Page 91 of Lovely Venom

“Is this what you wanted?” He eases out and buries himself with a broken exhalation.

I moan around him as he gives me as much as I can take. With each thrust, the intensity and pressure increase, and I feel every throbbing inch of him.

I’m completely at his mercy, the raw, heavy slide of his cock fucking me into submission. There’s something so primitive about letting him use me this way, and though I’ve imagined it many times, nothing could come close. It gets me high and fills me with a desperate hunger. I want to know what it feels like when he loses control.

I want to taste him.

That thought urges me on, and I freefall into a weightless headspace as he tightens the chain around my neck. He fucks me harder, gripping my head roughly as his muscles tense and contract.

His breathing shallows, and I yield completely, existing in that moment solely to please him.

My surrender pushes him past the point of no return, his lips parting as his expression tips into bliss. A powerful shudder sweeps through him, and he lets out a long, agonized groan as his cock begins to pulse inside my mouth.

Hot cum spills into my throat, and I swallow it greedily, milking every last drop until he stills me.

Relaxing his grip on the chain, he palms my face, and I lean into that touch as he holds my gaze. For a long moment, we just stare at each other before his low, raspy voice fractures the silence.

“So fucking perfect.”

His approval floods me with warmth, and I soak it up like sunlight.

Using the chain as a tether, he pulls me to my feet and unclips it, letting it fall to the floor with a clatter.

Turning me in his arms, he drags me against his chest, two large palms coasting over the curves of my body. With my wrists still pinned behind my back, my head collapses against his shoulder as I close my eyes and let go.

I used to tell myself I didn’t need this kind of intimacy, but that was before I knew what it felt like to be touched by him.

With Marco, sex was just sex. He had all the finesse of a drunken frat boy who thought a woman’s body only had two worthwhile pieces of real estate.

But Bran doesn’t just touch me. He owns me. There’s so much possession in everything he does. The scrape of his fingers over my breasts. The way he squeezes and grips and brands me. It’s the perfect combination of rough and soft.

The depth of his attention is so addictive it overwhelms me with the need to satisfy the craving only he can.

I want him to lick me, spank me, toss me around, and fuck me like I’m his property. I want him to pet me, praise me, and tell me how good I feel when he’s deep inside me.

I want him heavy-handed, and I want him gentle.

I want it all.

And he knows it.

“Do you like being reminded who you belong to?” He grips my face and forces my head back until I’m looking up at him.

“Yes,” I breathe.

He takes my mouth in a bruising kiss, nipping and sucking at my lips as a low growl stirs in his throat.

He drinks me in like he’s waited an entire lifetime to taste me, and in his next breath, he seems to confirm it.

“You had every chance to escape me.” His words touch my lips. “But you didn’t. Now you’re mine.”

A shudder spills out of me as he holds my gaze, a charge electrifying the space between us.

It’s supposed to be part of the fantasy, but that declaration feels far too territorial to be anything other than real.

It feels like he’s hunted and captured me. And when he lifts me and throws me over his shoulder, I know he’s about to claim the hell out of me too.

He tosses me onto the bed, towering over me with a quiet certainty that makes my insides melt.