“No,” she whispered. “Not unless you make me.”
Christ.
I pulled her off and flipped back, dragging her with me, careful not to hurt her. She was breathless.
“I want you on top again,” I said, voice ragged.
She let out a noticeable inward gasp. I saw doubt flicker in her eyes. She wasn’t sure if she could manage it.
Her hesitation was hot,so hot.
“I’ll help you, baby,” I whispered.
I held her hips, lined her up, and started guiding her down, slow and ruthless.
“One… two… three,” I counted, just to fuck with her. She was so wet, I slid in too easily. I could feel every inch.
“Four… five… six,fuck,” I groaned, eyes rolling back. I was never going to get enough of her.
She braced herself on my chest, panting as I filled her, and she continued counting… seven… eight…
“Score,” she gasped, and holy shit, the way she said it, breathless, not even trying to hide how good it felt, I fucking lost my mind.
“Yeah, that’s it,” I growled, fucking up into her. “Ride me. Just like that.”
It was our wedding night. I wasn’t going to hold back.
We were soaked in sweat, panting, bodies colliding again and again. She was so fucking good at this. So good at being mine.
“You were made for me,” I hissed, spanking her ass hard. She clenched around me and cried out. “So, fucking tight. Look at you, my perfect girl.”
“Max… I’m gonna …”
I sat upright so that we were face-to-face. She looked away, and I grabbed her hair again, yanking her head forward so she had no choice but to look me in the eyes.
“Cum for me,” I commanded. “I want to feel that pussy clench around my dick.”
And holy fuck, did she. Her body locked around me, tightening like a fucking vice, and she came screaming. That raw, shaking, earth-shattering kind of orgasm that tore through her entire body.
I grabbed her hips and slammed into her so deep I could feel her heartbeat against mine, and I came with a savage groan.
I didn’t pull out right away. I stayed inside her, clenching her hips, breathing hard as she collapsed into my chest, completely done.
Eventually, I lifted her gently and eased out, laying her beside me.
“You, okay?” I asked, brushing her hair off her sweaty face.
She smiled.
“Yeah.”
I watched her stretch out beside me, her skin flushed and dewy. My cum was dripping out of her, sliding down the inside of her thigh.
I ran a hand through my hair and let out a slow breath, trying not to panic at how hard that image hit me. How primal it made me feel.
I should’ve pulled out. I knew I should’ve. But I didn’t. Because somewhere deep in my sick, obsessed, possessive little soul, I liked it. I liked seeing her like this, marked, used, filled.
I wanted to brand her. Bury myself in her until there was nothing left of her but me. I wanted every inch of her—mind, body, soul, name, future—all of it.
