Chapter 9
Harper
I wake up sore in the best possible way. My entire body feels like it’s been worshipped and wrecked. And I never want that feeling to end.
The sheets are tangled around my legs. The sun peeks through the curtains, soft and golden, and somewhere downstairs, I can hear the low clatter of someone making coffee. Dean.
God, Dean.
The memory of last night crashes over me. His mouth, his hands, the way he looked at me like I was something he’d been starving for. The way he held himself back. The way he whispered mine in that growling voice right before we both came undone.
I stretch lazily, wincing a little, and I swear I can still feel the imprint of his hands on my hips.
I’m drifting back to sleep when I feel the bed dip beside me. A large, warm body slides under the sheets.
“I can hear you thinking," Dean mumbles against my hair.
“Just wondering if Boris will be scandalized.”
His laugh rumbles through his chest. “Probably writing a strongly worded letter to Emma as we speak.”
His voice is low and dangerous right beside my ear. “You didn’t think I was done with you, did you?”
A shiver runs straight through me. I roll onto my back just as Dean’s mouth finds my neck.
“I’m sore,” I murmur, though it comes out breathless and needy.
“I know.” He kisses lower, over my collarbone. “But you’re not too sore.”
“I might be.”
“Liar.”
His hand trails under the sheet, between my thighs—and when he presses two fingers to the center of me, he groans.
“Already wet for me.” His voice is gravel and heat. “God, you drive me crazy.”
He kisses down my stomach, slow and deliberate, and then licks me—long, slow, possessive—until I’m writhing and gasping and grabbing the headboard for leverage.
But he doesn’t let me finish. Not yet.
He climbs up my body, gripping my jaw with one hand. “Get on your hands and knees.”
The command sends a bolt of heat through me so sharp I can barely breathe.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
There’s no room for argument in his voice. Just dominance. Hunger.
And the second I obey—shifting onto all fours, baring myself to him—he growls low behind me. “Fuck, Harper.”
I feel his hands on my hips, rough and sure. Then the thick head of him nudges against me, and I cry out when he slams in deep with one hard thrust.
“Oh my God —”
“That’s it,” he grits, one hand wrapping in my hair and yanking my head back. “Let me hear how good I make you feel.”
His other hand smacks my ass—sharp and hot—and the sting makes me clench around him.
“Jesus,” he groans. “You like that?”
“Yes… God, yes…”
He spanks me again, harder this time, then grabs my hips like he owns me and starts to move. Each thrust is deep, brutal, perfect. I’m delirious with it.
The way he fills me, stretches me, uses me. There’s no holding back now. No softness. Just raw, primal need.
I moan into the pillow, but he yanks me up by my hair again, forcing me to arch.
“No hiding,” he growls. “You’ll take every inch of me.”
“Yes,” I whimper. “Please, Dean—harder—”
He pounds into me, deeper, faster, making the headboard slam into the wall. My arms shake, legs barely holding me up as he fucks me like a man who’s claimed me and has no intention of ever letting go.
“You’re mine,” he snarls against my neck. “Every damn inch of you. Say it.”
“I’m yours,” I cry out, clawing at the sheets, my nails catching in the fabric. “I’m yours, Dean— please —”
“Let go,” he growls. “Come for me. I want to feel it.”
That’s all it takes. My vision whites out as the orgasm rips through me—hot and sharp and endless. My mouth opens in a silent scream before the sound finally breaks free, a desperate, raw cry that echoes off the walls.
I collapse forward, trembling, arms barely able to hold me up.
“Fuck,” Dean growls behind me, his grip on my hips turning bruising. “ Fuck. ”
He slams into me one final time, deep and possessive, groaning as he follows me over the edge. I feel the tremor run through him as he comes, body pressed to mine, breath ragged and rough in my ear.
We collapse together, tangled and sweating and panting.
I bury my face in the pillow, completely undone.
He kisses the back of my neck, breath warm on my skin. “You okay?”
I nod slowly, then turn my face to the side so he can see the dazed smile on my lips. “I can’t believe I ever thought you were the gentle type.”
His laugh is dark and rough. “That was me holding back.”
“Oh my God.”
“Go ahead and put that in your book,” he murmurs, dragging the sheet over us and pulling me into his chest.
“Oh, I will,” I whisper. “Though my editor might flag the part where I begged for more after getting spanked.”
He grins into my hair. “Then dedicate the damn book to me.”