My hips move.
“Feel me,” I command.
“You will take all of me.”
Then I thrust.
A rough, almost violent entry that splits her open.
A cry tears from her throat. A raw, wounded sound.
Her body tries to arch away, to escape the invasion, but I hold her down effortlessly. My grip on her hair tightens, my hips pinning her to the furs.
There is no escape.
I do not stop.
I drive deeper, a steady, inexorable pressure that forces her body to yield, to accommodate me, to stretch. “I can smell you,” I growl. “You're fertile.”
When I am finally seated to the hilt, I still. A deep, guttural groan rumbles in my chest, a sound of pure, primal satisfaction.
“Vel,” I whisper, the word a vibration against her skin. Mine.
My hips begin to move.
There is no rhythm. No finesse.
Only a brutal, driving pace.
A primal rutting.
Each thrust is hard, deep, a powerful pistoning that rocks her entire body. The furs scrape against her back with every movement. The air is filled with the slap of skin against skin, with the harsh sound of my breathing, with the grunts of exertion that escape me.
I fuck her like I am trying to brand myself on her very soul.
“You will not leave this tent,” I snarl, my words punctuated by the powerful rhythm of my body. “You will stay here. Under me. Full of me. Until I am sure. Until I feel it take.”
My free hand moves from her hip, sliding between our bodies, my thumb finding the sensitive nub of her clit.
I rub it. Hard. Fast.
A relentless, demanding pressure that wars with the pain of my thrusts, sending conflicting signals through her overwhelmed body.
Heat builds.
An unwelcome, treacherous heat that has nothing to do with the brazier.
I can feel her getting wetter, her body betraying her, softening around the hard invasion of me, making the rough passage easier.
I feel it too.
A growl of approval rips from my throat. “That’s it, Narai. Open for me. Take my cock.”
My thrusts become faster. More erratic.
My control is fraying.
My focus narrows to a single, blinding point.
