29. Lydia
TWENTY-NINE
LYDIA
T he world has shrunk to just the two of us.
A month has passed since Trip pulled me out of that hell, drenched in blood and rage, and carried me away like I was his most prized possession.
I should’ve been scared. I should’ve been thinking about the life I left behind. But I wasn’t. I couldn’t.
Because from the moment his hands touched me that night, I knew there was no going back. I was his. In every way that mattered. And I never wanted to leave.
The days bled into nights, and the nights… they were filled with him.
Trip didn’t just fuck me.
He owned me.
Every thrust, every bite, every growled demand carved me deeper into his world. I had never known what it was like to be consumed until I met him.
And now, I can’t breathe without him.
I don’t want to.
My body craves him constantly, aching in ways that border on pain when he isn’t inside of me. And when he is–I unravel.
Our mornings start the same way. I wake up tangled in his arms, his scent surrounding me, my body already throbbing with need.
He never gives me a chance to fully wake up. His hand will slide between my thighs, finding me already wet, already ready for him.
He knows. He always knows.
His fingers will tease me, dragging me to the edge until I’m begging, panting into the pillow, pleading for him to take me.
And he always does, too. Hard. Deep.
Until I’m coming so hard I can’t breathe, my body convulsing around him as he claims me all over again.
But it isn’t just the mornings. It’s constant.
I can’t sit on the couch without him pulling me into his lap, spreading my legs, and shoving his fingers inside me until I’m a dripping mess.
I can’t walk past him without his hand wrapping around my throat, pulling me back against his chest while he whispers filthy promises in my ear that leave me soaked and desperate.
And I love it.
I love being his. I love the way he takes me, without hesitation, without mercy. He doesn’t just fuck me. He ruins me.
The nights… the nights are a different kind of madness. Trip doesn’t need words to tell me how much he owns me. He shows me with every brutal, punishing thrust.
He pushes me beyond my limits, bending me until I’m broken and raw, but I fucking love it. I crave the pain. The sting of his knife tracing over my skin before he slides it inside me.
The feel of his teeth sinking into my flesh, marking me as his over and over again. The blood that drips down my thighs when he cuts me just enough to make me whimper, but never enough to scare me.
It isn’t fear. It’s need. And Trip knows exactly how far to take me. He pushes me right to the edge, makes me beg for it, and then drags me back just before I shatter completely.
I’m addicted. Completely and utterly addicted. And I know he is, too.
It’s in the way he looks at me–like he’s starving and I’m the only thing that can satisfy him.
His eyes burn with possession, with something darker that he never tries to hide. He doesn’t just want me.
He needs me. Just as much as I need him. And that knowledge…
It’s intoxicating.
I lose count of how many times he’s fucked me in the past month.
On the bed. Against the wall. On the floor. In the shower. On the kitchen counter.
I’m a mess. My body is constantly sore, constantly marked, constantly dripping with his cum. And I love it.
I love knowing that every part of me belongs to him. That no matter how many times he takes me, I’ll always be ready for more.
Tonight is no different.
I’m already wet before he even touches me. Just the way he looks at me has my thighs clenching, my body anticipating what's coming.
I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, my legs spread just enough to give him a glimpse of what’s waiting for him.
My nipples are already hard, peeking through the thin fabric of the tank top I’m wearing–his fucking tank top.
His eyes are locked on me, dark and dangerous, filled with that same unrelenting hunger that never goes away.
“Take it off, killstreak.” His voice is low, rough, filled with a need that matches my own.
I don’t hesitate.
I pull the shirt over my head, tossing it to the side, leaving me bare in front of him. His gaze roams over me, taking in every inch of my body–every mark, every bruise, every scar he’s left behind.
His.
All of it is his.
“Lie back.”
My heart pounds harder, but I obey. I stretch out on the bed, my legs spreading wider as I watch him. His jaw clenches, his eyes darkening as he takes me in. And then he’s on me.
His hands are rough, gripping my thighs and spreading them wider as he kneels between them.
His mouth is on me before I can even gasp, his tongue dragging over my slit, tasting me, devouring me.
I cry out, my back arching off the bed as he claims me, his tongue flicking over my clit with ruthless precision.
“Fuck… yes…”
My fingers tangle in his hair, tugging hard as I grind against his face, needing more. Always more. But Trip isn’t in the mood to play tonight. He’s hungry .
His tongue plunges into me, fucking me with deep, relentless strokes that have me writhing beneath him. The obscene sounds of his mouth devouring me fill the room, mixing with my ragged moans and the slick wetness of my arousal.
He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow down. His fingers and mouth own me. They possess my pussy with his entire being. He takes everything. And when I come, it’s a fucking explosion.
My body clenches around his tongue, my thighs trembling as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me.
Trip isn’t done, though. Not even close.
Before I’m able to catch my breath, he flips me onto my stomach, dragging me to the edge of the bed.
My ass is in the air, my face pressed into the sheets as I feel the head of his cock press against my soaked entrance.
“Mine.”
The word is a growl, low and feral, vibrating against my skin as he thrusts into me. I scream, my body stretching to accommodate him, the delicious burn making me dizzy.
He doesn’t give me time to adjust. He doesn’t ask .
He takes.
Hard.
Fast.
His hands grip my hips, holding me in place as he pounds into me with brutal, unrelenting force. The sound of our bodies colliding fills the room, echoing off the walls, but I don’t care. I’m too far gone.
Too fucking lost in him.
“Say it.” His voice is a snarl, his teeth sinking into the back of my neck as he fucks me harder.
“Yours.” The word comes out on a gasp, my body trembling as I feel another orgasm building.
“Louder.” His hand wraps around my throat, pulling me up so my back is flush against his chest, his cock still buried deep inside me.
“Yours,” I cry out, my head falling back against his shoulder as my pussy clenches around him.
“That’s right,” he growls, his lips brushing against my ear. “You’re mine, killstreak. Every fucking inch of you.”
My body explodes. I come so hard I see stars, my vision goes white as pleasure consumes me.
But Trip doesn’t stop.
He keeps fucking me through it, dragging out every last pulse, every last tremor, until I’m a shaking, incoherent mess in his arms.
And then he comes.
Hard.
His cock pulses inside me, filling me with his cum, marking me all over again.
I feel every drop, my body absorbing it like it’s the only thing keeping me alive.
When it’s over, I collapse onto the bed, my body limp and spent, but Trip doesn’t let me go.
He holds me close, his body still covering mine, his cock still buried inside me.
“Mine,” he murmurs again, his lips brushing against my temple.
I don’t have the strength to speak, but I don’t need to.
He knows .
Because I’m his.
I will always be his.