating between broad licks and focused flicks, his scruff soaked and rough against my oversensitive flesh. The wet sounds of his mouth working me filled the room, and I should have been embarrassed but instead it wound me tighter, hotter, closer.
The second orgasm crested fast—harder than the first, sharper—and when it broke, I screamed, my thighs clamping around his head, my whole body seizing. He held me through it, arms wrapping around my thighs, tongue softening, gentling, easing me down with slow, soothing strokes until the aftershocks faded to tremors.
I slid back down his body on boneless limbs, my lungs burning, my skin flushed and damp. His cock was hard against my stomach, thick and straining—he'd been ignoring his own need this whole time, and when I wrapped my hand around him, he hissed through his teeth, his abs clenching into sharp relief, his hips jerking up into my grip.
"Inside me," I said, rising up on my knees, positioning him at my entrance. The words came out raw, stripped bare. "I need you inside me when we bond."
"Artemis—" His voice cracked, his hands finding my hips, steadying me. His thumbs rubbed circles on my hip bones, tender even now, even with his cock straining against my slickentrance. I held his gaze, let him see every single thing I was feeling, and sank down. The first inch stole my breath. The stretch was slow and exquisite, my body opening around the thick head of him, slick easing the way but doing nothing to diminish the sheer size. I paused, panting, my thighs quivering, feeling myself stretched wide around just the tip, the rim of my entrance burning in a way that blurred pleasure and pain into one searing sensation.
"Take your time." His voice was barely human—guttural, strained, the tendons in his forearms standing out like cables where he gripped my hips. Sweat beaded along his hairline and tracked down his temples. "No rush. Whatever you need."
I sank lower. Another inch. Another. Feeling every ridge and vein of him as my body swallowed him, stretching to accommodate, clenching and fluttering in involuntary spasms that made us both groan. When he was fully seated—his hips flush against my inner thighs, so deep I could feel the pressure against my cervix, his pelvis grinding against my still-sensitive clit—I stopped. Breathed. Felt him pulse inside me, hot and thick, filling me so completely that when I shifted even slightly, the pressure against my front wall made white spots dance behind my eyes.
His hands trembled on my hips, his jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping, his gaze locked on mine with an intensity that burned. A vein pulsed at his temple, his skin flushed and damp. Every muscle in his body was locked tight, restraint costing him everything.
"Move," he gritted out, the tendons in his neck standing out. "Please, sweetheart. Move." I rolled my hips—a slow, experimental circle—and we both groaned, the sound torn from us in unison. The friction was incredible, the angle grinding his cock against every sensitive spot inside me. I found a rhythm—slow and deep, rising up until the thick head caught at myentrance, stretched me wide, then sinking back down until he bottomed out and the pressure made sparks scatter through me. His hands guided my movements, broad palms warm against my skin, but he let me lead. His thumbs pressed into my hip bones, fingers splayed across my lower back, steadying without controlling.
"So tight," he groaned, his head falling back, the cords of his neck straining. "So wet and hot. Fuck, Artemis—the way you feel?—"
"You feel—" I gasped, grinding down harder, chasing the building pressure, my nails scoring lines into his chest. "God, you feel so deep. Can feel you everywhere." My head dropped forward, my hair falling around us like a curtain, my breath coming in ragged pants that fanned across his damp skin.
Something shifted in his expression—the careful control cracking apart, something darker and more primal surging up behind his eyes. "Together," he echoed, and then he was moving.
His feet planted on the blanket, thighs flexing beneath me, and he thrust up to meet me on every downstroke, driving deeper, harder, with a force that punched the air from my lungs. The pace changed—no longer slow and savoring but urgent, desperate, his hips snapping up to meet mine in a rhythm that made the wet slap of our bodies echo off the walls.
"Harder," I gasped, bracing my hands on his chest, and his eyes went dark at the word, jaw tightening with something feral. He moved without warning—one arm wrapping around my waist, the other bracing against the floor—and flipped us. Suddenly I was on my back and he was over me, his massive body blocking out the candlelight, casting me in his shadow. He hooked one of my legs over his shoulder, opening me impossibly wide, and drove back in with a thrust so deep I saw stars.
"God—Harper—" My voice broke, my hands scrabbling at his back, nails raking down the thick muscle, leaving red lines.
"That's it," he growled, his hips pistoning, each thrust harder than the last, hitting a spot so deep inside me that the pleasure bordered on something close to pain. His hand gripped my thigh where it rested on his shoulder, his other forearm braced beside my head, the muscles in his arm shaking with exertion. "Take it. Take all of me. Every inch."
I was beyond words. Beyond thought. He was so deep in this position that I could feel him in my stomach, could feel the thick head of his cock pressing against the deepest part of me with every brutal thrust. The room filled with the sounds of us—the obscene wet slap of skin on skin, my broken cries, his guttural groans, the creak of the old wooden floor beneath us.
"So fucking tight," he gritted against my throat, his teeth scraping the tendon, his hips never slowing. "So wet for me. Can hear it, can hear how much you want this—" And I could hear it too—the slick, rhythmic sounds of his cock driving into me, the wet squelch of my body opening and clenching around his girth, evidence of how desperately my body wanted him.
"Don't stop," I sobbed, my leg tightening on his shoulder, pulling him deeper. "Don't you dare stop?—"
"Couldn't if I wanted to." His voice was wrecked, shattered, all that careful control burned away. He pressed his forehead to mine, his gray eyes open and burning and so full of feeling I couldn't breathe. "You're mine, Artemis. Tonight you become mine in every way that matters. And I become yours."
He kissed me then—hard and filthy and claiming, his tongue in my mouth, his cock buried to the hilt inside me—and I tasted whiskey and myself and him, and the combination made me dizzy. His knot was starting to swell. I could feel it catching on my rim with every thrust—a growing pressure at my entrance, stretching me wider each time he pushed in, the burn of it making my toes curl and my fingers claw at his back. Each timeit popped past my entrance, the burst of pressure-pleasure tore a cry from my throat.
"Close," I panted, the pleasure coiling tight and molten in my belly, my body starting to flutter and clench around him, tightening in waves. "Harper, I'm so close?—"
