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“What else?” Ciaran prompts as he swipes his thumb over my weeping head, collecting more precum that he uses to continue stroking my cock.

“Everything.” I whimper, my legs shaking under his pinning weight. “Oh, fuck… please don’t stop. So good.”

“Yeah? Everything?”

I gasp when he strokes faster and wraps his free hand around my throat. My vision blurs against the glass and I freely give my every breath to Ciaran’s control, to his decision when I get to inhale fresh air again.

It feels so good that my toes curl and my eyes roll back. To be owned, to be kept safe, to be worshiped by a man like Ciaran, who’s now nipping on my ear before leaving a trail of kisses down my throat, just below where his hand pins me against the glass. I shiver at the sting, and he chuckles when my cock pulses in his hand.

“You like this, dirty boy? Someone might catch us, you know. One click of my fingers and our guards will come running in. What would they see?”

I wheeze, unable to form words, but my hips buck back against his erection that pokes against my ass, and I have to squeeze my eyes shut to stop myself from cumming right there.

“I’m going to take my hand off your throat right now, mouse. And you’re going to take in a few deep breaths of air, yeah?”

I nod, eyes tearing from desire and lack of air.

“And then I’m going to fuck you, here on this ship, with the stars as our witnesses.”

Slowly, he removes his hand and flips me so that my back hits the cool glass. I cough and sputter when I inhale too much air, feeling light and floaty and so horny I think I’ll die if he doesn’t help me out.

Ciaran keeps me grounded with both hands on my shoulders, his pupil-blown eyes taking me in, as if he wants to be sure I’m okay. Then he rolls down his own pants, exposing his hips and that gorgeous, big cock. He’s fully hard, tip gleaming rosy with precum, curved up to his belly.

Without breaking eye contact, Ciaran reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a packet of lube. Using his teeth to crack the plastic open, he spits the torn wrapper carelessly onto the cabin floor before pouring some of it on his dick.

“You’re okay, mouse? How’s the heart?” he asks, checking his multi-slate at the same time. “Yeah, you’re okay.”

“Ciaran—” “Turn around, princess. Eyes back on those stars.”

I barely have time to obey before he plunges a slick finger into my hole. “Ouch. That hurts, you bastard.”

“Too much?” He purrs into my ear. “I can go slowly, if you want to. Warm you up properly—” “No. No.” I reach back and keep his hand to my ass. “I can take it, Zoryan. I want to… I need it to hurt a little.”

“Oh, do you now, baby? You can thank me later.”

Lining up the head of his cock, he slides into me in one merciless thrust that has me practically screaming against the glass. Good Light, he feels good. He hurts, he fills me, he’s too much… but I need it. And when he bottoms out and starts thrusting in slow rolls, the initial pain vanishes and is replaced by real, desperate pleasure.

“Feel good, mouse?”

I nod against the glass as he grips my hips and uses them as handles for his rocking.

“So good.”

His hips keep rolling in those intoxicating circles, driving his weight forward until the heat of his stomach slaps flat against my backside with every push.

Bending over me, he buries his face in the curve of my neck, breathing hard against my ear as he laps at my skin, his tongue dragging upward before his teeth sink into my shoulder to claim a bruising hickey. I sob against the glass, my hands smudging the cold surface as his cock stretches me completely, filling the ache with every slick thrust.

He groans low in his chest, pulling me backward by my hips to meet his pace, matching my desperate whines with a fierce, possessive rhythm that turns the pain into pure warmth.

Oh, I’m so done for. My body, my mind, my heart.

“You’re my entire world, mouse,” Ciaran growls against my throat. “Every fucking light out there might belong to someone else, but your soul belongs to me. You are mine.”

Sliding his hand down to hook his fingers around my hard cock and grip me tight, he matches the rhythm of his thrusts with his strokes.

“Cum with me, Zoryan,” I cry out, my head falling back against his shoulder, the pleasure turning into a sharp, blinding ache that consumes everything. I choke on a sob as his thumb sweeps over the leaking tip, the feeling of being breached, of being claimed enough to tip me over the edge.

Two, three more strokes is all it needs for my climax to rip through me, and my cum splatters all over the glass.