She begs without words. Hips chasing every stroke of my tongue.
“Reid,” she gasps. “Fuck, I, fuck.”
I pull back. Just to watch her unravel.
“Mine,” I growl, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “Your taste. Your screams. Your fucking cunt. Mine. Do you hear me?”
She’s wrecked.
Eyes glassy.
Legs trembling.
“I said, do you hear me?”
“Yes,” she breathes. “Yes, Reid.”
I line myself up, press the tip against her slick entrance, and hold still.
“I want to hear you say it.”
She glares. “Say what?”
“Say you’re mine.”
Juliet lifts her head, hair falling wild across her face. She licks her lips and grins like the goddamn devil.
“I was yours the second you followed me into that mall.”
I thrust into her so hard the headboard slams the wall.
And finally, finally, she screams my name and shatters around my cock.
Wrists yanking hard against the cuffs, legs locked around my waist, mouth open in a perfect O of surrender.
“Fuck, that’s it,” I growl, gripping her hips tight enough to bruise. “Squeeze me just like that. Jesus, Juliet.”
She convulses once, twice, then goes limp beneath me.
A wreck.
A masterpiece.
I don’t move.
Not yet.
Just watch her breathe through the aftershocks, eyes glassy, mascara streaking like war paint.
Then I unclip the cuffs, and pull her up by the throat. “On your knees.”
She obeys, still panting, hair a tangle, lips swollen from kissing and biting and begging.
I stand at the edge of the bed and stroke myself once, twice.
“Open wide, pet. Show me how you say thank you.”
She does.
