He bit her shoulder—hard enough to leave a mark—then slid his hand down between her thighs. “You’re soaked,” he growled. “That for me?”
“All for you,” she gasped.
He smirked against her skin. “Damn right it is.”
And then he was inside her—one long, deep stroke that had her crying out into the sheets. He didn’t ease into it. He owned her with every thrust. Hand gripping her hip hard enough to bruise. Skin against skin. The slap of flesh, her breathless moans, the raw edge of control slipping just enough to make it perfect.
What followed was relentless. Controlled. Measured. Tool never lost his rhythm, never gave in to chaos—hewasthe chaos. He pushed her down with one hand on the back of her head, gripping her hip with the other as he fucked her deep. Rough. Possessive. Each thrust stole the air from her lungs and filled her with him.
She cried out—once, twice—but didn’t dare move. Shewantedto obey. Needed to. That’s what Tool did to her. Broke her open with control and stitched her back together with dominance.
“Say it,” he demanded, voice ragged with restraint. “Say who owns you.”
“You do,” she cried out. “You own me. I’m yours.”
He grunted in approval, fingers tangling in her hair as he yanked her head back, angling her just how he wanted her. “That’s right. And I don’t share.”
When she shattered around him, he didn’t stop. He kept pushing, kept pulling every bit of surrender from her body until she was trembling, boneless, breathless.
Only then did he slow. Only then did he let go.
Tool collapsed over her, one arm wrapping around her waist, the other brushing sweat-damp hair from her neck. He kissed her there—soft, slow. A contrast to everything he’d just taken.
“You did good, baby,” he murmured against her skin. “So fucking good for me.”
Brandi smiled through the haze, her body used and claimed—but her heart, safe. Always safe in his hands.
Her body was still trembling when Tool eased out of her. She didn’t move. Couldn’t. Her arms had fallen limp above her head, face turned to the side, cheek pressed against the pillow. Her skin was flushed, her breaths shaky and uneven.
Tool stayed behind her for a long moment, one hand pressed flat to her lower back like a weight, like a brand.
He was always like this after—still and quiet, almost reverent.
When he finally moved, it wasn’t fast. He rolled off the bed, grabbed a towel from the nearby chair, and returned to her. Kneeling beside her, he wiped between her thighs with slow, careful strokes, then tossed the towel aside.
“You with me, baby?” His voice had lost that edge. Still deep. Still dominant. But now, laced with something gentler.
Brandi blinked, a soft moan escaping as she turned her head slightly. “Mmmhmm.”
Tool slipped his arms under her and lifted her easily, cradling her against his bare chest. She didn’t resist, just curled into him instinctively, her cheek finding the warm spot between his collarbone and neck. He sat back against the headboard with her in his lap, blanket half-draped around them.
“You were perfect,” he whispered, lips brushing her temple. “Took everything I gave you.”
She melted into the praise, sighing as his fingers stroked up and down her spine in slow, even passes. He always did this—reconnected her. Brought her back. Made her feel safe after he’d pushed her to the edge.
“I like it when you’re rough,” she said, voice hoarse from breathless cries.
He chuckled, low and quiet. “Yeah? I know you do. But I also know what you need after.”
His thumb brushed beneath her eye, tucking a damp strand of hair away. “If I ever take it too far, you tell me. You pull me back.”
“You didn’t, you won’t,” she said softly. “You never do.”
He didn’t answer right away, just held her tighter. Pressed a kiss to her forehead, then her cheek, then the side of her mouth. She shifted in his arms, lips meeting his in a slow, tender kiss that tasted like gratitude and trust.
Tool rested his forehead against hers. “You’re mine, Brandi. Every part of you. And I take care of what’s mine.”
She smiled, her eyes finally drifting closed.
In the silence that followed, Tool leaned back against the headboard with her in his arms, one hand splayed across her lower back, the other buried in her hair. Protective. Possessive. At peace.
She slept like that—safely tucked into the arms of the man who could break her open with a single word and still hold her like she was the most fragile thing in the world.
The End
