Two fingers plunge into her dripping pussy, then a third. I fuck her with them in time with my cock, stretching her front and back until she’s stuffed full of me everywhere.
My thumb finds her clit, grinding hard circles, then feather-light, then hard again—torture by rhythm.
“I need to come,” she begs, voice wrecked.
I bare my teeth in a feral grin. “Not yet.”
I hammer into her ass, watching my thick, veiny cock disappear into that tight ring over and over, lube and her own slick making everything obscene and perfect. I curl my fingers inside her cunt, stroking that spot that makes her see stars.
She snaps.
Her back arches off the bed like a bowstring, thighs shaking violently around my hips. A raw scream tears from her throat as she comes, pussy and ass clenching in waves so strong I have to grit my teeth to keep from losing it too soon.
That vice grip milks me mercilessly.
“Gonna fill this tight little ass with my cum,” I snarl, voice gravel and smoke. “And you’re keeping every fucking drop until I say otherwise.”
“Yes—please—yes—”
I grip her hips hard enough to bruise; ten fingerprints she’ll wear like jewellery tomorrow, and I pound into her like an animal finally let off the chain. My balls draw up tight, spine locking, every muscle in my torso and arms carved and glistening with sweat.
I throw my head back, roaring as I come, thick, hot ropes flooding her, marking her from the inside. My cock jerks again and again, pulsing, emptying everything I have while her body keeps squeezing, greedy for it all.
When it finally fades, I’m panting like I’ve run ten miles, chest heaving, veins still throbbing in my neck and forearms.
I drop my gazeto her.
She’s staring up at me, lips swollen, cheeks flushed, eyes glazed and utterly ruined.
“Did you enjoy getting your ass fucked, trouble?”
She licks her lips, breath hitching. “Very fucking much.”
I grin, slow, wicked, possessive.
“Good.” I lean down, claim her mouth in a filthy, deep kiss, tasting her surrender.
“Because we’re doing this every night until you forget what it feels like to walk straight.”
Epilogue
Five months later
Autumn
Ikeep running, clutching fistfuls of ivory lace to my thighs so I don’t trip. The wedding dress is ruined now, with mud on the hem and tiny tears where branches clawed at the silk, but I can’t stop.
Thorns and sharp stones bite the soles of my bare feet; each step sends fire up my calves. My lungs burn. My heart is a frantic bird beating against bone.
I slam against the rough trunk of an old oak, pressing my back to it, chest heaving. Silence. Too much silence. Only the wind in the leaves and my own ragged breathing.
Today was perfect. Today I married Flynn Brady under a rose arch in the Callaghans’ garden, sunlight catching on the gold band he slid onto my finger while he looked at me like I was the only thing that had ever existed.
My parents were there. My mother cried happy tears. My father shook Flynn’s hand and muttered, “Hurt her and they’ll never find the body,” and Flynn, six-foot-six of tattooed menace, pretended to look terrified. Viviana was radiant in emerald, bossing everyone with a camera in one hand and champagne in the other.
It was soft and golden and ours, but now I’m barefoot in the woods, wedding dress shredded, pulse hammering with delicious terror, because somewhere behind me, my husband is hunting.
I glance down at the thin gold ring glinting on my finger, simple, perfect, warm from my skin.
