No buildup or teasing.
He consumed me with intensity, focused and relentless, with cream-colored fingerprints across my inner thighs, gripping me open. His tongue delved into my folds, lapping at my pussy as if he was starving, sucking my clit between his lips and flicking it hard.
I writhed, but he held me firm, one hand on my hip bruising with paint, the other sliding back inside me to fuck me with his fingers while he devoured me.
“Solomon, I need...” My voice broke. My hips bucked against his mouth.
He pulled back just enough to look up at me, silver eyes molten, his lips wet, paint smeared across his jaw. The sight alone nearly sent me over the edge.
“I need you,” he said. His voice was wrecked. “I have needed you for centuries, and I cannot be gentle. Not this time.”
“Then don’t be.”
He surged up, capturing my mouth in a bruising kiss, letting me taste myself on his tongue. His hands made quick work of his pants, shoving them down to free his cock. It sprang out, thick and hard, veins pulsing.
Paint streaked his abdomen, and he gripped himself, stroking once, twice, before pressing the head against my entrance.
“Be a good girl for me, Mira,” he utters, nipping at my earlobe. “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t stand, until this paint is everywhere, inside and out.”
My pussy clenched at his commands.
With one powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside my pussy, stretching me wide. I screamed his name, nails raking down his back, leaving red trails through the paint.
He didn’t pause, didn’t give me time to adjust. His hips snapped forward, pounding into me with brutal force, each drive slamming me harder. Paint squelched between us, smearing across my belly, my breasts, as our bodies slapped together.
“God, you feel incredible,” Solomon groaned, his hands gripping my ass, wrapping my legs around his waist. “Your pussy’s gripping me so tight.”
I clung to him, lost in the rhythm, the way he filled me completely, hitting deep with every thrust. His mouth found my neck again, sucking marks into my skin, praising me between grunts.
“Look at you, covered in my paint, my cum soon. You’re perfect, Mira. Always has been.”
My walls clenched around him and he groaned, the sound torn from somewhere primal. His paint-streaked gripped my hip, angling me higher, and the shift made me cry out as he sank even deeper.
I could feel every inch of him, every ridge, every pulse of heat as he drove into me with a ferocity that left no room for thought.
Solomon’s free hand found my jaw, tilting my face to his. Silver eyes, gold bleeding through at the edges.
“Look at me.” His hips never stopped, pace brutal, relentless. “I want to see you when it happens.”
I held his gaze.
My hand came up to trace the scar lining his temple to his jaw, leaving a trail of cream paint along the raised skin, and he turned into the touch, pressing his mouth against my palm.
His rhythm stuttered for a single beat, emotion cracking behind those silver eyes, and then he drove into me harder, deeper, each stroke claiming me from the inside out.
“Now,” I gasped. “Please.”
Solomon’s canines pierced the mark on my throat. The pain was a flash, replaced by a flood of sensation so intense I couldn’t separate the bite from the pleasure from his cock buried inside me.
My orgasm crashed through without warning, walls clenching around him as I cried out against his shoulder, and he fucked me through it, his thrusts growing erratic, chasing his own release.
Then the knot swelled.
I knew what it was this time. Knowing didn’t make the stretch any less overwhelming. My breath punched out in a gasp and my hands flew to Solomon’s shoulders, gripping hard.
“Breathe.” One word. Rough but steady against my ear. His hand cradled the back of my skull, holding me against him.
“Easy for you to say.” My teeth clenched as the pressure built, my body resisting the expansion on instinct. “You’re not the one being... oh God.”
