"Claim me," I breathe. "Please, Blake. Make me forget him. Make me forget everything but you."
He doesn't hesitate.
Blake sweeps me up effortlessly, one arm hooking under my knees, the other supporting my back. I gasp, instinctually wrapping my legs around his waist and my arms around his thick neck. He carries me like I weigh nothing, striding toward the metal staircase leading to the upper loft. He moves with singular purpose, the heavy thud of his boots on the metal stairs matching the pounding of my heart. He says nothing as he navigates the landing and kicks open the door to his bedroom.
The room is stark, functional, and intensely masculine. A massive king-sized bed dominates the space, covered in dark gray sheets. The walls are bare brick and steel, the only light coming from the moon filtering through the high, reinforced skylights.
He walks to the side of the bed but doesn't drop me. He lets my legs slide down until my feet touch the floor, keeping me pressed tight against his body. The friction of his hard chest against my soft breasts sends a visceral throb straight to my drenched pussy.
"Strip," he orders. A command from a man used to being obeyed.
My hands shake as I reach for the hem of the oversized shirt. I pull it up, the fabric sliding over my skin, and toss it aside. I stand before him completely bare, vulnerable in the pale moonlight. I fight the urge to cover myself, to hide the scarsRamon left—the faint cigarette burn on my hip, the jagged line on my ribcage from a fall he caused.
Blake’s eyes devour me. He stares at the imperfections. His gaze lingers on them, jaw tightening, a muscle feathering in his cheek. He looks ready to burn the world down for daring to mark his property.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, sounding like a prayer and a curse. He reaches out, large hands spanning my waist, thumbs pressing into my soft flesh. He pulls me closer, dropping to his knees in front of me. I gasp as his face comes level with my hips.
"Blake..."
"Quiet," he commands softly. "Let me taste you."
He spreads my thighs with his hands, grip firm and unyielding. He leans in, inhaling deeply, nose brushing against the curls at my pussy. The sensation makes my knees buckle, but his hands hold me steady. Then his tongue swipes out, broad and wet and hot, tasting me right where I’m most swollen and wet.
I cry out, fingers tangling in his dark hair, gripping tight. He groans against me, the vibration traveling through my swollen lips. He doesn't tease. He attacks with a hunger bordering on desperation. His tongue works a punishing rhythm, finding my clit and circling it relentlessly.
"So wet," he groans against my skin, hands moving to cup my ass, squeezing the flesh possessively. "You taste like mine. Sweet and clean and mine."
My head falls back, staring up at the industrial beams of the ceiling. The pleasure builds too fast, a tidal wave I can’t outrun.I’m still sensitive from earlier. He knows it. He exploits it. He sucks hard, drawing my clit into his mouth, and I shatter.
My legs give out completely. Blake catches me, rising to his feet and lifting me onto the high mattress in one fluid motion. He follows me down, his heavy body caging me against the sheets.
He kisses me—a hard, claiming brand that steals whatever breath I had left. Then he pushes back up.
He doesn't give me time to recover. He stands at the edge of the bed and rips his thermal shirt over his head, revealing a torso hammered from iron. Scars map his skin—burn marks from the forge, slice marks from knives, bullet wounds from his past life. Tattoos weave through the damage, dark ink telling stories of violence and loyalty. He is terrifying. He is magnificent.
His hands go to his belt, the buckle clinking loudly in the silence. He shoves his jeans and boxer briefs down his hips, kicking them away.
When I see him fully, my breath catches. He is terrifyingly thick—a heavy, veined weapon of dark, engorged flesh that threatens to split me in two.
"Blake," I whisper, a tremor of apprehension mixing with the lust. "You're... you're too big."
He climbs onto the bed, prowling over me on hands and knees until he hovers directly above. The heat rolling off him suffocates me in the best way possible. He braces his weight on his forearms, framing my head, biceps bulging with strain.
"Your body was made to take me, Tiff," he says, voice rough with restraint. "You’re soft where I’m hard. You’ll stretch. I’ll makesure of it. I'm going to fill every inch of you until you can't feel anything but me."
He lowers his hips, the blunt head of his cock brushing against my pussy. I’m slick with my own fluids and his saliva, but the sheer width of him is daunting. He kisses me then, capturing my mouth in a searing, bruising kiss that tastes of my own desire. His tongue answers my body’s plea, mimicking what he wants to do to my body, dominating, exploring, claiming.
He pushes forward, just an inch. I whimper, hips bucking instinctively. It burns, a sharp, stretching sting that feels incredibly full.
"Relax," he murmurs, nipping at my bottom lip. "Breathe for me, baby. Open up."
He reaches down between our bodies, his thumb finding my clit again, rubbing circles to distract me, to spike the pleasure high enough to override the tightness. It works. My hips lift, seeking more of him.
He pushes again, harder. The blunt, hot head of his cock stretches my pussy to the breaking point before popping past the ring of muscle, forcing my walls to accommodate his obscene width. I’m being occupied, filled to the absolute brim by the man who owns me.
"That’s it," he grunts, sweat beading on his forehead. He’s holding back. Every muscle in his body trembles with the effort to not just drive into me. He’s letting me adjust. Protecting me even now.
"Please," I sob, the fullness becoming an ache I need to satisfy. "Blake, please."
