Chapter 35 #3
He pushed deeper, inch by agonizing inch, filling me completely, claiming me in the most intimate way possible.
His forehead pressed against mine, our breaths mingling, our bodies trembling with the effort of staying still, of savoring this moment.
When he was fully seated inside me, we both froze, our bodies locked together, our breathing harsh and ragged in the quiet of the room.
This felt different than all the times before.
This wasn’t just sex. This wasn’t just physical release or scratching an itch.
This was connection on a level I’d never experienced.
This was love, pure and true and terrifying.
This was forever, or at least the promise of it, and I wanted to hold onto this feeling, this moment, for as long as I possibly could.
“Claim me,” I whispered, the words spilling from my lips before I could stop them. My voice was barely audible, trembling with need and vulnerability. “Please, Torment. Claim me. Make me yours.”
His eyes darkened, the blue of his irises nearly swallowed by his dilated pupils.
I felt the change in him immediately—something primal and possessive taking over.
His hands tightened on my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh with a bruising intensity that sent shivers racing down my spine.
The slight pain only heightened my arousal, making me gasp.
“I claim you, Brandy,” he said, his voice rough and fierce, each word a vow that seemed to echo through my very soul. “You’re mine. My woman. My old lady. Forever. Do you understand? Forever.”
The weight of his declaration settled over me like a brand, marking me in ways that went far deeper than skin.
“Forever,” I echoed, my voice breaking with emotion. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes—tears of joy, of relief, of overwhelming love for this complicated, dangerous, beautiful man.
He began to move, his hips pulling back before pushing forward again, filling me completely.
The rhythm was slow at first, deliberate and controlled, each thrust deep and purposeful.
He was claiming every inch of me, making sure I felt him everywhere.
His eyes never left mine, holding my gaze with an intensity that stole my breath and left me feeling exposed and cherished all at once.
This was different than anything we’d shared before.
Every other time had been passionate, desperate, urgent—all fumbling hands and racing hearts, trying to satisfy a hunger that never seemed to fully abate.
But this—this was reverent. This was worship.
This was sacred. This was two people who’d finally stopped running and started accepting what they’d been fighting all along.
There was no more pretending, no more walls, no more excuses.
Just us, bare and vulnerable and entirely present.
“Look at me,” he commanded softly when my eyes started to drift closed, overwhelmed by the sensations washing over me.
I forced them open, meeting his gaze, and the intimacy of it—of seeing him so completely, of being seen so completely—was almost too much to bear.
His eyes were dark with desire but also something deeper, something that made my chest tighten and my throat constrict. Love. Raw, unfiltered, undeniable love.
His thrusts became deeper, harder, more urgent, each movement deliberate and purposeful.
My body responded instinctively, my hips rising to meet his, my legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer, needing him deeper.
The pleasure was building, coiling tighter and tighter in my core, threatening to consume me entirely.
Every nerve ending was on fire, every touch electric.
“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion and desire. “Take what you need. Take all of me. I’m yours—completely yours.”
His hand moved between us, his thumb finding my clit and circling it with just the right amount of pressure.
The sensation sent sparks of electricity racing through my entire body, lighting up every nerve ending.
I cried out, my back arching off the bed, my nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks.
The pleasure was overwhelming, all-consuming, threatening to shatter me into a million pieces.
I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but feel.
“I love you,” I gasped, the words tumbling from my lips over and over like a prayer. “I love you. I love you. I love you.” I couldn’t stop saying it, couldn’t hold it back even if I’d wanted to.
“I love you too,” he said, his voice breaking with emotion. “God, Brandy. I love you so fucking much.” His eyes locked onto mine, intense and full of raw feeling that made my chest ache.
His thrusts became more urgent, more desperate, his control slipping with every movement.
I could feel him getting closer, could feel the tension coiling in his body like a spring wound too tight, could hear the harsh gasps of his breathing as he fought to hold on just a little longer.
And I was right there with him, teetering on the edge of the precipice, ready to fall into the abyss of pleasure waiting below.
“Come for me,” he commanded, his voice rough and demanding, his thumb pressing harder against my clit in firm, deliberate circles. “Come for me, baby. Let me feel you. I need to feel you fall apart.”
The orgasm hit me like a tidal wave, crashing over me with devastating force, sweeping away every thought, every doubt, every fear.
I cried out his name, my voice raw and desperate, my body convulsing beneath him, trembling uncontrollably as wave after wave of pleasure rolled through me.
My walls clenched around him so tightly I thought I might break, thought I might shatter into a million pieces from the sheer intensity of it.
The pleasure was blinding, all-consuming, obliterating everything else from my consciousness—more intense than anything I’d ever experienced, more overwhelming than I’d thought possible.
He followed moments later, his own release tearing through him with equal force, his control finally snapping.
He buried himself deep inside me, as deep as he could go, his body shuddering violently above me, his muscles tensing and releasing in powerful waves.
His voice broke on my name as he came, the sound ragged and vulnerable and beautiful.
I felt the warmth of him filling me, claiming me, marking me as his in the most primal way possible.
It was intimate beyond words, a connection that transcended the physical.
“I love you,” he gasped against my neck, his breath hot and uneven on my skin. “I love you.” Each repetition sounded more desperate than the last, as if he couldn’t say it enough times, as if the words alone could convey the depth of what he felt.
We collapsed into each other, our bodies tangled together in a messy, sweaty heap, our breathing harsh and ragged, our hearts racing in sync.
His weight pressed me into the mattress, grounding me, anchoring me to this moment, to this reality, reminding me that this was real.
That he was real. That we were real. That this overwhelming connection between us wasn’t just something I’d imagined or dreamed.
After a long moment—seconds or minutes, I couldn’t tell—he rolled to the side, pulling me with him so that my head rested on his chest, right over his heart.
His arms wrapped around me, holding me close, protective and possessive all at once.
I could hear his heart pounding beneath my ear—strong and steady and alive, gradually slowing as we both came down from the high.
“I’m claiming you,” he said quietly, his voice rough with emotion, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate patterns on my back that sent shivers down my spine.
“Tomorrow, the next day, whenever you’re ready for the whole club to know.
I’m claiming you in front of all of them. You’re my old lady. My woman. Forever.”
The words hung in the air between us, heavy with meaning and promise. A claiming wasn’t just words in this world—it was everything. It was protection, commitment, loyalty. It was telling every other man to back the hell off because I belonged to someone. To him.
I tilted my head back to look at him, my eyes searching his face for any hint of doubt or hesitation. But there was none. Just pure, unwavering certainty staring back at me. The kind of certainty I’d spent my whole life looking for and never finding.
“Mine,” I whispered, accepting. Believing. Finally understanding that I was worthy of this. Worthy of him. Worthy of love. Worthy of being chosen, protected, cherished. The walls I’d built around my heart—brick by brick, scar by scar—crumbled in that moment.
“Mine,” he confirmed, his voice dropping even lower, more possessive. His lips found mine in a kiss that sealed everything we’d just shared. Everything we’d just promised. Everything we were going to be. The kiss was deep and slow and devastating, stealing my breath and my doubts all at once.
The weight of the claim settled over me—not heavy or suffocating but comforting. Right. Like coming home after being lost for so long. Like finding the missing piece of myself I didn’t even know I’d been searching for.
I was his. He was mine. And nothing—not the club, not the past, not the fear or the doubt or the insecurity that had haunted me for years—was ever going to change that. Nothing could touch what we had now.
We were forever.
And for the first time in my life, I believed it. I believed in us. I believed in him. Most importantly, I believed in myself.