“I need you,” he pants. “I need you so bad.”
Smiling, I reach down and tug my shirt up. He watches the action and groans when I reveal my breasts. I’m covered in scars, the same as him, but he doesn’t look at me as if I’m damaged. Instead, his lips start to trace each one, burning them into his memory, his tongue finding each old wound and comforting it. My own fingers press at his jacket, pushing it from his shoulders. He shrugs it off and tosses it somewhere in the room, before reaching for his own shirt and tugging it off. My breath stutters at the defined ridges of his shoulders. When he’d leveled up, his shoulders had widened, the defined edges hard as I trace my fingers along them.
“Beautiful,” I whisper. He tenses and I stop moving. “What? What’s wrong?”
He shakes his head. “I just . . . I don’t like that word. Not in reference to me.”
Understanding flickers in my mind. She must have called him that.
“Did I say beautiful?” I reply. “I meant sharp, stunning, striking, ravishing.” I moan as his lips dip to my skin again. “Statuesque. Captivating.”
He chuckles against my skin. “Now you’re just describing yourself.”
I snort. “No one would describe me as any of those things. Annoying, maybe. Stubborn?—”
“Radiant,” he interrupts. “So bright, it almost hurts to look at you.” He presses a kiss over my heart. “Breathtaking.”
“Now I know you’re lying,” I say, laughing.
His eyes meet mine up my body. “Divine,” he continues, his teeth nipping my skin when I go to argue. “Worthy of worship.”
Whatever I’d been about to say disappears as he tugs on my trousers and starts to slowly trail them down my legs. Some strange, choked noise comes out of my throat as he tugs off my boots and trousers and then straightens. I watch as he kicks his own boots off and then reaches for the waistband of his trousers. He shoves them down in that strange, attractive way men manage to do, like it’s not a big deal. He’s standing in front of me naked, and I’ve never seen someone so beautiful before, but I don’t say it. Instead, my eyes drop down to his cock, standing proudly at attention. He reaches down and strokes it, and my mouth runs dry. He’s covered in tattoos and scars, the black ink swirling down, down like an arrow.
“Oh,” I say, ever eloquent.
He chuckles at my word and kneels back on the bed. “If I make you uncomfortable, let me know.”
“You won’t,” I reassure him, leaning up on my elbows. “I just want you. However that comes, I’m open to it.”
Something flickers in his eyes. “Then I’m going to make sure you don’t ever throw me away.”
My brows furrow. “Locke?—”
My words choke off as he throws my thighs wide and leans down to press his lips against my core without warning. I claw at the bed as his tongue swirls around my clit, as he expertly winds my body up so fast, I gasp with it. My back arches and I cry out as it slams into me, my body shaking with the force of my release. When he chuckles against my core and kisses me gently there, tears prick my eyes at how extreme it is.
He comes up over me, his lips tracing along my body as he moves, leaving kisses behind while I gasp for air, while I try my best to come back down from the high. Before I can gather my senses, his cock is at my entrance.
“Deep breath for me, Hyena,” he groans, and then slams inside in one hard stroke.
I stop breathing. That’s the only acceptable response when you’ve just been impaled on what feels like the biggest cock I’ve ever taken. My eyes roll back in my head as he sinks to the hilt inside me, as he cradles me against him. He groans words in my ear, but I only catch some of them, so lost in space that I am.
“. . . feel so good . . . Harrow . . . mine . . .”
I choke on his name as it rips from my lips when he starts to move. I doubt he knows what I’m saying as strangled noises come from mouth as he pulls out and strokes back in. I claw at his back, my nails digging in roughly as I start to writhe.
“That’s it,” he moans. “Come apart for me, Hyena. Let me thread myself inside your veins.”
It should be a threat. Fuck, I should be panicking at the way this feels. Something this good, this perfect, shouldn’t be natural. He starts to pick up the pace, stroking in and out of me in rapid thrusts that make me cry out in pleasure. He’s bleeding where I claw at him, but he doesn’t seem to care. His hand clamps down on my hip and squeezes too tight, bruising, but I don’t complain.
I explode again, screaming his name as he continues to press inside me. My ears start ringing with the force of it, and I stop being coherent as he continues to stretch me wide. I’m not the only one. Locke stops whispering words of reassurance and starts growling one with each thrust.
“Mine,” he growls out in a garbled voice, as if he’s swallowed a bunch of rocks. “Mine.” Pull out. Thrust in. “Mine.” Repeat.
I’m choking on my release, my back arching up until he loops an arm beneath my lower back and forces it to bend further. I scream as he pounds me harder, his strength allowing him to slam inside me with a force that should be painful.
But we’re both Tier Two’s now, and I can take a hit a little better than before.
“Can I—” he chokes out. “Please.”
