Chapter 9 #2
His hands spread me open, and then his mouth is —
"FUCK!" I nearly scream into the pillow, whole body jerking with shock. No one's ever — I didn't know it could feel — "Knox, oh god, what are you — "
His tongue is inside me. Hot and wet and doing things I didn't know a tongue could do, and I'm already shaking, already falling apart, already making sounds I'll be embarrassed about later.
"So sensitive." He pulls back to bite at my thigh, sharp enough to sting, and I yelp. "And you taste incredible. Could do this for hours."
"Please don't, I'll die, I'll actually die — "
He laughs, dark and pleased, and goes back to taking me apart.
His tongue circles and presses and fucks into me, and I'm reduced to wordless sounds, face buried in his pillow, hands fisting in his sheets. When he finally, finally slides one finger in alongside his tongue, I'm already embarrassingly close.
"Don't come yet," he orders, voice rough.
"I can't — Knox, please — "
"You can. You will. Because I told you to." A second finger, stretching me, finding some spot inside that makes my vision white out. "Good boy. So good for me, taking it so well."
The praise hits me like a punch to the gut. I clench around his fingers, whimpering, suddenly desperate in a way I can't explain.
He notices. Of course he notices.
"You like that?" His voice drops even lower, intimate and filthy. "Like being my good boy?"
"Yes, fuck, yes — "
"Like doing what you're told?"
"Yes — "
Three fingers now, scissoring inside me, stretching me open. His other hand reaches around to stroke my cock, and I have to bite the pillow to keep from screaming.
"Then don't come until I'm inside you." He twists his fingers, hitting that spot again, and I sob. "Can you do that for me?"
"I — I don't know if — "
"You can." He bites the curve of my ass, hard enough to leave a mark, and I yelp. "You will. Because you're mine, and you're perfect, and you're going to take my cock so well, aren't you?"
"Yes, yes, please, I need — "
"I know what you need."
He pulls his fingers out and I whine at the loss, empty and aching. I hear the tear of a foil packet, the slick sound of lube, and then the blunt head of him is pressing against me.
"Breathe," he commands, one hand rubbing my back as he pushes in. Slow. So slow. "That's it. Good boy. Taking me so well."
It's almost too much. The stretch, the burn, the overwhelming fullness. He's so big, and I've never done this, not like this, not with someone who makes me feel like I might shatter into a million pieces.
But then he's fully seated, his hips against my ass, and he makes this sound. This broken, wrecked sound like he's the one falling apart.
"Fuck, Toby." His forehead drops to my shoulder, breath ragged. "So tight. So perfect. Mine."
"Yours," I agree, pushing back against him, testing. The stretch is still intense but the pain is fading, replaced by a fullness that feels right. That feels necessary. "Move, please move — "
He does.
Starting slow, pulling almost all the way out and pushing back in, letting me adjust. But I don't want slow. I don't want gentle. I want him to break me apart and put me back together.
"More," I beg. "Knox, please, I need more — "
"Yeah?" His hips snap forward, harder, and I cry out. "Need me to fuck you like I mean it?"
"Yes — "
He stops holding back.
The headboard slams against the wall with each thrust, a steady rhythm that everyone downstairs can probably hear.
I'm making sounds I've never made before — high and desperate and completely beyond my control.
He's hitting that spot inside me with every stroke, building something unbearable in my gut.
"That's it," he growls, pulling me upright so my back is against his chest, changing the angle so he goes even deeper. "Let everyone hear you. Let them know who you belong to."
One hand wraps around my throat. Not squeezing, just holding, fingers pressing against my pulse. The other wraps around my cock, stroking in time with his thrusts.
"Gonna come for me?" His voice is wrecked, barely recognizable. "Gonna show me how good I make you feel?"
"Knox — I can't — it's too much — "
"You can. You will." He bites down on my shoulder, hard, and I shatter.
I come harder than I ever have in my life, spilling over his fist, clenching around him, sobbing his name into the dark room. The orgasm goes on forever, wave after wave, until I'm shaking and boneless and completely wrung out.
"Fuck, yes, so good — " He thrusts once, twice more, and then he's following me over, burying himself deep and filling me with heat. His teeth sink deeper into my shoulder, hard enough to break skin, hard enough that I know it'll scar.
Marking me. Claiming me. Making me his in a way that can't be undone.
We collapse onto the bed, him still inside me, both of us panting. He presses kisses to the bite mark, gentle now, tongue soothing over the sting.
"Mine," he murmurs against my skin.
"Yours," I agree. I'm already half-asleep, floating somewhere outside my body.
"Stay."
"Wasn't planning on moving ever again."
He laughs, soft and rumbling, and pulls out carefully. I whimper at the loss — I feel empty, hollow, like something essential has been removed.
"Shh, I've got you." His voice is tender in a way that makes my chest ache. "Let me clean you up."
He does, with a warm cloth and surprisingly gentle hands. He wipes away the mess, checks the bite mark on my shoulder, presses kisses to every bruise he made. Then he's back, pulling me against his chest, arranging us so my head is on his shoulder and his arms are wrapped around me.
I've never felt safer in my life.
"Knox?"
"Yeah, sunshine?"
The nickname makes me smile, sleepy and stupid. "We're doing that again, right?"
Another laugh, rumbling through his chest into mine. "Give me twenty minutes."
"Twenty — " I lift my head to look at him, sure I've misheard. "Seriously?"
"Shifter stamina." He grins, eyes flashing gold in the dim light. "Hope you don't have plans tomorrow."
"I work at nine."
"Better call in sick."
"I can't just — "
He cuts me off with a kiss, slow and sweet and promising, and his hand slides down my stomach, over my hip, between my thighs. I'm sore and oversensitive and I should absolutely say no, should tell him I need rest, should think about my responsibilities.
His fingers find me still slick and open, and he slides two inside like he owns me.
Because he does. I'm his. I've been his since I stumbled through his door, drenched and desperate, and I got wrapped in his blanket.
Margaret's going to kill me.
Worth it.