A frustrated rasp escapes her, so I say it again. “Say you want it.”
Her fingernails dig into my back—hungry and insistent. As if she hasn’t already gotten under my skin and into my fucking veins.
I lift my thumb from her clit, and her fingers wind around my neck and into my hair again. Her gaze burns into mine, unflinching.
“Fuck me now, Kael,” she demands, her words all chaos and conviction.
So, I do.
I push my cock into her pussy, sliding it in slowly so she can adjust to me. So I can feel the way her cunt aches for me, pulses around me.
She arches. Breathes. Grinds. Trembles.
She moves like poetry—like she can breathe her way out of brutality and into beauty.
Like she’s finally realized her loneliness was a graveyard, and trust is the resurrection.
That her isolation was never safety at all—it was self-erasure.
I drive my hips forward, her breath hitching when my cock hits her deep.
Every thrust a promise.
Every kiss a prayer.
Her hips buck wildly with each grind of my cock.
“More,” she pleads, her voice broken and raw.
But I take my time, drawing moans from her throat slowly. “You’ll get what you need, darling,” I promise, and one at a time, I hook her thighs over my shoulder for deeper access.
I press my rough palm into her lower abdomen—the way she broke apart on me last time I did this is etched into my memory. I’ve relived the way her pretty little cunt came on my cock more times than I can count.
Her feet press into my back as she lifts her hips.
“My darling,” I grit out.
Thrust.
“You will never.”
Thrust.
“Be alone.”
Thrust.
“Again.”
Thrust.
Sweat slicks her brow, her eyes glazed and distant, lost to pleasure.
I stop.
“Eyes on me, darling.”
Her eyes snap open, desperate for me to continue.
