His lips curled into the faintest smile.
Then he reached between us, grabbed himself, and groaned at the contact.
“Turn over, red.”
I rolled to my stomach, chest still heaving against the pillows, and I didn’t even need to ask what came next.
Because Wrecker’s hand was already sliding down my spine—slow and reverent, like he needed to memorize every inch of me with his touch. He then pulled up on my hips so I was on my hands and knees.
“You ready?” he asked, voice a low rumble behind me.
Not because he didn’t know the answer.
Because he needed to hear it.
I turned my head, met his gaze over my shoulder.
“Fuck me Wrecker,” I said. “Fuck me hard.”
He swore under his breath, like the words punched through his chest.
Then I felt the blunt head of his cock drag through my slick folds.
One hard thrust.
Then he pulled all the way out again, and then he sank in deep, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt.
“Fuck,” he groaned. “You’re so goddamn tight like this.”
My fingers fisted the sheets again.
I gasped, hips arching as he filled me completely.
It wasn’t just the angle. It was the stretch, the intensity, the overwhelming way he owned every inch of my body.
Wrecker braced a hand on the bed beside me, the other gripping my hip hard enough to bruise.
He pulled out slow, then thrust back in with a sharp snap of his hips.
I moaned.
Loud.
Wrecked.
He leaned forward, chest brushing my back, lips finding the shell of my ear.
“You feel that?” he whispered. “That’s what safe feels like. That’s what mine feels like.”
He started to move. Deep, punishing thrusts that stole my breath with every drag.
But it wasn’t just rough.
It wascontrolled.
Every motion calculated.
Every sound I made met with a growl of approval.
