Chapter Sixteen #2
When I reach the apex of her thighs, I can feel the heat radiating from her, a primal pulse that calls to something deep inside me. I look up at her, her eyes wide and luminous in the dim light, her chest heaving with anticipation.
“Are you ready for this, sunflower?” I ask, my voice a low, gravelly whisper. “Are you ready to let me in?”
She doesn’t speak. Just nods, a small, almost imperceptible movement that’s both an invitation and a surrender.
I lower my head, my breath hot against her clit. I can feel her trembling, a mixture of fear and desire, a storm of emotions. I want to ease her into this, to show her that pleasure doesn’t have to be pain, that giving herself doesn’t have to mean losing herself.
My tongue darts out, a tentative flick that’s both a question and an answer. She gasps, her hips bucking involuntarily, her hands flying to my head, her fingers tangling in my hair. I smile against her, a slow, predatory grin that’s all about the power I hold, the control I wield.
I take my time, teasing her, testing her, learning what makes her gasp, what makes her moan, what makes her cry out my name in a voice that’s raw with need.
I can feel her tension building, a coiling spring of sensation that’s wound tighter and tighter, a pressure that’s both exquisite and unbearable.
“Kane,” she whispers, her voice a strangled plea. “Please.”
I look up at her, my face glistening with her arousal, my eyes dark with an all-consuming hunger. “Please, what, sunflower?”
She hesitates, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and desire. “Please… don’t stop.”
I chuckle, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates through her entire body. “Oh, I have no intention of stopping. Not until you’re screaming my name. Not until you’re so completely and utterly mine that you forget you were anyone else.”
I lower my head again, my mouth a weapon of mass seduction, and I attack her with a renewed fervor. I’m not just tasting her now; I’m devouring her. I’m claiming every inch of her, every drop of her, until she’s a quivering, sobbing mess of pure, unadulterated ecstasy.
Her hips buck wildly, her body arching off the bed, her hands gripping my hair so tightly it almost hurts. I can feel her muscles tensing, her breath catching in her throat, her whole being poised on the brink of oblivion.
And then she shatters.
Her cry echoes through the room, a raw, primal sound of release that’s beautiful.
She convulses around me, her body wracked by wave after wave of pleasure so intense it borders on pain.
I don’t stop. I can’t. I’m relentless. I’m determined.
I’m going to wring every last drop of ecstasy from her body until there’s nothing left but me. Until there’s nothing left but us.
When she finally collapses, boneless and spent, I slowly make my way back up her body, my mouth a trail of tender kisses that speak of reverence and adoration. I can feel the tremors still racking her body, aftershocks of the storm I just unleashed.
I look down at her, her face flushed, her eyes closed, her lips parted in a silent sigh of contentment. She looks utterly, completely wrecked. And she’s never looked more beautiful.
“Kane,” she whispers, her voice a hoarse, breathy sound that’s barely audible. “I never knew… I never imagined…”
I smile, a slow, triumphant grin. “This is just the beginning, sunflower.”
Her eyes flutter open, and for a moment, I see something flicker in their depths. Fear? Doubt? Regret? But it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a soft, luminous trust that makes my chest ache.
“Are you ready for the rest of it?” I ask, my voice a low, seductive rumble.
She nods slowly, a silent acceptance. “Y-Yes,” she whispers. “I’m ready.”
I position myself between her legs, my body a heavy, comforting weight that anchors her to the bed. I can feel her trembling, a mixture of anticipation and apprehension, a final, fragile defense mechanism that’s about to be shattered.
“This is going to hurt,” I warn, my voice gentle but firm. “Just for a moment. But I promise you, Blair, I’ll make it feel so good. I’ll make you forget the pain. I’ll make you forget everything but me.”
She doesn’t speak. Just reaches up and cups my face in her hands, her thumbs stroking my cheekbones like she’s trying to memorize the shape of me. “I trust you,” she says, her voice a hoarse, breathy whisper that’s barely audible.
And in that moment, I know. This is it. This is the moment when I claim her completely, when I erase every trace of the past and write our future in blood.
The heat of her body is a siren’s call that I can’t resist. I look down at her, her face a mask of vulnerability and desire, her body a canvas that’s waiting for my masterpiece.
“Look at me,” I command, my voice a low, authoritative growl.
Her eyes fly open, locking onto mine, and in their depths, I see everything. The fear, the longing, the hope, the surrender. It’s all there, a chaotic symphony of emotions. And then I push inside her.
Her cry is sharp, a ragged gasp of pain that’s quickly swallowed by the sound of the rain still lashing against the windows.
I feel her resistance, her body instinctively clenching against the intrusion, but I don’t stop.
I can’t. I’m a man possessed, driven by a primal need to claim, to possess, to own.
I sink deeper, inch by agonizing inch, feeling her stretch to accommodate me, feeling her body adjust to the reality of my possession.
Her fingernails dig into my shoulders, her body arching off the bed.
There’s a part that wants to push me away, to retreat into the safety of her rules and routines.
And there’s a part that’s tired of hiding.
Tired of waiting. Tired of being invisible.
And then I’m fully inside her, buried to the hilt, our bodies joined in the most intimate way possible. I can feel her heart hammering against my chest, a frantic, terrified rhythm that matches my own. I stay still, letting her adjust, letting her body accept this new reality, this new truth.
“Breathe, sunflower,” I whisper, my voice a low, soothing rumble. “Just breathe.”
She takes a ragged breath, then another, her body slowly starting to relax, her muscles unclenching around me. I can feel the shift, the subtle change in her body’s language, from resistance to acceptance, from fear to a tentative curiosity.
“You’re so big…” she whimpers.
“You’ll get used to it, baby.” I lean down and capture her lips in mine.
I begin to move, slowly at first, then with a growing confidence that’s exhilarating. I’m not just taking her virginity; I’m rewriting her history. I’m carving my name into her very soul, branding her with my touch, my scent, my essence.
Her body responds, a slow, undulating rhythm that’s both a dance and a battle. She’s no longer passive, no longer just a vessel for my pleasure. She’s an active participant, her hips meeting mine, her hands exploring my body, her mouth seeking mine in a desperate, hungry kiss.
I reach down and circle her clit with my thumb. I want to get her there. I want to feel her shatter around me.
I can feel the tension building again, a coiling spring of sensation that’s wound tighter and tighter, a pressure that’s both exquisite and unbearable. She’s close, I can feel it, her body quivering on the brink of another orgasm.
“Come for me, sunflower,” I whisper, my voice a low, commanding growl. “Let me feel you come on my cock.”
And she does.
Her body arches off the bed, her cry a raw, primal sound of release that’s fucking perfect. She convulses around me, her muscles clenching and unclenching in a rhythm that pulls me under, drags me down into a vortex of bliss.
I follow her over the edge, my own release a violent, explosive force that leaves me trembling and spent. I collapse on top of her, my body a heavy, comforting weight that anchors her to the bed, my face buried in the crook of her neck, my breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps.
“You were such a good girl for me. Letting me fuck your pussy like my perfect little obsession.” My confession makes her whimper, the sound going straight to my cock. I could take her all over again, but I don’t want her to be in too much pain. Or maybe I do, so she won’t forget this night.
We lie there for a long time, our bodies tangled, our hearts beating a frantic, syncopated rhythm that’s both chaotic and perfect. The rain has slowed to a soft, steady patter, the only sound in the room besides the thunder of our own blood.
Eventually, I push myself up, my arms trembling with the effort, and look down at her. Her face is flushed, her eyes closed, her lips parted in a silent sigh of contentment. She looks utterly, completely wrecked. And she’s never looked more beautiful.
I gently brush a stray wisp of hair from her forehead, my fingers lingering on her skin like I’m trying to memorize the shape of her. She flinches, just barely, her eyes fluttering open, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths.
“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice a low, rough whisper.
She nods slowly, her gaze still locked on mine. “I think so,” she whispers, her voice a hoarse, breathy sound that’s barely audible. “I just… I never knew it could be like that.”
I smile, a slow, triumphant grin. “This is just the beginning, sunflower.” I press a soft kiss to her forehead. “We’re just getting started.”
Her eyes widen, a flicker of fear warring with the desire still swirling in their depths. “What do you mean?”
I pull back, just enough to look at her, to see the truth of what I’m about to say reflected in her eyes. “I mean that this changes everything. That you’re mine now. Not just for tonight. Not just for this one moment. But forever.”
I see the struggle in her, the way her breath catches, the way her body tenses. But she doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t protest. Just watches me, her heart hammering against my chest like a trapped bird.
“You’re mine, Blair,” I repeat, my voice a low, possessive growl. “Every inch of you. Every breath you take. Every beat of your heart.”
I slowly withdraw, the loss of contact a sharp, sudden ache that’s both physical and emotional. I look down at where we were joined, at the evidence of her surrender, at the proof of my claim. A smear of crimson, stark against the pale skin of her thighs and the tangled sheets.
My breath hitches, a primal surge of possession coursing through me. This is it. The moment I make it real. The moment I brand her as mine, not just in her mind, not just in her heart, but on her very skin.
I look up at her, my eyes dark with a hunger that’s both terrifying and all-consuming. “Don’t move,” I command, my voice a low, authoritative growl. “Let me mark you.”
Her eyes widen. “What?”
I dip my finger in the blood of her innocence, the fluid warm and slick against my skin. I look down at her upper thigh, the expanse of pale, unmarked flesh a perfect place for my masterpiece.
Slowly, deliberately, I begin to write.
M-I-N-E.
Each letter is a declaration. Each stroke is a brand. Each touch is a promise. I can feel her trembling, not knowing what to expect.
When I’m done, I sit back and admire my handiwork. The word stands out, stark and possessive against her skin. It’s not just a word. It’s a claim. It’s a promise. It’s a threat to anyone who dares to look her way.
She sucks in a breath as she raises her leg to look at what I’ve done.
“Tell me who you belong to.”
“You, Kane. It’s always been you,” she breathes.
“This is your new rule, sunflower,” I say, my voice a low, seductive rumble. “You belong to me. And only me. Do you understand?”
She nods, a silent acceptance.
I lower my head, not to her mouth, but to the word I’ve just written on her skin.
I press a soft, reverent kiss to the “M,” then the “I,” then the “N,” then the “E,” my tongue darting out to taste the coppery tang of her surrender.
She shivers, a delicate tremor that runs through her entire body, a silent testament to the power I hold over her.
“I’m going to clean you up,” I whisper, my voice a low, soothing rumble. “Then I’m going to take you again. And this time, you’re going to beg for it. You’re going to beg for me.”
I slip out of bed and head to the bathroom, my movements fluid and confident. I grab a warm, damp washcloth, then return to the bed, my eyes never leaving hers. I gently, carefully, wipe away the evidence of her surrender, the crimson smear that’s marked her as mine.
“Easy, sunflower,” I murmur, my voice a low, soothing rumble. “I’ve got you.”
I finish cleaning her, then toss the washcloth aside, my eyes dark with a hunger. Not because I want to consume her, but because I want to know her. Every breath. Every tremble. Every unspoken word she’s never let anyone hear.
She’s watching me now, eyes wide, lips parted, body still humming with the echo of everything we just unraveled. Her fingers twitch against the sheets, like she’s caught between instinct and surrender.
I crawl back onto the bed, slow and deliberate, like I’m approaching something sacred. Because I am.
Her.
I brace myself above her, arms caging her in, but I don’t touch her yet. I let her feel the weight of me. The heat. The promise.
“You’re mine,” I whisper again, softer this time. Not a claim. A vow.
She nods, barely.
But I need more.
“Say it.”
Her voice is a whisper, raw and wrecked. “I’m yours.”
I lower my head, not to her mouth, but to her collarbone, pressing a kiss there like I’m sealing the words into her skin.
And then I move.
Not to take.
To ask.
To make her beg, not out of desperation, but out of trust.
Because this time, it’s not about proving anything.
It’s about letting her choose me.
Again.
And again.
And again.