Chapter 31
“Take a deep breath.” His voice was calm and gentle—too gentle for what he was about to do.
I obeyed, though, lungs shaking as I inhaled.
The coolness of the lube was a shock as he pressed a finger to my tight hole.
My body automatically tensed, but he remained firm and patient.
He pushed inside me slowly, letting my body accept the invasion.
It felt so good, I couldn’t stop the moan that escaped me.
A second finger followed, and I whimpered, writhing against the restraints as he stretched me open. My thighs were shaking, the ropes tying my arms to the headboard biting into my skin every time I moved.
Suddenly, his fingers disappeared, but they were quickly replaced by something different, something wider.
The plug.
I had just taken Rowen’s massive cock in my ass a handful of days ago, but the sensation of being stretched was nothing I’d ever be able to get used to.
“Good girl,” he said with pride. “You’re taking this so well. You were fucking made for this.”
I whined around the gag. I was so overwhelmed by everything, my eyelids fluttered shut, my head pushed back into the pillow.
The stretch burned then faded, replaced by a fullness that made my clit pulse. He twisted the plug, making me squirm as I moaned. I barely felt the kiss he planted on my neck.
My body was on fire, my skin buzzing, every nerve on high alert.
And he still wasn’t done.
I didn’t see what he grabbed next, but I felt it: the sting on my nipple when he placed a nipple clamp on it. I jolted, and I heard a tiny bell chime. The second clamp was placed, my back arched off the bed, which was accompanied by more taunting ringing. It was all too much.
When I opened my eyes, he was watching me. His shirt was gone, boxers shoved down, his cock thick in his hand as he stroked himself.
“It's my turn to fuck you now,” he growled. His voice dropped lower, darker. “You just get to sit there and enjoy yourself, little sis. Feel that plug in your ass move as I stuff you full. Listen to the bells on your pretty nipples as I fuck you. You can’t move. You can’t think. All you can do is feel.”
My body trembled, desperation sinking in as he gripped his cock and began to push inside me. Inch by inch, he filled me at a slow, torturous pace. Once he was buried deep, he paused.
The plug made things tighter, more intense. Every movement, every twitch of his cock, made pressure build in my lower stomach.
“Fuck, Av,” he groaned through clenched teeth. “You’re so fucking tight. Fucking hell. You feel so goddamn amazing.”
All I could do was whine and take it. I was helpless, aching, his for the taking.
My body was pinned down, my pussy stretched around him as he drove into me, the bells chiming with each brutal thrust. He even pulled at the clamps, the pain slicing through the pleasure as I screamed and shuddered, unable to control my reactions.
He didn’t stop, never slowed down. His rhythm was relentless and merciless, so deep, he was hitting a spot inside me that threatened to be my undoing.
I was on the edge of breaking. The overstimulation of the plug and clamps and the cock inside me coursed through my veins like flashes of lightning.
Convulsions rocked my body as I shattered for him, unable to hold back the orgasm that tore through me. I held my breath, bound and consumed by the intensity of the blinding white wave drowning me.
He didn’t stop. He held me down, pushing on my lower stomach, making the spasms worse even as the waves calmed. I cried and shook, but he just groaned and continued to bury himself to the hilt.
I was thankful once his pace faltered and became rough.
I was wide-eyed and shaking my head when he pulled out and covered the inside of my thighs with his cum.
Once he was spent, he removed the plug and the clamps.
It felt like it took hours, even though it was probably only a few seconds.
When he untied my legs and arms, I didn’t move.
I couldn’t even convince my limbs to stretch. Everything refused to work.
He pulled me into his arms as he laid down beside me, and any remaining tension melted. I was safe in his arms.
“Look at you,” he whispered, brushing hair off my sweaty forehead. “An adorable little puddle.” He placed a gentle kiss on my forehead. “Just like I told you.”
I wasn’t here, but I was. I felt like I was floating in the room, still high on the immense pleasure. The way he cradled me, like I was precious to him, helped ground me. I found myself breathing in sync with him.
He was murmuring softly, his lips pressed to my temple. I was so out of it, I couldn’t really understand any words, but the sound of him was enough. His voice was deep and calming, making me feel safe.
I didn’t realize I’d been crying until he wiped my tears away.
“Hey,” he said softly. “You with me?”
I nodded, unable to form words, feeling heavy in every aspect of the word.
He pulled a blanket over us, trapping our bodies together. I didn’t want to be anywhere else. I was already dreading getting up, having to wash him off me, to lose the smell of him on my skin.
I turned my head to rest my cheek on his chest. My eyes jumped across his inked skin, the stories they told. I traced the lines with my finger, feeling his muscles twitch as I went.
My finger found its way to the scars on his ribs, the way he’d marked himself permanently for me in so many ways, an intentional reminder he’d branded himself with, and a shiver ran through me.
I kept running my fingers over his scars, wondering what it felt like to be so obsessed and consumed by someone, you’d need so many reminders of them on your skin.
And suddenly, I needed it too.
I needed his mark on me. Something that would never fade. That would represent the hold he had on me, the way he’d crawled under my skin.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and looked up at him.
He immediately met my eyes, looking at me expectantly, waiting for me to speak.
“I want…” My voice cracked, and tears stung my eyes once more.
“It’s okay, baby,” he said in a calm voice. “Take your time.” He lifted my chin to press a light kiss to my lips.
“I want you to mark me,” I whispered against his mouth.
He froze.
“Rowen?” I asked after he didn’t speak for a beat.
He leaned away, staring deep into my eyes. “I need a little more explanation than that, Av. I’ve marked you up quite well,” he joked as he scanned my body, his eyes catching on the bruises and hickeys he’d left behind over the last several days.
“No.” I shook my head. “Not like that.” I paused, willing my heart to stop beating so damn fast. “I want you to carve your initials into me. On my ribs. Like your scars. Where only you will see.”
He was quiet again, his eyes searching mine, growing darker by the second. The arm wrapped around me tightened.
“You know what you’re asking?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“You want my initials,” he stated. “Carved on your skin. By me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?” He cradled my cheek with his hand, his thumb running over my face softly.
I leaned into him out of instinct, his touch quieting the storm in my mind. My chest swelled with something huge—something raw and heavy and new to me.
“Because you marked yourself for me, you belong to me. I want to belong to you in the same way. I don’t want it to fade. I want it to last forever.”
He closed his eyes, a tremor running through him, his body radiating a heat that seared into me.
When he finally opened them again, something was different. It was like time had slowed. His hand slid down to my ribs, right where I wanted his mark, just below my left breast. I had no doubt he could feel my heart pounding.
He pressed his palm flat against it and kissed me hard. It was fierce and overwhelming, like he was staking his claim again, reminding me who I belonged to.
“You’ll bleed,” he said after he pulled away.
“I know.”
“It will hurt.” He ran his thumb over my bottom lip. “I want you to know exactly what you’re getting yourself into. It won’t go away. You will be stuck with my mark for the rest of your life, even when you’ve come to your senses and start hating me again.”
My heart broke at the way he sounded on the last sentence, like he might’ve believed it.
“I want this, Rowen. I do.” I put my hand over his, over my ribs. “I’m not going to change my mind. I want to feel it—all of it. Every burn. Every slice.” I closed the distance between us until our lips touched again, reassuring him. “Make me yours,” I said softly. “Make it last forever.”
He huffed, the sound quiet and broken, almost a laugh. Then, he slid away from me, moved our hands from my ribs, and kissed my ribs. I shivered as he kissed the area again and again, slowly at first, then erratically, until he was kissing up my chest to my neck and face.
“I’ll do it,” he said, his breath washing over my lips. “I’ll mark you with my initials, but only if you promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“Mark me too.”
What?
“Rowen, I can’t—“
“All of this,” he motioned to his inked body, “was me. I want you to put your initials on me. Same spot. ARW. Avery Rose Wilcox.”
I smiled, tears filling my eyes for the millionth time since he crashed into my life and made me feel things I’d never felt. “Okay.”
He kissed me, deep and slow, like he was already cutting into me.
And I wanted him to. I wanted every part of it.
The scar.
The pain.
The permanent reminder that I belonged to him.