“Mine,” I snarl, my hand rubbing the red mark I just left. “This ass is mine. This cunt is mine. This womb is mine.”
Another slap. Then another.
The stinging heat spreads, mingling with the pleasure coiling in her belly, pushing her higher, closer to an edge she has never approached.
My arm wraps around her waist, pulling her up, her back flush against my chest. I am still inside her, deep, moving in those hard, grinding thrusts. My other hand moves up to her breast, calloused thumb rasping over her nipple, pinching it just hard enough to make her gasp.
I am everywhere. Inside her.
My scent in her lungs, my heat on her skin, my words in her ear.
“Look down, Narai,” I command, my breath hot against her neck.
She does.
She sees our bodies joined, sees the thick, dark length of me disappearing into her pale flesh. Sees the way I am stretching her, owning her, marking her as mine.
“See how well you take me,” I say, my voice a low, triumphant growl. “You were made for this. Made for me.”
I shift, changing the angle just slightly, and the world splinters.
A blinding wave of pleasure crashes over her, so intense it is almost painful. Her back arches, a cry tearing from her throat as her body clenches and spasms around me. A wild, uncontrollable thing that rips through her, leaving her shaking and breathless and utterly, completely undone.
I follow her over the edge.
With a hoarse roar, I bury myself to the hilt, my hips jerking as I spill into her again, a hot, powerful flood that seems to go on forever.
This time, when I collapse, I take her with me, rolling to our side so we are tangled together on the furs. My leg is thrown over hers, a heavy, possessive weight. My arm is banded around her waist, holding her close.
I am still inside her, a slow, deep throbbing that is a constant reminder of my claim.
For a long while, the only sounds are the crackle of the fire and our slowing heartbeats.
She is limp, her body aching in a dozen new places, her mind a quiet, exhausted space. She is draped over me, her head on my chest, listening to the steady, reassuring beat of my heart.
My fingers stroke her hair, a slow, lazy gesture that is at odds with the brutal possession of the last hour.
“Veli,” I murmur, the word a soft vibration against her cheek.
Beloved.
She doesn’t answer. She can’t.
She just lies there, breathing me in, and I know her mind is trying to understand the new, terrifying landscape of her own heart and the thought that she is only wanted to breed. To fill my tent. Not loved. Just needed for a womb.
I shift, and I feel myself begin to harden inside her again.
Her body, exhausted and over sensitized, tenses. A fresh wave of fear washes over her, a primal fear of being broken, of being used until there is nothing left.
I feel it.
My hand tightens in her hair, a gentle, reassuring tug.
“Vah,” I whisper. Stay.
I don’t start moving again. Not yet. I just hold her, letting her adjust to the idea of me, to the reality of my inexhaustible appetite.
“You are mine, Keandra,” I say, my voice a low, possessive rumble. “In every way. Your body knows it. Your scent knows it. Soon, your womb will know it too.”
