Chapter 10 #3
He leans in. And finally his cock brushes the backs of my thighs. He grabs my wrist. And pulls my fingers out of myself.
I whimper, sharp and guttural, my whole body shuddering.
I’m slick, stretched and empty. The absence is violent.
Then I feel it. The heat of him. The weight.
The thick, impossible press of the head of his cock nudging between my cheeks, there but not in, just a tease, just a threat.
My hips jolt without thinking, pushing back like I can force more of him in.
“Greedy brat,” Damian growls, voice low and crackling.
I brace on my forearms, knees spread, spine curved into a perfect arc—and then he does it. He presses in. Just the tip. Not even halfway.
My breath punches out of me in a sob. Then…nothing. No more. No movement. Only that stretch, that unbearable ache, that promise burning behind me.
“Move, pup.”
I freeze. “W-what?”
“You heard me,” he murmurs. “You want more? You work for it. You fuck yourself on my cock like the desperate little slut you are.”
Oh God. I bite my lip, hands shaking where they grip the sheets, arms on the verge of collapse, thighs trembling—but I move anyway.
Back, slow, until I feel him sink slightly deeper, then forward, easing off again.
It’s torture, every motion like sawing myself open inch by inch, my own hips betraying me as they chase every inch of him.
“That’s it,” he breathes. “Just like that. Fuck yourself on it. Show me how badly you need to be filled.”
I moan—loud and perfect—like the sound’s been clawing its way out of me from the start.
“You want it deeper?” Damian purrs.
“Y-yes, sir.”
“Then earn it.”
I keep going, rocking slowly, sloppy, flushed to my ears and panting like an animal. I feel him watching—feel the heat of his gaze slicing over my spine, soaking into my bones.
“Say it,” he growls, finally cracking with heat. “Tell me what you are.”
“I’m your slut, sir,” I gasp. “Your greedy fucking pup.”
He grabs my hips hard and slams in. His hands slam down—one fisting my hair, the other wrapping tight around my throat—and I break.
My moan shatters, caught somewhere between a gasp and a sob as he buries himself to the hilt, hips snapping forward with a brutal finality that sends stars spinning behind my eyes.
I arch, scream, claw at the sheets, and he still doesn’t stop.
“Do you think I give a shit what they call you?” Damian snarls against my neck, so close and so raw it feels like it’s been carved into me. “They can call you my wife. My husband. My pet. My doll. I don’t give a shit, pup.”
He thrusts hard, knocking the air out of me, and I wail—loud and wrecked, my whole body curving back into him.
“What you are,” he growls, teeth scraping the edge of my jaw, “is mine. And that’s never going to change.”
He fucks me like he’s sealing it. Claiming me again and again and again, every thrust a brand, every snap of his hips a vow I can feel in my bones.
My knees slide wider. My vision goes white and I can’t breathe, not with his hand on my throat, not with his cock splitting me open, not with the sound of his voice drowning out everything except this.
“Sir—please—I—” I sob, incoherent, gasping around the pressure of his grip, desperate and so close.
But his rhythm doesn’t falter. His grip is harsh. “You said you wanted this,” he growls, pounding into me deeper. “You screamed it, brat. My husband, right? Then take it. Take me. Take all of me.”
I can’t do anything but take it, not when he’s inside me like this, not when I’m clinging to the edge of the bed like it’ll save me from drowning. And when his hand slips from my throat to my mouth, forcing two fingers past my lips, I suck.
His cock hits deep and I scream around his fingers—no words left, just noise, just his. “Come for me, baby.”
That’s all it takes. My whole body goes still for half a heartbeat, suspended before I detonate. The orgasm hits like a freight train, violent and all-consuming. I scream, full-body scream, sobbing around his fingers as my muscles seize and my spine bows.
My release paints the sheets in streaks I’ll be ashamed of later, but right now, I don’t give a fuck.
I’m shaking, crying, clenching so hard I feel every vein in Damian’s cock, every twitch of his hips as he snarls behind me “Fuck, pup—” He groans, deep and vicious, fingers bruising into my hips, cock throbbing as he slams deep and stays.
I feel it. I feel all of him, every inch, every pulse, and then the burn of heat inside me as he comes.
His teeth find my shoulder, biting down hard enough to mark, to claim, to stake me like a prize that’ll never be his for just one night.
I collapse, or maybe I’ve been collapsing this whole time, but he keeps me upright, arms a vice around my torso, his breath hot against the side of my face as I twitch and gasp in the aftermath, soaked in sweat and come and the kind of bruising tenderness only he can give me.
I’m not even sure I’m conscious when he finally pulls out. My whole body shudders, boneless and used and perfect.
He lays me down gently. And when his arms wrap around me from behind, pulling me into the heat of him, I don’t fight it. I don’t speak.
His arm slides under my head, slow and warm, dragging me deeper into the haze. His fingers curl into my hair lazily, familiar and his. My whole body’s still twitching, wrecked and loose and stretched to the edge, but I manage a soft little whine as he presses close.
“Still pouty?” he murmurs, teasing.
I should bite him. I should growl something back, bratty and smug. But all I can do is nuzzle into his chest, cheeks burning, throat raw, the weight of his cock still a phantom between my legs. I think I just groan.
Then he says it—quiet, so quiet I almost miss it. “I love you, pup.”
I stop breathing. Freeze completely. Every part of me—every cell, every beat—slams to a halt like he’s yanked the entire world out from under my feet. My eyes go wide, my lungs stay empty, and this stupid, used, buzzing body goes still all at once.
He said it. He finally said it. And now I don’t know how to exist—not in this second, not with his arms around me, his voice in my blood, his love—that word—settling over me like a weight I never thought I’d get to carry.
“Sir…” I whisper. It’s all I manage. And he hums, calm and dangerous, like he didn’t just blow up my entire goddamn life with three words.
I curl tighter into him, into his chest, his scent, his everything, until there’s no space left between us. My whole body’s a livewire, skin humming, ribs aching, but it’s his words that gut me.
“I’d give up my skates for you,” Damian says, quiet and deadly serious, like he’s promising to tear out his own lungs if I asked.
My throat closes. And then I break, the sob slips out before I can choke it down. Ugly and real. I clench my fists in his chest, bury my face in his there, and sob.
Because he means it. Because I know what skating means to him. What the game means. What being Damian fucking Kade means. He’s lived this life longer than I’ve been legal. Bled for it. Fought for it. Built this team with his own fists.
And he’d give it up for me.
Slowly, I look up. My face is wet, cheeks blotchy, mouth trembling like I’ve been scraped raw from the inside out.
Damian wipes away my tears with his thumb, so gentle it makes my chest hurt more.
His smile isn’t smug this time—it’s soft, devastating, worshipful in a way that makes my chest ache and my throat catch.
“I love you too,” I whisper.
And I mean it. Every syllable, every shaky breath. I love him with everything I am. Everything I’ve ever been. I love him in the bloodied, broken, unfixable parts of me. I love him like a goal at the buzzer, like a fight I’ll never back down from.
His forehead rests against mine and for once we don’t say anything more. Because there’s nothing left to prove.