9
Bella
Starbursts of pleasure flood my brain.
Better than any high I’ve ever chased. I stopped counting my orgasms somewhere after the sixth one when my body became nothing but nerve endings under his command.
I think it’s over—his earlier release, that shudder I felt, means we’re done, right?
But he doesn’t stop, his fingers sliding inside me, deep and relentless, his growl slicing through my haze: “Again, Bella. Come.” I’m shaking, stunned, because fuck, I didn’t know my body could do this—climax after climax, each one shattering what I thought was possible, and he’s still driving me, like he owns every pulse.
“Fuuuuck…” I close my eyes as I come so hard onto his fingers. Shamelessly. Completely.
The world explodes into fragments of sensation—bright lights behind my eyelids, my body clenching and pulsing like it’s tryingto pull him deeper inside me. My throat is raw from screaming his name, and I don’t even remember doing it.
Screw self-control because it has gone down the drain. Along with my dignity. And possibly my sanity.
When I can breathe again, when the room stops spinning, I open my eyes to find him watching me with that infuriating intensity. Like he’s cataloging every reaction, filing it away for future use. His fingers are still inside me, still moving slowly, drawing out aftershocks that have me twitching and gasping.
“Stop,” I whisper, not because I want him to, but because I don’t think I can survive another second of this.
His mouth curves into something too predatory to be called a smile. “Are you sure?”
He curls his fingers, hitting that spot again, and my back arches off the bed involuntarily. My wrists strain against his tie—midnight blue silk now damp with sweat where it binds my hands above my head.
“Please,” I gasp.
“Please, what?” His eyes never leave mine as he withdraws his fingers, so slowly I feel every ridge of his knuckles as they exit my body. “Please stop? Or please don’t?”
I can’t answer. Can’t form words. Can only stare at him as he brings those fingers to his mouth and tastes them. Tastesme.
My whole body flushes hot with embarrassment and renewed desire.
“I think I know the answer,” he murmurs, finally reaching for the tie around my wrists.
As he loosens the knot, his eyebrows knit together. I follow his gaze to see angry red marks where I pulled against the restraint. For a split second, something like concern flashes across his face. It’s gone so quickly I might have imagined it, replaced by his usual mask of control.
“Next time,” he says, his thumb brushing gently over the marks, “we’ll use proper cuffs.”
Next time.Like there’s no question.
Like I haven’t just had the most mind-blowing, terrifying, exhilarating sexual experience of my life with a man I technically married today but barely know. A man who spanked me so hard I’ll probably have hand-shaped bruises on my ass for a week.
“Is this payback?” I ask, finding my voice at last. “For slapping you at the church? Or running out to get tacos? Or maybe for breaking into your house in the first place?”
He doesn’t answer; just releases my wrists completely and stands. I can’t help but stare at his body as he moves toward the bathroom. He’s so tall, so broad—impossibly sculpted like some kind of warrior god, all hard planes and savage angles. Tattoos crawl across his skin, telling stories I can’t read in a language I don’t understand.
And his cock. Jesus Christ. Even now, after what he just did to me, I can’t believe I took all of that inside me. Can’t believe I begged for it. Can’t believe I’m already wondering when I’ll get it again.
What the hell is wrong with me?
The shower turns on in the bathroom. I try to sit up and immediately regret it. Everything aches in the best possible way. I’m sticky with sweat and other things, my hair a wild tangle around my face, my lips swollen from his kisses. I must look completely wrecked.
I am completely wrecked.
I’ve had sex before. I’m not some blushing virgin. But this… this was something else entirely. This was being taken apart piece by piece and put back together wrong. Or maybe right for the first time.
I gingerly touch the inside of my thigh, where it’s already bruising from the grip of his hands. I should be horrified. I should be planning my escape.
