My body trembled, desperation sinking in as he gripped his cock and began to push inside me. Inch by inch, he filled me at a slow, torturous pace. Once he was buried deep, he paused.
The plug made things tighter, more intense. Every movement, every twitch of his cock, made pressure build in my lower stomach.
“Fuck, Av,” he groaned through clenched teeth. “You’re so fucking tight. Fucking hell. You feel so goddamn amazing.”
All I could do was whine and take it. I was helpless, aching, his for the taking.
My body was pinned down, my pussy stretched around him as he drove into me, the bells chiming with each brutal thrust. He even pulled at the clamps, the pain slicing through the pleasure as I screamed and shuddered, unable to control my reactions.
He didn’t stop, never slowed down. His rhythm was relentless and merciless, so deep, he was hitting a spot inside me that threatened to be my undoing.
I was on the edge of breaking. The overstimulation of the plug and clamps and the cock inside me coursed through my veins like flashes of lightning.
Convulsions rocked my body as I shattered for him, unable to hold back the orgasm that tore through me. I held my breath,bound and consumed by the intensity of the blinding white wave drowning me.
He didn’t stop. He held me down, pushing on my lower stomach, making the spasms worse even as the waves calmed. I cried and shook, but he just groaned and continued to bury himself to the hilt.
I was thankful once his pace faltered and became rough. I was wide-eyed and shaking my head when he pulled out and covered the inside of my thighs with his cum. Once he was spent, he removed the plug and the clamps. It felt like it took hours, even though it was probably only a few seconds. When he untied my legs and arms, I didn’t move. I couldn’t even convince my limbs to stretch. Everything refused to work.
He pulled me into his arms as he laid down beside me, and any remaining tension melted. I was safe in his arms.
“Look at you,” he whispered, brushing hair off my sweaty forehead. “An adorable little puddle.” He placed a gentle kiss on my forehead. “Just like I told you.”
I wasn’t here, but I was. I felt like I was floating in the room, still high on the immense pleasure. The way he cradled me, like I was precious to him, helped ground me. I found myself breathing in sync with him.
He was murmuring softly, his lips pressed to my temple. I was so out of it, I couldn’t really understand any words, but the soundof him was enough. His voice was deep and calming, making me feel safe.
I didn’t realize I’d been crying until he wiped my tears away.
“Hey,” he said softly. “You with me?”
I nodded, unable to form words, feeling heavy in every aspect of the word.
He pulled a blanket over us, trapping our bodies together. I didn’t want to be anywhere else. I was already dreading getting up, having to wash him off me, to lose the smell of him on my skin.
I turned my head to rest my cheek on his chest. My eyes jumped across his inked skin, the stories they told. I traced the lines with my finger, feeling his muscles twitch as I went.
My finger found its way to the scars on his ribs, the way he’d marked himselfpermanentlyfor me in so many ways, an intentional reminder he’d branded himself with, and a shiver ran through me.
I kept running my fingers over his scars, wondering what it felt like to be so obsessed and consumed by someone, you’d need so many reminders of them on your skin.
And suddenly, I needed it too.
I neededhismark on me. Something that would never fade. That would represent the hold he had on me, the way he’d crawled under my skin.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and looked up at him.
He immediately met my eyes, looking at me expectantly, waiting for me to speak.
“I want…” My voice cracked, and tears stung my eyes once more.
“It’s okay, baby,” he said in a calm voice. “Take your time.” He lifted my chin to press a light kiss to my lips.
“I want you to mark me,” I whispered against his mouth.
He froze.
“Rowen?” I asked after he didn’t speak for a beat.
