I sit there for a moment, motionless, adjusting to the intense pressure of his cock inside me. His hands move from the back of the couch to my hips, stroking slow circles along my skin. He doesn’t rush me.
I begin to move, slow at first, lifting my hips just an inch before sliding back down. The sharp stretching sensation morphs into a low, pleasant ache that grows with every movement. I roll my hips, keeping eye contact even as my body begins to unravel.
Ambrose’s hands stay on me as he grips my hips, guiding me while I ride him.
“I meant what I said earlier. You’remine,” he murmurs.
I nod. Words have left me completely.
Every inch of me burns, not just with pleasure but with the realization that I don’t mind being his. At least not right now, not like this.
I move my hands to grip his shoulders rather than the couch, needing every bit of contact with his skin I can possibly find. I ride him with growing urgency, chasing the pleasure that’s just out of reach. Each time I rise and sink back down, his breathing stutters.
My thighs begin to burn from the effort, muscles quivering, but I don’t stop. It feels too good, and the subtle pain is worth every bit of the pleasure.
Suddenly, he moves, surging upward and lifting me as though I weight nothing. I barely have time to wrap my legs around his hips before he twists and flips me onto my back.
I sink into the cushions, splayed out on the couch before him as he steadies himself over me then drives into me in one thrust.
I cry out at the suddenness of it all, bucking my hips upward to meet his unforgiving thrusts.
Our slow pace is gone now, replaced by something more desperate.
“This is what you get for running,” he grits out between thrusts. “Just remember that you asked for this—to be hunted, caught, and fucked.”
“Yes,” I gasp. “Please don’t stop.”
“I won’t,” he growls. “Not until you scream for me.”
Every thrust pushes me closer to the edge. My legs are shaking, my core pulsing with need, the only thing that exists in this moment is him. Ambrose.
He changes the angle, grabbing one of my legs and lifting it higher over his shoulder while keeping his relentless pace, and I fall apart.
I come with a sob, my back bowing off the couch as my orgasm crashes through me. My muscles tense as pleasure wracks my body, but Ambrose doesn’t stop.
He fucks me through it, harder and deeper, chasing hisown release like his life depends on it. He presses a hand against the back of the couch for leverage, the muscles in his forearms straining as he drives into me over and over again.
Moments later, he comes inside me with a groan, his hips slowing as he pulses deep inside me. Beneath him, I’m breathing hard and overwhelmed with something between awe, obsession, and contentment. He stays like that for a minute, staring down at me with his cock still inside me while his expression mirrors every emotion welling up inside me.
Then he leans forward, just enough to bury his face against my neck, and I wrap my arms around him.
Neither of us speaks, but we both know that, once again, everything between us has shifted irreparably.
CHAPTER 39
“When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep…
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.”
—Kahlil Gibran
“Where are you taking me?”
Ambrose navigates the roads snaking through the mountains. “You said you’ve been bored lately,” he answers, referencing my statement from the other night. “I figured I’d give you some excitement.”
