Chapter 9 #3
He removed his fingers, and I felt the thick pressure of his cock replacing them. He pushed in slowly, carefully. The stretch was intense, overwhelming—exactly what I needed.
“Move,” I demanded once he was fully seated. “Please, Dom—”
He did, setting a rhythm that was both tender and fervent. His hands were everywhere, his palms tracing fire across my over-sensitized flesh. Each thrust pressed me forward against the glass, my fingertips sliding against the slick surface as I scrabbled for something to hold.
The apartment filled with the slap of skin against skin, our gasps bouncing off bare walls as Dominic drove deeper inside me.
“This apartment is ours,” he growled, his voice husky against my ear as his hips snapped forward.
“Ours,” I echoed breathlessly, pushing back against him, matching his rhythm perfectly.
My cries reverberated through the empty space, multiplying around us. Beyond the windows, the city twinkled and blurred as my eyes lost focus, pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak.
“Close,” I gasped. “I’m so close—”
“Come for me,” he commanded, one hand wrapping around my cock. “Come for me, baby.”
The combination sent me over the edge with a hoarse cry that echoed off the empty walls. My release spattered against the glass.
Dominic’s rhythm faltered, then surged. He drove in one final time, his body shuddering against mine. His teeth found my mating mark, his tongue tracing the raised ridge of scar tissue as he pulsed deep inside me.
We stayed like that for long moments after, breathing hard.
He pulled out carefully, then gathered his release and pressed it back inside me with a possessive growl. “Mine.”
His hands gripped my hips, turning me to face him.
His lips captured mine in a kiss that melted from desperate to languorous, his tongue exploring my mouth with unhurried thoroughness.
When we finally separated, his gaze swept across the bare walls and empty floors, satisfaction gleaming in his steel-gray eyes.
“Our home,” he murmured, the words hanging in the air between us.
“Our home,” I echoed, my voice soft but certain.
We eventually cleaned up using the paper towels and water bottle Dominic had stashed in his messenger bag—always prepared, my practical alpha.
“We should probably get back,” I said, though I was reluctant to leave. I pulled on my sweater, letting the fabric drape against my skin while my jeans lay abandoned on the floor.
My gaze lingered on Dominic as he tugged denim over his powerful thighs, the fabric settling snugly around his hips.
“Probably,” he agreed, but instead of moving toward his discarded shirt, he pulled out his phone. “Let me take some measurements first. Start planning where furniture should go.”
I watched him pace off distances, making notes.
Every few steps, he glanced over his shoulder with raised eyebrows, seeking my nod of approval.
Watching him move through our future space, methodically planning our life together, soothed something deep within me.
The domesticity of it felt like a balm—the perfect counterpoint to the raw possessiveness he’d displayed just moments before.
“The nursery should be the room with the eastern exposure,” he said, gesturing to one of the bedrooms. “Morning light, but not too harsh.”
“You’ve put a lot of thought into this,” I observed.
“I’ve thought about everything,” he admitted, still focused on his phone. “Every detail of our life together.”
I sidled up behind him, my arms finding their way around his waist. Rising onto my tiptoes, my lips brushed against the warm skin of his bare shoulder. He hummed appreciatively but kept typing notes.
“The living area should have the main seating facing the windows,” he continued, his voice slightly less steady as I circled him, my fingertips dancing along his arm before coming to rest against the solid warmth of his chest. I rose to my tiptoes again, my lips tracing a path along the warm column of his throat. “Maybe a sectional. And we’ll need—”
I plucked the phone from his hands.
“Leo,” he protested.
“You can measure later,” I said, backing toward the center of the room, holding his phone hostage.
“I was in the middle of—”
“Come here.” I lowered myself to the plush carpeting. My fingers wrapped around his wrist, coaxing him to join me. “Lay down.”
Something sparked in his eyes. “What are you doing?”
“Taking what I want.” I pushed gently at his chest until he was on his back, then climbed on top of him, straddling his hips. “Any objections?”
His hands found my thighs, gripping tight. “None whatsoever.”
“Good.” I leaned down to kiss him, rolling my hips. We both gasped at the delicious friction. “Because I think we should christen this apartment properly.”
“We just—” His breath caught as I ground against him. “We just did.”
“That was you doing the claiming.” I sat up, pulling my sweater over my head. “Now it’s my turn.”
The look in his eyes—dark, hungry, utterly devoted—made heat pool in my belly.
“Then do it,” he said roughly. “Claim me.”
So I did.