“There,” I gasp. “Right there.”
“I know,” he growls, and he does. He finds that spot again, and again, each push sending a shockwave of pleasure throughmy belly. My nails dig into his shoulders, marking him. He doesn’t mind. He encourages it.
“Mark me,” he says, his thrusts becoming harder, faster. “Let everyone see who I belong to.”
The pace builds. The friction turns fierce, wet, loud. Our skin slaps together, the sound echoing in the small space. His breathing roughens into grunts, each one timed with a deep drive into me. I’m moaning openly now, each sound pulled from me by his movement.
“Come with me,” he demands, his voice breaking. “Now.”
He reaches between us again, his thumb finding my clit, pressing hard. The dual assault, his cock pounding deep, his thumb rubbing sharp, is too much. It’s everything. My climax crashes over me, violent and consuming. I scream, my body locking around him, milking him.
The sensation triggers his own release. He groans, a raw, unfiltered sound, and pushes into me one last, deep time, holding there as he spills inside me. Heat floods my core, his pulse echoing within me. We stay like that, locked together, panting, sweating, claimed.
Slowly, he leans back, his cock still inside me, softening. He looks down at where we’re joined, then up at my face. “Proof enough?” he asks, his voice quieter now, stripped of its earlier edge.
I nod, my throat too tight for words.
He pulls back slowly this time, not far, just enough to look at me, his hand lingering at my waist as if he’s not ready to let the distance settle yet. When I shift to stand, my balance falters for a second, and he steadies me without thinking, his hands firm at my hips, grounding rather than restraining. My legs are still shaking.
“Easy,” he murmurs, quieter than before.
I let out a breath that almost turns into a laugh, though it doesn’t quite make it. “I’m fine.”
His thumb brushes lightly against my side, just once, like he’s checking that for himself rather than taking my word for it.
“No more secrets,” he says, but it doesn’t carry the same edge as before. It lands softer, closer. “No more trades.”
I meet his gaze, close enough now that there’s no space left to hide behind anything we haven’t said. “No,” I agree. “Not between us.”
The quiet settles around us, but it doesn’t feel sharp or uncertain. It feels earned. His hand hasn’t left my waist, and I don’t step away from it.
I rest my forehead briefly against his, closing the last inch of distance without thinking. His breath warms my skin, steady now, matching mine.
“You can’t use that as an answer,” I say, softer than I meant to.
He doesn’t pull back. “Use what?”
“This,” I whisper, though I don’t move away from him.
A faint smile touches his mouth, more felt than seen. “I wasn’t aware it needed one.”
“It doesn’t,” I say, lifting my head just enough to meet his eyes again. “It just… doesn’t change anything.”
“It wasn’t meant to.”
There’s no pressure in it. No angle. Just truth, clean and unguarded in a way I’m not used to from him.
“This doesn’t give you leverage,” I add, though my voice has lost its edge. “It doesn’t make me easier to read.”
His hand slides slightly higher along my side, steady, present. “I wouldn’t want it to.”
“Good.”
The word comes out quieter than before, but I don’t take it back.
“You made your choice,” I continue, though now my fingers are caressing him. “You do not get to change it when it becomes inconvenient.”
“I won’t,” he says, and there’s no hesitation in it, no distance, nothing measured or withheld.
