38. Cato #2
I feel the stretch in every part of my body, and fight not to tense as he sinks inside me. He goes slow, inch by careful inch, until his hips sit flush against my ass. The fullness is overwhelming in the best way, and my mind goes fuzzy.
I feel… owned, but no less powerful.
No less me.
“Aryn,” I whimper.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers, leaning over my back to press soft kisses along my spine. “I’ve got you.”
The sting from my body taking him for the first time is there, but it’s dulled by how careful he is with me. His hands roam my skin to distract me, and my cock rubs against the side of the bed. The mix of sensations makes my eyes roll up into my head.
“Fuck… good… feels so good,” I murmur, pushing against him.
Aryn’s hands stroke reverently down my back, much softer than the way he just handled me.
“That’s it,” he praises. “Look at you. So strong. All this muscle and power, just for me.” His palms glide over my ass, squeezing and kneading as he moves in slow, deep rolls of his hips that make me gasp.
“I love this body, kitten. The way it takes me so perfectly. The way it trembles for me. No one else gets to have you like this. Just me.”
I moan shamelessly into the mattress, the praise hitting me harder than I expected. He keeps talking, murmuring how gorgeous and strong I am, and how I’m his and only his. Every word sinks into my skin like a brand, and I’m desperate for more.
His patience nearly breaks mine as he fucks me in that steady rhythm, but even with the pace, I’m close again within minutes. My cock drags against the sheets with every thrust, and despite his earlier instruction to stay still, I push back against him and roll my hips.
“Aryn… I’m gonna—”
He pulls out almost completely and waits until the edge fades. I sob into the blankets, so sensitive that even the tiniest brush of skin feels like lightning.
He does it again.
And again.
Each time I get close, he slows or stops entirely. He edges me until I’m shaking, whimpering, and begging incoherently for more.
“Please,” I beg. “I can’t… I need to come.”
He leans over me, chest pressed to my back, and lets his fangs scrape along the side of my neck. “Not yet. You’ll come when I say.”
He fucks me harder, hips snapping forward. The wet sound of skin on skin fills the room, nearly drowning out my broken whimpers and shameless begging. When I’m right on the edge again, Aryn finally lets go.
He buries himself with a deep groan, and his cock pulses inside me as he comes.
His tendrils stiffen and flare, filling me even fuller somehow as they lock us together.
The sensation is intense and overwhelming, intimate in a way I’ve never felt before, and it only builds as he fills me with his release.
“Fuck, Aryn,” I whimper, voice breaking.
He turns nearly feral the moment we’re locked.
A low, possessive growl rips from his throat and his hips snap forward in shorter, deeper thrusts that grind the swollen tendrils against every sensitive spot inside me.
He fucks me like he’s lost control, one hand fisted in my hair, the other gripping my hip hard enough to bruise.
“Perfect,” he snarls against my ear as his fangs scrape my neck again. “Mine.”
“Bite me,” I beg, tilting my head and offering myself to him. “Do it. Fucking mark me.”
His lips and tongue drag along my neck and down the line of my shoulder.
His teeth scrape me again, then without warning, his fangs sink through skin and muscle.
Momentary pain erupts into molten pleasure that shoots through my veins like the most potent drug I’ve ever experienced.
It curls my toes and arches my spine, and for a moment the world disappears and I’m weightless, floating, soaring.
Everything comes crashing down.
The orgasm hits me so hard my vision whites.
I cry out, nearly screaming his name as I come across the sheets.
My hole clenches around him, milking every drop as the tendrils keep me stretched and full.
I’m loud—whimpering, begging, and moaning shamelessly as wave after wave rolls through me.
I nearly black out from the intensity, body shaking uncontrollably.
Aryn keeps fucking me through it, praising me in a rough, wrecked voice. “That’s it, kitten… so good for me. Look at this powerful body taking everything I give you. So fucking perfect. Mine. Only mine.”
He comes again with a deep groan, flooding me even fuller. Warmth pools inside me, some of it leaking out around his cock despite how tightly the tendrils lock us together.
I pant as I slump bonelessly against the bed, completely spent.
Aryn curls over my back as he presses soft kisses along my spine, keeping us touching everywhere possible and murmuring praise as he waits for the tendrils to relax.
His hands stroke over my sides, gentle now and grounding me as I come down.
I’ve never felt so owned.
He helps me lift my torso off the bed with careful hands, then turns me to face him. Flecks of my blood speckle his lips and coat his fangs, but there’s no aggression in the way he watches me. He’s a predator, through and through, but I could never be afraid of him.
He stands and helps me to my feet, supporting me when I wobble. “Was that too much?” he asks softly. “Things got rougher than I intended in the end, and—”
“It wasn’t too much,” I insist.
His eyes drop to where a trickle of blood drips down my shoulder, then move up to mine. “You’re sure?”
“Hells, I might be walking funny tomorrow, and it’s a good thing I’ll be wearing a coat, so I don’t have to explain the holes in my shoulder.” Aryn smiles, but it’s uncertain. I step closer and tilt his chin up to mine. “You’re never too much for me.”
His hands wrap around the back of my head and urge me closer, kissing me with a softness that borders on reverence. “Let me take care of you, my love,” he says against my lips.
Our eyes meet and hold, my heart pounding at the sound of the word. “You already took real good care of me,” I tease quietly.
A quiet huff of a laugh leaves him as he kisses me once more, then leads me to the bathroom.
For the next half hour, he dotes over me—cleaning blood and cum from my skin, washing my hair, and even kneeling at my feet to help me into my clothes.
Once we’re in bed, he rolls me onto my stomach and pulls out the vial of glowing oil he purchased in the market earlier.
“You don’t have to do this,” I murmur as he massages my back. The pressure is perfect as he works my tired muscles, then moves lower and digs his thumbs into my glutes and thighs. By the time he finishes, I’m barely conscious.
My body is heavy as he finally settles beside me, and I’m barely awake long enough to register the gentle kiss he presses to my lips before I’m gone to the world.