"Tell me who you belong to," he demands, holding himself still, buried only a few inches inside.
"You," I cry. "I belong to you."
"Say it," he demands. "Say you’re mine."
"I'm yours. I'm yours, Blake. Only yours."
With a guttural roar, he snaps his hips forward. He slides all the way in, hilt deep. The sensation overwhelms me. I feel him everywhere, filling every empty space inside, stretching me to my absolute limit. It feels like he’s touching my soul.
For a second, neither of us moves. We just breathe, harsh and ragged, chests heaving together. I feel anchored. Weighted down to the earth by his heavy body. For the first time in years, I don't feel like I'm floating away. I am pinned, claimed, and safe.
Then he begins to move. Blake doesn't do gentle. He pulls almost all the way out, leaving me aching and empty for a split second, before slamming back in with a force that rocks the sturdy bed frame.
Thwack.
"God," he hisses through clenched teeth. "You’re so tight. Fuck, Tiffany."
He establishes a rhythm—slow, deep, grinding thrusts that hit a spot deep inside me I didn't know existed. With every stroke, he claims a little more. He grabs my wrists, pinning them above my head with one large hand, leaving me completely open to him. I wrap my legs around his waist, locking my ankles, pulling him deeper. I want him to fuse with me. I want to be so tangled up in him that Ramon can never find me again.
"Look at me," he commands.
I open my eyes, locking gazes with him. His face is a mask of concentration and primal ecstasy. He watches me take him, drinking in my surrender.
"You take it so good," he praises, a deep sound vibrating through his chest and into mine. "My perfect girl. Taking everything I have. Every drop of my seed."
The friction builds, hot and sharp. The burn turns into a blazing fire. I toss my head from side to side, moaning his name, lost in the sensation of his thick length stretching me, rubbing against every nerve ending.
He picks up the pace, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, more animalistic. The civilized world falls away. There is no bakery, no ex-husband, no laws. Just the cave, the fire, and the mate.
"I'm close," I gasp, my pussy tightening, clamping down around him.
"Let go," he demands, releasing my wrists to slide his hands under my hips, angling me to take him even deeper into my soaking pussy. "Cum on my cock, Tiffany. Squeeze me."
He drives into me, hitting that sweet spot again and again with ruthless precision. The pleasure spikes, white-hot and blinding. I arch my back, a scream tearing from my throat as the orgasm rips through me. It’s violent and beautiful. I convulse around him, milking him, my muscles spasming in waves.
The feeling of me tightening around him snaps his restraint.
"Fuck!" he roars. He hammers into me, fast and brutal, three, four, five deep strokes that make my vision blur. He buries hisface in the crook of my neck, biting down on the sensitive skin there—marking me—as he spills into me.
I feel the pulses of his cum, hot and heavy, flooding me. He groans, a long, deep sound of satisfaction coming from the marrow of his bones. He holds himself deep inside me, pressing our hips together until the last tremors fade.
Silence fills the room, but it’s different now. No longer empty.
Blake collapses on top of me, his weight crushing but comforting. He supports most of his bulk on his elbows, but stays inside me, refusing to break the connection. His skin is slick with sweat, slipping against mine. I lift a hand to stroke the back of his head, fingers tracing the short, dark hair at his nape. He turns his face into my palm, kissing the center of my hand.
"Heavy," I whisper, breathless.
He grunts but shifts, rolling to his side and pulling me with him so we’re facing each other, legs still tangled. He keeps an arm draped heavily over my waist, pulling me flush against his chest.
"Did I hurt you?" he asks, voice returning to that low, gravelly timbre, but the edge is gone. He sounds vulnerable.
"No," I say, pressing my face into his chest, listening to his heart thunder beneath the tattoos. "You didn't hurt me. You erased everything else."
He exhales, a long breath that fans across my hair. He presses a kiss to the top of my head. "Good. Because you’re mine now, Tiffany. I don't care what the law says, or what that piece of shit thinks. You belong to the MC. You belong to me."
I close my eyes, feeling the soreness between my legs, the sticky warmth of our union, and the solid steel of his arm around me. The wordminedoesn't feel like a threat. It feels like a promise.
"I know," I whisper into the darkness.
