Shane curses, a vile, sharp sound. He moves. A blur of motion. One second he is sitting, the next he is on the floor with me, his hands seizing my waist, hauling me between his spread legs. I gasp as my back hits the front of the sofa, trapping me. Shane looms over me, caging me with his arms, his face inches from mine.
"You want the bite?" he snarls, his eyes wild. "Fine."
He doesn't wait for an answer. He crushes his mouth to mine, devouring me. The kiss in the kitchen was a warning. This is an invasion. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, demanding, taking, tasting. He tastes like coffee and danger. His beard scrapes against my sensitive skin, a friction that sends jolts of electricity straight to my core. I whimper, my hands flying up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. I need this. I need the weight of him, the reality of him to ground me.
Shane groans, a vibration that rattles through my chest. He shifts, his heavy thigh sliding between mine, pinning me against the leather sofa. The pressure is exquisite. I instinctively rock against him, seeking friction, seeking relief from the ache that has been building for days. He breaks the kiss, gasping, his forehead resting against mine. "Jesus, Bianca. You’re so small. So soft."
His hands roam over me, frantic and worshipping. He sweeps down my sides, outlining the curve of my waist, the flare of my hips. He squeezes my flesh, his fingers digging in, testing thegive of my body. It feels like he is trying to memorize me by touch alone.
"I’ve wanted to do this since the second you stepped out of that ridiculous yellow car," he growls against my neck, his teeth grazing the pulse point there. "Watching you walk around my house, smelling like wild orchid and paint... it’s fucking torture."
"Shane..." I breathe his name, arching my back as his hand moves lower, gripping my thigh and dragging my leg up around his waist.
"I tried to be good," he mutters, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along my jawline. "Tried to keep you pure. Keep you away from the club shit. But you just had to push."
He bites down on the sensitive cord of my neck, hard enough to leave a mark. I cry out, a sharp sound of pleasure-pain that seems to snap the last of his restraint. He sits back on his heels, his eyes black with lust. He grabs the hem of my oversized t-shirt. "Off."
I pull the shirt over my head and toss it aside. I'm not wearing a bra. The firelight washes over me, exposing my breasts, my pale skin, the flush rising on my chest. Shane stops breathing. He looks at me like I am a religious experience. His gaze is physical, heavy as a blanket. He reaches out, his hands trembling slightly, and cups my breasts. His palms are rough, calloused sandpaper against silk.
He grinds his rough, calloused thumbs over my nipples, watching the peaks turn purple and hard under his brutal ministrations. He looks predatory, satisfied that he’s finally handling the tits he’s wanted to claim since the moment Iarrived. "Beautiful," he grunts, his voice a dark rumble. "So fucking lush. These tits were built to be bruised by my hands."
He leans in and catches one nipple in his mouth. My head falls back against the sofa, and a wrecked cry leaves my throat. His tongue is hot and rough as he licks me before he sucks hard. I’m already fucking drenched, the lace of my panties soaked through from the heavy, demanding throb of my pussy as it weeps for him.
He feasts on me, moving from one breast to the other, his beard abrasive against my soft skin, his hands kneading my flesh. I am drowning in sensation, in the smell of him, the heat of the fire, the sheer overpowering force of his desire. "Shane, please," I beg, my hips bucking instinctively against the floor. "Please."
He pulls back, his mouth wet and swollen. "Please what, baby? You want me to stop?"
"No," I pant. "Don't you dare stop."
A dark smirk twists his lips. "Good girl."
He stands up, towering over me again. He unbuckles his belt, the metal clinking like a death knell for my innocence. He shoves his jeans and boxers down, freeing a massive, terrifyingly thick cock that snaps upward against his flat stomach. It’s a brutal length of engorged muscle, veins pulsing like snakes around the heavy shaft. I stare, my mouth dry, at the sheer scale of him—his heavy balls hanging low, his pussy-stretching girth promising to ruin me.
"Too big?" he asks, his voice tight.
"I don't know," I whisper honestly. "Maybe."
"I'll make you fit," he vows. "I'll stretch you until you take every inch of me."
He drops to his knees between my legs again. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my panties and rips. The fabric tears with a sharp sound. He doesn't bother sliding them off; he just destroys them, tossing the ruined scrap of lace toward the fire to show me that nothing is staying between his cock and my pussy.
"Open for me," he commands.
I spread my legs wider, exposing myself to him, to the firelight. I feel raw, open, completely claimed. Shane doesn't touch me yet. He just looks. He leans down, scenting my pussy as his nose brushes my curls. "You smell like you're ready," he grunts. "I bet you taste even better."
He grabs my thighs, forcing me wide, and buries his face in me. I shove my knuckles into my mouth to stifle the scream that tears from my throat, the sound swallowed by the low hum of the white noise machine I’d tucked into Maddie’s room earlier. His tongue is broad and rough as he licks me. He finds my clit instantly, lapping at it while he shoves two fingers inside me. I’m so tight I can barely take him, but I’m dripping wet enough that his fingers slide in with a heavy, wet squelch. He pumps his fingers, stretching me out and getting me ready while his tongue works a hard rhythm on my clit.
"So tight," he mumbles against my soaked pussy. "Christ, Bianca. You’re perfect."
I am thrashing now, my heels digging into the rug, my hands gripping his shoulders. The tension is winding tighter and tighter, a coil in my belly ready to snap. "Shane, I'm close, I'm?—"
He doesn't stop. He sucks harder, his fingers curling inside me, hitting a spot that makes my vision blur. I shatter. The orgasm rips through me, intense and blinding. I cry out his name, my body convulsing, clamping down on his fingers. He drinks every drop of my release, growling in approval.
He pulls back, his face glistening, his eyes black holes of need.
He positions that massive head at my soaking entrance, the blunt tip twitching against my clit.
"Look at me," he snarls, his voice a jagged edge that cuts through the haze of my lust. "You're mine now, Bianca. No going back. You take this cock, you take the patch, and you accept that you’re my fucking property until the day I'm buried in the dirt."
