"Take me," I whispered, my voice hoarse and ruined and shaking. "I'm yours."
His jaw tightened and his hands clenched like he was barely holding himself back. Lightning flashed again, lighting us in blue and gold and shadow, and the storm outside was wailing now.
"Say it again," he demanded, his voice low.
I reached for him, hooking my fingers in his waistband and dragging him closer until our hips met and I felt everything, the ache and the heat and the size of him pressing against me through too much fabric. I rose to my toes, my lips brushing his ear.
"I'm yours," I breathed. "Now come claim me."
Something inside him snapped. He growled, actually growled, and spun us away from the wall. His mouth crashed into mine and I could barely breathe through the kiss, barely think, but I didn't need to.
He walked us backward, one hand under my thigh, lifting and pinning, while the other worked to rip my pants off, mine first, then his, with the kind of urgency that said he'd been dreaming of this for too long.
Clothes hit the floor and bodies collided, and when he lined up against me, thick and hot and ready, I gasped. My legs wrapped around his hips, my back pressed against the cool stone of the hearth, and the contrast of the cold wall against my heated skin made me shudder.
The storm screamed outside as the wind howled. I could feel the blunt pressure of him at my entrance, the heat of him searing against my slick folds, and then he pushed forward—slow, deliberate, devastating.
The first inch stole my breath. He was thick, so much thicker than I'd imagined, and my body resisted even as it yielded, stretching around him in a way that burned and ached and felt impossibly right all at once.
A cry tore from my throat, raw and shocked, my nails digging into his shoulders as he pressed deeper, filling me inch by inch. The stretch was overwhelming, that edge between pleasure and pain that made my thighs tremble and my breath come in short, desperate gasps.
"Fuck, Caelira," he groaned against my neck, his voice wrecked, and I could feel the tremor running through his entire body as he fought for control. His forehead dropped to mine, his breath hot and ragged against my lips, and he paused halfway in, letting me adjust, letting my body accommodate the sheer size of him. I could feel every ridge, every vein, the way he pulsedinside me like he was barely holding back from taking everything at once.
But I didn't want him to hold back. I rolled my hips, taking him deeper, and the sensation punched the air from my lungs. He filled me completely, stretching me so full I could feel him everywhere. Claiming space that felt like it had always belonged to him. The weight of him pinning me to the wall, the solid muscle of his chest pressed against mine, the way his hands gripped my hips hard enough to bruise—it was all-consuming.
"You feel... gods, you feel unreal," he breathed, sinking the last inch into me until our hips were flush and there was nowhere left to go, until I was so full of him I couldn't tell where I ended and he began.
And I did feel it—stretched impossibly wide, stuffed so completely that every breath made me clench around him, claimed in a way that rewrote something fundamental inside me.
My body pulsed and fluttered around his length, trying to adjust to the overwhelming fullness, and I could feel the heat of him radiating through my core, molten and perfect. Like I was finally whole. Like everything before this was just waiting. He gave me a second, but I didn't want one.
I ground against him, biting his lip, wrapping my arms around his neck and dragging him deeper even though there was no deeper to go, whispering against his mouth: "Don't stop. Don't hold back."
And he didn't. He set a rhythm that was brutal and relentless, deep and steady, each thrust pulling a gasp from my lips, each roll of his hips making me see stars behind my eyelids. The storm built with us as thunder rattled the windows and rain slammed into the earth, and all I could hear was the sound of skin on skin, breath on breath, moans and gasps and his voice at my ear.
"Look at me," he panted, fucking into me harder, and I forced my eyes open even though it felt impossible, even though my vision was already fracturing at the edges.
"I want to see your face when you fall apart again. I want to feel you shatter around me."
And I could feel it rising—that tight, coiling pressure building low in my belly, spreading through my thighs, consuming me from the inside out.
He knew it too. I could feel it in the way his body tensed, the way his breathing turned ragged and desperate, like he was chasing something he couldn't live without. His hand slid between us, fingers finding my clit with devastating precision, and he worked me with the kind of focused intensity that felt like worship and punishment all at once.
His thrusts deepened, became more primal, more demanding, each one hitting something inside me that made my entire body convulse. The rhythm felt ancient, inevitable, like this was always meant to happen, like I was always meant to break open for him.
The world tilted. My vision tunneled until there was nothing but him—the feel of his body driving into mine, the sound of his ragged breathing at my ear, the weight of his possession pressing down on every part of me.
My nails raked down his back, drawing blood, and I didn't care. I was unraveling, coming apart at the seams, and he was holding me together and tearing me apart in the same breath.
"That's it," he growled, his voice breaking with need. "Give it to me. I want all of you. Every part. Every scream."
And then I shattered. It wasn't gentle or gradual, it was violent and all-consuming, a complete dissolution of everything I was. My scream tore from my throat raw and broken, echoing into the storm as my body convulsed around him, clenching andsobbing and burning. Every nerve ending ignited. Every muscle seized.
I was nothing but sensation, nothing but him, nothing but the overwhelming reality of being completely, utterly consumed.
And he followed me. I felt the exact moment his control shattered, his entire body went rigid against mine, every muscle locking tight as a bowstring pulled to its breaking point. His fingers dug into my hips hard enough to bruise, holding me in place like he needed to anchor himself to something real or he'd fly apart completely. A guttural sound tore from his chest, half-groan and half-growl, my name breaking apart on his lips into something raw and desperate and barely coherent.
"Cae—fuck—Caelira—" His hips jerked forward one last time, burying himself as deep as he could go, and then I felt it—the first hot pulse of him spilling inside me.
