"Thank you."
"But during the raid, people are going to be trying to kill you. Put bullets in this beautiful body." His hand tightens on my hip. Bruising. "One mistake and you're dead. So I need you marked. Need you carrying my teeth on your skin when those bullets start flying. Need you to remember who the fuck you belong to."
His teeth sink into the junction of my shoulder and neck without warning. It doesn't break skin but it's hard enough to bruise, hard enough that I cry out.
"Mine," he growls against my skin. "Say it."
"Yours."
He bites again, lower. Each one is deliberate, a brand. His mouth moves down my spine, teeth sinking in, tongue soothing after. Leaving a trail that will bloom purple-black by morning.
By the time he reaches the small of my back, I'm shaking, wanting, needing more.
His fingers slide between my legs. Finding me soaked. He makes a dark, satisfied sound. "Look at you. Desperate for it. My teeth on your skin and your cunt's already this wet for me."
"Please."
"Please what?"
"Please, Sir." The title falls from my lips automatically. Right.
"That's my good girl." He positions himself behind me. Thick head pressing against my entrance. Stretching. "Remember your safeword."
"Benzene."
"Use it if you need it."
Then he slams inside in one brutal thrust.
I scream into the mattress. The fullness, the stretch, the overwhelming invasion of him taking me with nothing between us. Just skin and heat and possession.
He doesn't give me time to adjust. Just starts fucking me—hard, deep, relentless. Each thrust drives me into the mattress, forces sounds from my throat I've never made before.
"This is what you need,chère." His voice is rough, broken. "Need me to fuck the fear out. Fuck you so hard you can't think about anything but my cock inside you. Can't think about dying because you're too busy taking what I give you."
He's right. I need this. Need the violence, the claiming, the reminder that we're both still alive. Still breathing. Still here.
His hand fists in my hair, wrenching my head back, arching my spine until it hurts. Changing the angle so he drives deeper, hits harder, reaches places that make me see stars.
"Touch yourself," he orders. "Get your fingers on that clit. I want to feel you come around my cock."
My hand slides between my thighs. Finding myself swollen and slick. The dual sensation builds fast, too fast. Pressure coiling tight in my belly.
"Not yet," he snarls. "You don't come until I tell you. Understand?"
I whimper. Trying to hold back the orgasm building like a storm ready to break.
His other hand grips my hip hard enough I know it'll bruise. Another brand. "Who do you belong to?"
"You."
"Who's the only man who gets to be inside you like this?"
"You."
"Who's going to keep you alive when the bullets start flying?"
"You are."
