Chapter 10
ALENA
He looked at me.
Just looked.
Kneeling there on the floor, lips still swollen from taking him, I watched his face shift—from post-orgasm haze to something darker. Focused. Predatory.
His eyes dragged down my body like hands, cataloging every inch of naked body. When his gaze came back to mine, I saw it—the decision. The claiming.
He didn't say a word.
Just reached down, hands firm under my arms and lifted me like I weighed nothing. My breath caught as he carried me the three steps to my dresser and set me down on the edge, wood cool against my thighs.
Still silent. Still staring. But now he seems massive.
Yes, ok he is 6 ft 5 but now he seems even bigger.
His blue eyes seem like they shine in the half-lit room, and his shoulders now seem bigger.
His chest, larger and his abs move in his each breath.
The V that goes down to this dick hardens with every move he makes.
And all of his tattoos follow the move of his hard muscles.
Fuck.
Is Drogo this sexy? Has he always been this sexy and I just... never let myself see it?
He stepped back.
Just looked.
Drinking me in like he'd been dying of thirst for seventeen years and I was water. His jaw worked, muscles jumping, hands flexing at his sides like he was restraining himself from grabbing me.
"Mine," he said, voice rough. Not a question. A statement. A claim.
Then his eyes met mine, and I saw it—hunger so raw it stole my breath.
He moved forward, hands firm on my knees, and spread my legs wide.
I sucked in air, exposed, vulnerable, my pussy already wet and aching from watching him watch me.
He dropped to his knees between my thighs.
Looked up at me once—just once—with those blue eyes gone dark.
"This is mine now," he growled. "Every inch. Every sound. Mine."
Then his mouth was on me.
"Fuck—Drogo—"
Not teasing. Not gentle. He dove in like a man starving, tongue flattening against my pussy and licking from hole to clit in one long, slow stroke that made my back arch off the dresser.
He groaned—deep, guttural—like he was tasting something he'd been craving for years.
"Fuck, you taste so good," he breathed against me. "Better than I imagined."
He did it again. Licked me slowly, deliberately, tongue dragging through my folds, circling my entrance, then flicking up to my clit. Each stroke deliberate. Claiming.
Then he focused on my clit—licking it with focused, deliberate pressure, each stroke dragging pleasure up my spine until I was shaking.
Then he sucked.
Drew my clit between his lips and sucked hard, tongue flicking against it at the same time, and I screamed. Actually screamed, hand flying to his hair, pulling hard enough that he groaned against me.
He didn't stop. Sucked harder, tongue working my clit in tight circles, fast then slow then fast again, never giving me a chance to adjust or breathe or think.
One hand gripped my thigh, holding me open. The other slid up, two thick fingers pushing inside me without warning.
"Oh my god—"
He curled them. Found that spot deep inside and pressed, rubbing in time with his tongue on my clit, and I felt my whole body lock up, pleasure coiling tight and vicious in my belly.
"Drogo—fuck—I can't—"
He pulled his mouth away just long enough to growl, "Yes, you can. Come for me. Come on my face."
Then he sucked my clit back into his mouth, fingers pumping harder, curling just right, hitting that spot over and over—
The orgasm hit different.
Not just pleasure. Something deeper. More intense.
My whole body seized, thighs clamping around his head, and then—
I squirted.
Hard. Violently. Liquid gushing from me as I screamed his name, body shaking uncontrollably.
He didn't pull back.
Shoved his face harder against me, mouth open, taking everything. Groaning like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted.
His fingers kept pumping, prolonging it, drawing more from me until I was sobbing, pushing at his head because it was too much.
Only then did he ease back, pressing soft kisses to my inner thigh as I trembled, boneless, still shaking from the intensity.
His face was soaked. He didn't care. Just looked up at me with dark, satisfied eyes and licked his lips.
Slowly keeping his eyes on mine. Then, a small half smile appeared on his lips.
Those beautiful full lips. My heart almost stopped as I still shook almost violently on the dresser.
The way he looked at me, made him seem dangerous.
The kind of man that kills for pleasure.
And fuck me I knew better. He was the man that would kill easily if the circumstances demanded it.
He leaned on me kissing my wet dripping pussy again, sucking the wetness, and then his eyes dark and dangerous locked on mine.
He looked like a monster of a man… My monster. My lips curled to an exhausted smile.
"Mine," he said again, voice rough with possession. "You're fucking mine."
He rose slowly, sliding his body between my legs, cock hard and thick against my stomach. His mouth found mine and I tasted myself on him—salty, intimate, filthy. The kiss was deep and claiming, his tongue stroking mine like he was still inside me.
When he pulled back, his eyes searched mine, wild and unguarded.
"Turn around," he said, voice rough. "Hands on the dresser. Hold tight."
I didn't hesitate. Slid off the edge, turned, bent forward, palms flat on the wood. My ass tilted up instinctively, offering myself to him.
Behind me, I heard his breath catch.
Then his hand was on my lower back, sliding up my spine, possessive and reverent. He gathered my hair, pulling it over one shoulder, and pressed his mouth to the nape of my neck. Kissed me there, open-mouthed and slow, teeth grazing skin.
"You have no idea," he murmured against my skin, voice shaking with restraint, "how many times I've imagined this. You like this. Bent over for me. Mine."
The word mine rolled through me like thunder.
I felt the thick head of his cock slide between my thighs, coating himself in how wet he'd made me.
Then one slow, deliberate thrust and he was inside me.
"Fuck—Drogo—"
He was big. Thick. Stretching me so completely I couldn't breathe for a second.
I'd felt him in my hand before—years of accidental morning wood, sleep touches—but this?
This was different. This was him filling me, claiming me, ruining me for anyone else.
And now, I had no idea how I could take him.
He would split me open. I pressed my palm on his thigh almost by instinct.
He grabbed my hand and with his other slapped my ass hard.
So hard I almost fell on the side. Fuck, the sensation was amazing.
“Hit me again.” I managed and he did. Harder.
I moaned. He kicked my leg to the side and the head of his dick started pressing me again. Stretching me. I screamed.
“Don’t resist me.” He slapped my ass again and I moaned hard pushing my ass to him. “Open your legs, Alena.”
He pulled back and drove in again, deeper, harder as he fisted my hair hard.
The sound he made—half groan, half growl—was pure animal.
His hips snapped forward, relentless, each thrust lifting me onto my toes.
One arm banded across my chest, palm splayed over my racing heart, holding me against him.
Then it went lower on my left breast and he grabbed it hard pulling from there to him.
I moaned, shameless, the sound echoing off the walls. My fingers clawed at the dresser for leverage as he fucked me harder, faster, the slap of skin on skin filling the room.
"Say it," he growled, voice breaking. "Say you're mine."
"I'm yours," I gasped. "Yours—only yours—"
"Damn right," he breathed. "No one else gets this. No one else gets you. Ever."
I couldn't answer. Could only cry out his name again and again as he pounded into me, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind my eyelids.
"Say it" he almost roared and slapped my ass hard. I moaned and screamed hard. Fuck, that was wonderful. I wanted more. The way he fucked me was so primal so….
“No one! – Ah- harder- Ah- Only… only you! Fuck!”
My second orgasm built fast, coiling tight and hot.
Then suddenly he pulled out.
I whimpered at the loss, but before I could protest, his hands were on my hips, spinning me, lifting me. He carried me the few steps to my bed and threw me down onto the mattress.
"On your back," he commanded, voice rough. "Legs open. I want to see your face when you come on my cock."
I obeyed, spreading wide, and he climbed over me, cock in hand, guiding himself back inside in one hard thrust.
This angle—fuck, this angle.
Deeper. Fuller. His weight pressing me into the mattress, his face inches from mine, eyes locked as he fucked me slow and deep.
His mouth dropped to my breast, lips closing around my nipple. He sucked hard, tongue flicking the peak in time with his thrusts, teeth grazing just enough to make me cry out. The dual sensation—his cock dragging inside me, his mouth devouring my breast—sent fire racing through every nerve.
He switched to the other nipple, sucking deeper, hand cupping the first to keep the pressure steady. I arched into him, fingers digging into his shoulders, lost in the way he worshiped me like he'd been starving for this exact taste.
"Come for me," he growled against my skin, thumb finding my clit, rubbing tight circles. "Let me feel it." He brought his face to mine as his fingers wrapped around my throat.
I came with a scream, clenching around him so hard he cursed.
But he didn't stop.
He kept fucking me through it, thumb still working my clit, drawing out the pleasure until it blurred into the next orgasm already building.
"Again," he demanded, hips driving harder. "Come for me again, baby."
"I can't—Drogo—I can't—"
"Yes, you can." His mouth found mine, kiss bruising. "One more. Give me one more."
His cock dragged against every sensitive place inside me, his thumb relentless on my clit, and I came apart again—harder this time, violent, my whole body arching off the bed.
My pussy clamped down on him like a vice, pulsing, milking him, and I felt the exact moment he lost control.
"Fuck—" His eyes went wide, hips stuttering. "Alena—I need to—"
He tried to pull out. I saw it in his face, felt him start to withdraw. But my body wouldn't let him. My legs locked around his waist on instinct, heels digging into his ass, holding him deep inside me as another wave of my orgasm rolled through.
"Fuck—baby—I can't—" His voice broke, desperate, strained. "You're—fuck—"
His whole body locked up as he pushed so deep, I saw stars, cock pulsing inside me as he came with a strangled groan, unable to fight the pleasure or my body's grip on his. Hot. Thick. Endless.
He buried his face in my neck, shaking, gasping my name like a prayer. Then he brought my face to his as he kissed me deep and still hungry moving slowly inside me.
We both realized at the same time.
His forehead dropped to mine, breath ragged, eyes searching mine with something like panic and wonder mixed together.
"Fuck," he whispered. "I came inside you."
I should've panicked. Should've cared. But all I felt was satisfaction—deep, primal, possessive. I wanted his come in me. I wanted to feel him. Claim him.
"I know," I whispered back.
His hand slid down to rest on my belly, palm warm and possessive. His thumb stroked my skin, reverent, like he was imagining something neither of us had said out loud.
"I wanted to," he murmured, so quiet I almost missed it. Voice rough with emotion. "I wanted to stay inside you. Fill you. Mark you as mine." His eyes found mine, vulnerable and raw. "Is that fucked up?"
"No." My hand covered his on my belly. "I wanted it too."
His breath shuddered out. "If you got pregnant—" He stopped, swallowed hard. "I wouldn't be sorry."
Oh.
Oh fuck.
He would be ok with that huh? Shit. We haven’t even been on a date. Ok, yes we are together everyday for seventeen years, he was the first man that ever gave me a rose – I will not forget it. It was black. But still… A kid? So fast?
He cupped my cheek, turning my face toward his, and kissed me—soft, sweet, devastating. My hands wrapped around his neck on their own, pulling him closer.
For one perfect, suspended second, the kiss was everything. Gentle, deep, full of seventeen years of unspoken things finally finding a voice.
And then the weight of it hit me.
Not panic. Not fear of losing him.
Something deeper.
My breath hitched. My hands tightened around his neck.
He felt it instantly. Pulled back just enough to search my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone.
"Alena?" His voice was soft, careful. "Baby, talk to me."
The words came out broken, raw.
"I was in love with you from the moment I saw you," I whispered. "That first night. Hyde Park. You sat down and I couldn't breathe."
His eyes went wide.
"I don't want to lose you," I continued, voice cracking. "Not now. Not ever. I can't—"
He rolled us onto our sides still pulsing inside me, pulling me tight against his chest. One arm wrapped around my waist, the other cradling my head. He pressed his forehead to mine, eyes shining.
"I chose that bench because you stopped my heart ten feet away," he said, voice rough with emotion. "I saw you crying and I couldn't walk past. Couldn't leave you there."
My breath caught.
"And when I sat down next to you," he continued, thumb stroking my cheek, "it took me ten minutes to find the strength to look at you. Because I knew—the second I did—I'd be yours. Forever."
Tears spilled over, hot and fast.
"I love you, Alena," he whispered. "I've loved you for seventeen years. And I'm never letting you go."
The smile that spread across his face was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Relief. Joy. Seventeen years of want finally finding home.
"I love you," I whispered back, voice breaking. "I love you so much."
He kissed me then—soft, deep, claiming. Like he was sealing a vow.
And I kissed him back, knowing that whatever came next, we'd face it together.
Because I was his.
And he was mine.
Finally.