Page 119 of Vow to Claim You

He pushes inside me.

Slowly this time. Inch by devastating inch. I feel every ridge of him, every fraction of depth, my body stretching to accommodate the size of him, and the fullness is so overwhelming that my mouth falls open in a silent cry. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t pause. Just sinks deeper, his jaw clenched, cords in his neck straining, his eyes locked on mine like he’s watching himself disappear into me and can’t look away.

When he’s buried so deep I can feel him in my chest, he holds still. His forehead drops to mine.

“Feel that?” he grits out. “That’s where I belong. Inside you. So deep you can’t tell where I end and you begin.”

I can’t speak. I can only nod, my hands sliding to his shoulders, nails pressing into muscle.

He withdraws—slow, agonizing, until only the tip remains—and I feel every inch of the retreat like a loss. My hips chase him. My body protests the absence with a clench that makes him hiss through his teeth.

“Greedy,” he murmurs, and there’s that ghost of a smirk again—except now it’s laced with something unhinged. “My princess is greedy.”

“Your princess,” I breathe, pulling his mouth back to mine, “wants you to stop talking and fuck her.”

The smirk vanishes. Something cracks behind it, something visceral and fatal and beyond language.

He slams back into me.

My cry tears through the room, swallowed by his mouth as he captures my lips in a kiss that tastes like possession and fury and something terrifyingly close to devotion. His hips set a rhythm—deep, rolling, devastating—and each thrust drives a sound from me that I’ve never made for anyone. That I didn’t know existed inside me.

“Scream for me, Princess,” he growls against my mouth, one hand gripping the headboard above me, the other hooking beneath my knee and hitching my leg higher, changing the angle so he hits a spot inside me that makes my vision fracture. “I want to hear every sound. Don’t hold back. We’re past that.”

I couldn’t hold back if my life depended on it. Not anymore. Not with him moving inside me like this. My nails drag down his back, leaving red paths through the ink, and he groans—a raw, animal sound that I feel in my bones.

“Mark me. I want to wear you under my clothes tomorrow. I want to feel you every time I move and remember exactly how you sounded when you gave me these.”

I dig my nails in harder, rake them down his spine, and the noise he makes is inhuman—a snarl that vibrates through my chest as his hips snap forward with renewed ferocity.

His rhythm is rougher now, and he thrusts into me so deep the breath leaves my body. The headboard cracks against the wall. My body jolts with each impact, driven up the mattress before his hand fists in my hair and drags me back down to meet him. The pleasure is so immense I can’t do anything except drown in it.

“Now come on my cock so hard that my name is the only one your body remembers.” His voice is wrecked. His hips snap forward with a force that tears a scream from my throat.

I shatter. The orgasm rips through me without warning, starting at the place where he’s buried inside me and radiating outward in waves so violent that my back bows off the mattress, my thighs lock around his hips, and the sound that tears from my mouth is something between his name and a sigh that I can’t control and don’t try to.

He doesn’t stop. He fucks me through it, each thrust prolonging the convulsions until I’m writhing, oversensitive, and still he goes, his pace relentless, his grip on my hip hard enough that I’ll wear his fingerprints like jewelry tomorrow.

Then he pulls out. The loss is so sudden that a sound escapes me, and I open my eyes to find him kneeling between my thighs, chest heaving, his cock slick with me, his gaze so black and feral it barely looks human.

“Turn over,” he growls, and the way sends a fresh wave of heat flooding through me despite the fact that I just came so hard I forgot my own name.

“Aric—”

“On all fours.”

But before I can speak or move, he turns me onto my hands and knees with one heft move, and the vulnerability of the position—exposed and open—makes my arms tremble. I feel the air against the wetness between my thighs, and my face burns hot even as my body arches instinctively, offering itself to him in a way my brain hasn’t sanctioned.

His hand slides up my spine slowly, every vertebra mapped beneath his palm like he’s memorizing the shape of me. When he reaches the nape of my neck, his fingers thread into my hair and grip.

My head tips back, throat exposed, a gasp torn from my lungs.

“This is what I’ve been fighting.” His voice comes from directly behind me, low and destroyed, his breath hitting the curve of my shoulder. “Every damn night in my office, trying to convince myself I didn’t want you like this...” His free hand grips my hip, fingers digging into the flesh, positioning me exactly where he wants me. “On your knees for me.”

The tip of his manhood presses against my entrance, and I feel how slick I am—from him, from me, from the wreckage of the previous rounds still dripping down my inner thighs—and the filthy, wet sound when he drags his cock through it makes my elbows buckle.

“Tell me what you want.” He pushes just the crown inside and holds there, and the restraint behind it—the coiled, trembling effort of not slamming forward—is hotter than anything I’ve ever experienced. “I want to hear my princess beg for it.”

“I don’t beg,” I manage, and the breathless defiance of it earns me a dark laugh against my shoulder blade that I feel in my marrow.