18. Chapter eighteen #3
The low growls and grunts that rumble through him make my head spin. When I break away to trail my lips along that vein on the underside, to taste and tease and extract more of those delicious sounds, he suddenly snaps me up into his arms.
He lifts me like I weigh nothing. One arm is under my ass, the other around my back.
My arms loop around his neck, legs locked around his waist as he carries me to the bed, licking in his mouth again almost desperately.
We’re a wet mess when we tumble onto his mountain of blankets, the remnants of the shower slick between us, his mouth and hands every fucking where.
He licks my abs, my chest, swirls that evil tongue around my nipple, dragging it further up and up while kneading my ass.
“Oh shit, Max. I want more,” I grunt up at the ceiling, clinging on for dear life, loving every second of this, welcoming it. The weight, the way he pushes me into the mattress in that brutal, possessive way of his. I fucking live for it. It grounds me in ways I can’t pull apart right now.
“ Kee ,” he breathes against my neck, the sound raw and ragged, full of something like apology and hunger all at once. He finds the tendon there and bites—sharp, claiming, marking me.
His, my heart screams. I’m his forever. For however long I have left.
“ Hmmm-Max ,” I moan again, arching my neck, knees clamping around his hips, my nails raking down his back until he answers with a low, animal noise that makes the air snap. “Oh, my fucking gods.”
“You like that, huh?” he rasps against my skin, voice graveled and dangerous. There’s a dare in it.
“Yes,” I rasp back, breathless and stupid with wanting. “More. Do it. I can take it.”
He answers by tightening, by biting me harder, his hips moving against mine as his hand claws at my hip so hard I swear it’s going to fucking bruise.
The world narrows to that bite, the heat, his smell, the press of him on me, that friction, and I can only gasp and moan at the ceiling, the way his dick feels against mine fucking undoing me.
He lifts his face, that hungry gaze searching mine, the darkness at the edges now, lips grazing mine. “How do I—” he starts, but then swallows.
“I’ve got olive oil in my bag,” I tell him, breathless, because I know what he means. And I need him to hurry the fuck up.
I use the few seconds he’s away from me to roll onto my stomach, push myself up on hands and knees. His sharp intake of breath when he’s back snags my gaze his way, cheeks flushing.
“Use one finger first,” I mutter as he wraps his fist around his dick, my focus zeroing in on it. “Then two. Scissor me. And when three goes easy, you can—you know.”
“Pound you into oblivion?” he actually fucking smirks .
My cheeks heat, and my voice comes out rough. “Something like that.”
He stalks over to me slow, predatory, and when he gets behind me on his knees, sinking into the mattress, I’m fucking lost. My heart hammers in my ears when I hear the bottle open, then goes haywire when his big hand finds my ass cheek, and it skips a beat when the cold oil hits my skin.
“Like this?” he murmurs, as I feel one finger sliding back and forth over my crack.
“Yeah, just like that.” I let my head fall forward with a moan as the tip of his finger slowly eases inside.
“Shit, this feels good,” he says, probing deeper, voice almost in wonder. “It’s fucking soft and warm and tight.”
“Yeah… imagine what your dick feels inside that,” I breathe, lowering on my elbows, giving myself to him even more.
A smack against my ass makes me gasp. “Always so fucking sassy,” he mutters, adding another finger while massaging my ass.
A shudder ripples across my back, and I drop my forehead to the mattress, a long moan ripping out of me as he starts pistoning in earnest.
“You like that, Kee?”
I can only fucking nod, too flushed to answer properly. His free hand snakes forward, finds my raging dick, gives it a hard squeeze.
“Hmm. yeah. Seems like you love it. You’re a good fucking boy, aren’t you?”
I shudder at the praise and godsdamned mewl when he slides another digit in, stretching me so damn good my knees go weak and my breath stutters. I’m needy, desperate, and so fucking ready for him.
The moment those fingers leave me, I feel hollow, empty, alone, but not for long.
He lets go of my erection and a hot second later, he’s probing at my ass again with the tip of his dick.
I stay still as he fills me up slowly, stretching me in ways I didn’t know I wanted.
I breathe through it, forehead to the bed, hand twisting in the sheets.
When he’s finally fully inside me, he doesn’t pull back. He stays locked, immovable, buried to the hilt and holding me there. Not because he can’t move, but because I think he wants me to feel him, to learn him in a single, brutal, exquisite pressure.
I melt around him, chest hollow, muscles humming, drinking the weight of him as his pulse thuds inside me and his thumbs massage my hips in a slow, lazy rhythm.
I’m so fucking full, and it’s so, so good. It’s the best. It’s everything and fucking more. But I need him to fucking move.
“Fuck me, dammit. I can take it, Max,” I say for what feels like the billionth time. “Own me. Show me your fucking demons.”
The growl that rips from his chest is feral. “You want all of me, Kee?” he says low, almost sinister, moving in and out of me way too slowly. “You sure you can handle it?”
Instead of answering, I brace one hand against the headboard and impale myself on him the instant he moves forward.
A raw moan rips out of me; a guttural groan leaves him.
“As you fucking wish.” The chuckle that leaves his mouth as his hands start to really bruise my hips is savage. It’s all the warning I get before he pounces, unleashes his beast.
He has me in ways I can’t even comprehend.
He has me in ways I couldn’t have fathomed in my stupidest fantasies.
His hands are brutal and exact, pulling me back on every surge, thumbs digging into the meat of my hips, fingers splayed, nails scoring my skin. He drags me with him, hard and relentless.
I choke on a gasp with every brutal thrust, my voice shredded, thoughts reduced to heat and ache as he damn near obliterates me.
I’m his. I’m his in every fucking way, and I want it, need it, need him to claim me. “Bite me,” I grunt, panting. “Mark me. Do it .”
When he does—when those teeth find my neck just as his hand grabs my throat so tight I can barely fucking breathe—I claw for the edge of the mattress, fingers digging in the material, wanting more, more, more until the sound of skin and teeth is the only thing that exists.
I sink into it, into this brutal, beautiful mess of us, and nothing else matters but the way he pins me to the world, keeps me teetering on lunacy.
He does more than claim me. He’s owning me. It’s in every snap of his hips, every mark of his teeth, every growl ripping from his chest. And I wouldn’t want him any other way.
He’s mine. Fucking mine.
He’s fucking me raw, bleeding me dry, and rebuilding me at the same time, pulling me apart and putting me back together in ways I never thought possible.
The intensity of it is too much… and the sob that rips through me as he takes me, annihilates me, isn’t pain or heartbreak. It’s love and full-blown surrender.
Tears streak my cheeks, tears of want and relief and the kind of aching I didn’t know had a name.
Then, abrupt and smooth, he shifts gears: his thrusts slow, his hands unclench, and the feral edge softens into something almost careful.
He starts kissing me—my shoulder blades, the curve of my spine—then hauls me up flush against his chest, his lips trailing over my neck, his tongue flicking over the trail of kisses.
It’s soft. Tender. Unlike anything I’d expect from him; a complete turn from what he just did.
One hand stays on my throat, massaging it now, sometimes clenching that tiny delirious bit, that damn thumb caressing the whole time.
The other hand snakes lower, traces the outline of every one of my abs, fingers fluttering over the coarse hair.
When he finally wraps those strong, scarred fingers around my aching length, he fucking shudders as I let out a whimper.
His mouth finds my neck again, kissing the tender spot he bit moments ago, soothing it, taking the sting away.
He starts to move again, slowly fucking upward, keeping me seated on his lap with those strong arms.
And when he twists me, bringing my lips to his, when he kisses me like he’d die if he didn’t, like I’m his fucking oxygen, like this is our forever, the only forever we’re going to get, everything snaps.
I fucking explode: a white-hot bolt that rips through me, my body convulsing, my voice tearing into a raw, keening shout as heat floods every nerve. He holds me through it, lips crushing mine, arms locking me to him while the world tilts and burns and then, impossibly, softens.
He follows right after, grunting and groaning my name, his body twitching inside me as he comes. Hard, ragged, everything collapsing into one desperate, animal sound.
We sag against each other, limbs tangled in a hot, sated mess, the blanket bunched under us, breath coming in jagged, hungry bursts. I’m flying, soaring; I can’t catch my thoughts.
When he finally moves, he’s careful. He turns me, slips out, then crawls over me until he’s atop me. Our foreheads press, noses touch, lips grazing softly until they find each other.
I feel him drip out of me, but couldn’t care less; I only care about the slow, steadying beat of his chest, the way his weight anchors me to the bed.
His eyes have calmed, the animal in him breathing softer, for now the monster is sated. I can still smell grief on him, feel it under his ribs, but it’s muted by the closeness.
The outside world—Joyeus, the city, Tass, all the shit that’s waiting for us—drops away.
Those dark-starred eyes fix on me with the weight of a planet, and that look flattens everything else into silence.