His smile is wicked. "As you wish."
He increases the pressure on my clit. Picks up the pace just enough that each thrust hits deeper. The combination is devastating. Within moments I'm climbing again. Higher and faster than before. When I finally break, it's with his name on my lips and my nails digging into his shoulders.
The orgasm is longer this time. Stronger. I pulse around him. His groan vibrates through his chest where it presses against mine. Then his control finally snaps.
He buries his face against my neck and fucks me harder. Faster. Chasing his own release with single-minded focus. His teeth find my shoulder. Bite down hard enough that I cry out. Hard enough to leave marks that will bruise.
"Mine." The word is a growl against my skin. "You're mine, Neve. Say it."
"Yours." I can barely form words. "I'm yours."
He comes with a sound that's almost a snarl. I can feel him pulsing inside me. The heat of his release. The way his whole body goes taut before collapsing onto me with his full weight.
We lie there panting. Sweat-slicked. His heart pounds against my chest. His breath hot against my neck where he's still biting down on that claimed piece of skin.
Finally he releases me. Pulls back enough to look at the mark he left. His thumb traces it with satisfaction.
"That's going to bruise." I mean it as complaint. It comes out sounding like satisfaction.
"Good." He kisses the mark. Gentle now. "I want everyone to see you're marked... mine."
He pulls out slowly. I whimper at the loss. His fingers trace through the mess we made with possessive satisfaction before pushing it back inside me.
"Don't want to waste any of this." The crude words make me flush. "Want you full of me."
Then he's gathering me against his chest and rolling us so I'm sprawled on top of him. His hand moves through my hair in long, soothing strokes that make my eyes heavy.
Outside, the storm has finally quieted. Inside, my heart is still racing.
We lie tangled together. Neither of us speaking. Just breathing and touching. The world beyond this bed temporarily forgotten.
"I've never..." The words stick in my throat. "It's never been like that."
"I know." His voice rumbles beneath my ear. "It won't be like that with anyone else. Just me."
The declaration doesn't scare me. That's what terrifies me most.
Sleep pulls at me. I fight it briefly, wanting to stay in this moment where nothing else matters, but exhaustion wins. I drift off on his chest with the steady thump of his heartbeat as my lullaby.
Darkness. Dreamless. Safe.
I wake to pale morning light and the need to pee. Consciousness returns in uncomfortable layers. Full bladder. Stickiness between my thighs. Soreness in muscles I didn't know I had. Magnus's arm heavy across my waist, pinning me to the bed.
I extract myself carefully. Try not to wake him. His arm tightens briefly before releasing me with what might be a grunt of protest. I grab his shirt from the floor and pad to the bathroom on unsteady legs.
The mirror shows me what I suspected. Bite mark on my shoulder. Dark and obvious. Bruises forming on my hips from his fingers. Evidence of being thoroughly claimed that makes my core clench despite the soreness.
When I return, he's awake. Propped up on one elbow and watching me with an intensity that makes me self-conscious in ways last night didn't.
"Come here." Not a request.
I climb back into bed. Let him arrange me how he wants—tucked against his side with his arm around me. My fingers trace idle patterns on his chest. Find scars I didn't notice in the dark. Long line across his ribs. Puckered mark on his shoulder that looks like a bullet wound.
"This one?" My finger traces the shoulder scar.
"Afghanistan. Patrol went bad. Took fire in an ambush." His voice is sleep-rough. "Medic stitched me in a tent."
"And this?" I move to the ribs.
