He is a monster.
A beautiful, glorious monster.
He knows exactly what he is doing. He knows how close I am. He can feel it. My pussy is clenching around him, a greedy pulsing that is begging for release.
And he is denying me.
He is making me wait.
Making me savor this exquisite torture.
But why?
I am already his.
I have already surrendered.
What more could he possibly want?
My gaze finds his, and I see the answer in the dark, possessive depths of his eyes.
He doesn't just want my body.
He wants my soul.
He wants to own me, possess me, brand me so deeply that no other man will ever be able to erase him.
He wants to be the only one.
The one I remember.
The one I crave.
The one I dream of.
He already is.
"Mine," he says, his voice a possessive growl that makes my inner walls clench around him. "Say it. Say you're mine."
I am trembling, my body wracked with a pleasure so intense it is almost painful.
"Yours," I whisper. "I'm yours."
"Again," he demands, his hips rotating in a slow circle that makes my eyes roll back in my head.
"I'm yours," I say, my voice stronger this time. "All yours."
"Brava ragazza," he purrs, dark satisfaction in his tone.
My eyes flutter open. I am crying with the sheer overwhelming feeling.
His face is a mask of intense concentration. His jaw is tight, the muscles in his throat working as he swallows.
He looks... beautiful.
And terrifying.
I have never seen a man look so completely, utterly in control.
