“Look at me,” he commands, his voice rough with emotion. “Don’t you dare close your eyes. You wanted this. You’re going to watch every second of it.”
I meet his gaze, my heart hammering, my body arching into his. “I’m not scared of you.”
A savage grin splits his bruised lips. “We’ll see.”
The world dissolves into a frantic, desperate tangle of limbs. The sound of tearing fabric, the rasp of a zipper, the hiss of skin against skin. It’s a blur of motion and sensation, driven by a need so sharp it borders on pain. The cool air of the loft raises goosebumps on my skin, a stark contrast to the fire of his. His gaze rakes over me, hot and possessive, and a flush creeps up my chest.
“Beautiful,” Cassian murmurs, the word a hard difference to the ferocity in his eyes. He shifts, and then his hand is on my throat, his fingers splaying over the sensitive skin. Not pressing, just resting there as a claim, a promise.
“Is this what you wanted?” he asks, his thumb stroking the frantic pulse at the base of my neck. “To feel my hands on you?”
I can’t speak so I just nod, my gaze locked on his. His touch is electric, a current that arcs through my entire body. It’s a threat, but it’s also a lifeline.
He leans in, his face inches from mine, his breath warm on my lips. “Good,” he whispers, then he presses down. A slow, deliberate squeeze that restricts my air. Not enough to harm, just enough to make me feel the fragility of my own life in his hands.
My breath catches with a small, strangled sound. My world narrows to the feel of his fingers on my neck, the heat of his body on mine, the look in his eyes. Panic wars with a fierce, primal thrill. I am completely at his mercy, and I have never felt more alive.
He holds me there, suspended on the knife’s edge of fear and desire for a long, drawn-out moment. Then he leans in closer, so close our lips are almost touching.
“Open your mouth,” he commands.
I obey without hesitation.
He spits, a hot, intimate gesture that lands on my tongue. The shock of it is visceral, a jolt of pure, unadulterated possession. “Swallow,” he orders.
My throat works around the pressure of his fingers as I obey. My pussy clenches as a wave of slick heat floods me. I am completely and utterly owned.
A dark satisfaction twists his lips. “That’s my good girl.”
Cassian releases my throat and I gasp, dragging in a ragged breath. The reprieve is short-lived. He shifts again, moving up my body and then his knees are on either side of my head, bracketing me in. His heavy cock juts out, a thick, angry-looking rod of flesh, the head already beaded with precum. He fists it, stroking slowly.
“Open,” he says again, his voice a low growl.
My lips part, and he doesn’t hesitate, feeding the thick head past my teeth and onto my tongue. He’s huge, the sheer size stretching my jaw. The taste of him is musky, primal. He’s in control of the pace, of the depth, of everything. He starts to move, shallow thrusts at first, letting me get used to him, but it doesn’t last. He sinks deeper, his grip tightening in my hair, holding me still as he fucks my face.
“Look at me while I use your pretty little mouth,” he snarls. “Yeah, that’s it. Take it. Take all of me.”
My eyes water, but I don’t look away. I watch the raw, unguarded pleasure on his face as he claims me this way, using my body for his own dark gratification. My own arousal is a pounding ache between my legs, a desperate need for friction, for release.
He pulls back suddenly, leaving me gasping. Before I can protest Cassian’s moving again, settling between my thighs. His gaze is intense, predatory as he looks down at my bared cunt.
“Look at this sloppy fucking cunt,” he murmurs, his voice laced with a raw reverence. “So wet for me. So ready.”
He doesn’t give me a chance to respond. He grips my hips, lifts me, and slams into me in one brutal, unforgiving thrust. The invasion is searing, a sharp, exquisite pain that borders on too much. I cry out, sounding ragged and broken.
“Fucking tight,” he grits out, stilling for a moment, letting me adjust to the sheer size of him. “Gonna ruin this perfect pussy for anyone else.”
Then he starts to move. It’s not gentle. It’s a punishing rhythm, a wild, desperate claiming that leaves me breathless. His hips snap against mine, the sound of flesh on flesh echoing in the quiet loft. His breath comes in ragged gasps against my neck, and his words are a filthy, beautiful torrent.
“You take me so good,” he growls, his thrusts growing harder, deeper. “Such a good little slut for me. This pussy was made for my cock.”
“Mmm…” I whimper.
The pressure is building inside me, a coil of tension winding tighter and tighter with each brutal stroke. I’m so close, teetering on the edge, but he’s not letting me fall. He seems to know my body too well, knows just how to push me to the brink and hold me there. It’s a delicious, agonizing torture.
I need more. I need to feel him, to mark him. My hands fly to his back, my fingers finding purchase. I drag my nails down the hard planes of muscle, not gently but with a savage, desperate force. I want to leave a trail of fire, a map of this moment on his skin.
Cassian roars with a sound of pure, unadulterated pain and pleasure. The sting of my nails seems to unlock something feral in him. He rears back, his face a mask of raw, untamed emotion.
