I roll. Face the wall. My breath is coming in shallow gasps. I feel the mattress dip behind me. Bane's body settling against mine—chest against my back, warm and solid, his bound arms looping over me. He pulls me close. Tucks me against him. His face presses into the back of my neck. I feel his breath. His lips. The tip of his nose tracing along my hairline.
"Tell me if it hurts," he whispers into my skin. "Tell me and I'll stop."
"I will."
He reaches down and positions himself. I feel him—hot, blunt, pressing against where his fingers just were. He pushes in. Slow. So slow. One inch. Two. His breath shaking against my neck. His hands wrap around me, flat against my chest, feeling my heartbeat.
The ache dissolves as he pushes deeper.
“Oh, Bane,” I breathe.
"Okay?" His voice is wrecked. Arms trembling—the sedative and the restraint and the effort of holding himself in check.
"Don't stop. Please don't stop."
He moves. Slow. A deep roll of his hips that pulls a sound from my throat I've never heard myself make. Not a moan—something lower, rawer, the sound of a body being answered after hours of asking.
His mouth is on my neck. Pressing kisses along the curve of it—open-mouthed, warm, his breath shaking against my skin.His bound hands are wrapped around me, one arm under my head, wrapped around me so tight one of his palms is flat against my stomach. Holding me. The zip ties dig into his wrists with every movement but he doesn't adjust. Doesn't complain. Just holds me tighter.
"Is this okay?" he murmurs against my hair.
"Don't stop. Please don't stop," I repeat.
Another roll. Deeper. He buries himself to the hilt and holds there—justholds—and I feel every thick inch of him, feel the pulse of his cock inside me, feel the heat of his chest against my back and his mouth against my shoulder.
"You feel—" His voice cracks. "Max,fuck. You feel incredible… I can't—"
He doesn't finish. Doesn't need to. His hips start moving again—slow, devastating rolls that find a rhythm. Not thrusting. Rolling. His whole body moving with mine like a wave.
Like breathing. In and out. Deep and slow.
His lips find the side of my neck. Kiss. Drag. His teeth graze the skin and I shiver—full-body, electric—and he pulls back immediately.
"Not biting," he whispers. "Just—I need to taste you. Is that okay?"
"Yes."
His mouth opens against my neck. Tongue flat against my pulse point. Tasting. Lapping. A groan vibrates out of him that I feel in my spine.
I reach back. Find his hair. Thread my fingers through it and pull him closer—his face pressing harder into my neck, his hips grinding deeper. The angle shifts and something ignites—that white-hot spark—and my whole body arches back against him.
"There—" I gasp. "There—"
He finds it again. Again. Slow, rolling thrusts that hit the exact spot each time. His hand slides from my stomach down—wraps around my cock with his bound hands and holds. Not stroking. Just holding. Grounding me while his hips do the work.
I feel it before he says anything. The base of his cock swelling. Thickening. Stretching me wider with each roll of his hips.
"Oh—" The sound is involuntary. A croon that breaks into a whimper as the pressure builds. "Bane, what—"
"It's my knot." His voice is wrecked. Shaking. His mouth pressed against the shell of my ear. "It's okay. I've got you. Just breathe."
It swells more. The stretch is enormous—not pain, not with how wet and open the heat has made me, but pressure. Fullness beyond anything I've felt. My body tightens around it reflexively and Bane groans—deep, guttural, his forehead dropping against the back of my neck.
"Fuck—Max, you feel—" His hips stutter. His breath fractures. "You feel like you were made for me. Like I was made for this."
The knot pulses. Thickens again. I whimper—high, desperate, my back arching against his chest. My hand clamps down on his forearm. Nails digging in.
"It's so much—"
