Dayan
Light pours through the windows early. Amelia is still tucked against me, snoring lightly, her body warm and relaxed and entirely mine.
Her curves fit perfectly against me, even more so under my palms. The slope of her belly, her hips, her tits. My cock throbs as it hardens again, and she wiggles her perfect, round ass against it.
“Good morning,” she says, reaching between her legs and taking me in her hand, positioning me in the warmth between her thighs.
The groan that comes from my chest is involuntary. She will be the end of me.
“You wanted proof,” I murmur, kissing the back of her shoulder and the nape of her neck. “I was just about to go and fetch it.”
“I do want proof,” she agrees. “But I also want you.” She presses her thighs together, squeezing my shaft between them. “Are you going to tell me I can’t have both?”
I could never tell her that. I’m pretty sure I’d give her my actual flesh if she demanded I carved it from my body.
“Didn’t you say you wanted to breed me?” she continues, teasing the tip of my cock with her finger tip, smearing the pre-cum around.
My hand finds its way to her tits, squeezing one lightly until the flesh bulges between my fingers, her nipple hard against my palm.
“Yes.”
Her fingers find the underside of the head and rub circles there while I wonder how I managed to pick the one woman who is perfect for me last night. My pelvis rocks back and forth, giving my cock friction it needs between her thighs as it rubs along her center.
A long, low moan escapes her. “Please, Dayan,” she says, like I could ever deny her what she wanted. “Your cock feels so good.”
Her voice, that low plea wrapped around my name, snaps whatever restraint I had left. I roll her onto her back and settle between her thighs, but she surprises me by pushing at my chest with both hands. Her eyes are bright with challenge and hunger.
"My turn," she says, voice husky from sleep and need.
She shoves me until I drop onto my back, then swings one leg over my hips and straddles me.
The sight of her like this, naked and flushed in the morning light, her full tits swaying as she positions herself, nearly undoes me before we even start.
She braces one hand on my chest and sinks down slowly, using her other hand to part her lips as she takes every inch of my cock in one slick glide. The wet heat of her pussy grips me like a fist. I groan, my fingers digging into her hips hard enough to leave marks.
"You think you can handle it?" I ask, knowing she will take it as a challenge.
“I know I can,” she answers as she rocks her hips experimentally, then finds a rhythm that has her grinding down on me deep and steady. Her head falls back, brown hair spilling over her shoulders. "God, you're so deep like this. Filling me completely. I can feel every thick inch stretching me."
I thrust up to meet her, but she plants a hand on my sternum and pins me there. "Stay still. Let me ride you."
The words hit me like a shot. I watch, mesmerized, as she starts to move with more determination, rising and slamming back down, her ass bouncing against my thighs with every drop.
Her tits jiggle with the motion, nipples tight and begging for my mouth.
I reach up and cup them, pinching and rolling the peaks until she moans louder.
"That's it,” I grunt. “Use me. Use my cock. Take what you need."
She leans forward, changing the angle so her clit grinds against me with every roll of her hips.
Her pace quickens, turning desperate. Sweat beads on her skin.
"I want you to breed me, Dayan. Pump me full again.
I want to feel your cum dripping out of me all day so you have to fill me up again tonight. "
The filthy promise in her voice makes my balls draw up tight. I grip her ass, spreading her wider as she rides me harder. "You keep talking like that and I'll give you a belly full before breakfast. Make you mine in every way."
Her breath hitches. She sits up straighter, bracing on my thighs now, and starts bouncing faster. The wet sounds of her pussy sliding up and down my shaft fill the room. Her walls flutter around me, getting tighter by the second.
"Oh, fuck yes, right there," she gasps. "Your cock feels so good. I'm going to come all over you."
I can't look away. Her face twists with pleasure, lips parted, eyes half-closed.
Then it hits her. Her whole body jerks violently, thighs clamping down around my hips as she shatters.
She shakes hard, muscles seizing and releasing in waves, her pussy clamping and pulsing around my cock like it's trying to milk me dry.
A raw cry tears from her throat, her back arching so sharply I have to hold her steady.
She keeps jerking and twitching on top of me, riding out every spasm, her juices soaking my groin.
It's too much. The sight of her losing control like that, the way her body convulses so completely because of me, blows my mind.
My own orgasm crashes through me without warning.
I growl her name and thrust up, burying myself as deep as I can go.
My cock throbs and spurts, flooding her with thick ropes of cum.
I keep pulsing, filling her until it leaks out and froths around my shaft, and still I can't stop coming.
She collapses onto my chest, both of us panting and slick with sweat. I wrap my arms around her, one hand stroking down her back while the other stays possessively on her ass. Her pussy gives one last weak flutter around me, and I swear I see stars.
"Jesus Christ, woman," I mutter against her hair. "You just wrecked me."
She lets out a soft, satisfied laugh that vibrates through my chest. "Good. Because I plan on doing that every morning from now on."
I kiss the top of her head, already feeling my cock twitch inside her again. Proof about her sister can wait another hour. Right now, nothing exists except the woman who rides me like she owns me and the future we're already starting to build, one filthy, perfect moment at a time.
It’s easy to hold her a little longer than I should, her body soft and spent against mine, our skin cooling in the morning light.
Her breathing evens out again, but I know sleep won't claim me.
Not with the promise I made her burning in my chest. She asked for proof.
I gave my word. In my world, that is more binding than any contract.
I ease out from under her carefully, tucking the sheet around her curves. She murmurs something unintelligible and burrows deeper into the pillow. She needs her rest. The woman just rode me like she was trying to break me, and I have never been more willing for someone to try and destroy me.
I pull on trousers and a shirt, then pad barefoot down to my study. The house is quiet, the kind of quiet that comes with good security and men who know when not to speak. I sit at the desk and pick up the phone.
Serik answers on the second ring. "Shouldn’t you be busy? I know I am," he grumbles as soon as he answers the phone.
"Send me everything you have on Connor Calhoun," I say, ignoring the jab. "The file you flagged eight months ago. All of it. Now."
He doesn't ask questions, just hangs up the phone with a grunt. A few minutes later my laptop pings with an encrypted folder. I open it and start digging.
The picture comes together fast and ugly.
Connor Calhoun is not just in debt. He is drowning.
Gambling markers from private clubs in Miami.
Loans from men who don’t forgive. Two separate syndicates in New Jersey holding paper on him, the kind that ends with broken bones or worse if payments slip.
He has been selling pieces of his family's name for years, borrowing against expectations he could never meet.
The Foxhall match was more than likely not love.
It was a calculated Hail Mary. Cecily's family name carries weight in circles that still care about old blood and old money.
Marrying her buys him breathing room, a fresh line of credit disguised as marital alliance.
He has already floated quiet inquiries about accessing trusts and accounts once the ring is on her finger.
The emails are there in black and white, timestamps clear.
I compile the worst of it. Bank statements. Photos of him leaving meetings with the wrong kind of people. A recorded conversation where he jokes about how the British in-laws will never suspect a thing. Irrefutable. Clean enough that even her father cannot wave it away as rumor.
By the time the sun is fully up I have a neat dossier on the desk. Physical copies. Digital backups. Everything Amelia would need to stop her sister's wedding before it becomes a disaster.
Serik calls back while I am sealing the final envelope. "You moving on this personally?"
"Yes."
He makes a low sound. "Rovin will want to know if it touches any of our interests."
"I’ll meet you at his place."
I carry the folder upstairs. Amelia’s awake when I enter the bedroom, sitting up against the headboard with the sheet tucked under her arms. Her hair is tousled, her eyes sharp despite the sleep still clinging to them. Beautiful. Mine.
"That’s a very serious look on your face," she says, noting the file in my hand.
"The papers you wanted." I set the dossier on the bed beside her.
"Your proof, Amelia. Connor Calhoun is exactly what I said.
Worse, maybe. He is using your sister as a shield.
The evidence is all here. Dates, names, amounts, photographs.
Enough to keep him away from your family. Enough to bury him."
She reaches for the folder slowly, flipping it open. I watch her face as she reads. The color drains, then returns in a flush of anger.
"You did this in a few hours," she says quietly, looking up at me.
"My brother had already compiled most of it.
Calhoun hit our radar when he got a bit too close to our business interests last spring.
" I sit on the edge of the bed, close enough to touch her if she wants.
"Your world dresses up its lies in manners and garden parties. Mine doesn’t.
I will never lie to you, even when the truth is ugly.
That is the safety I can give you, and I can also come with you when you see your family today. "
The crease appears between her brows instantaneously.
“How did you know I’d want to see them today?” she asks, closing the folder and setting it aside. The sheet loosens from around her as she moves, flashing her creamy skin and rosy nipples for just a second before she pulls it back into place.
“You have a lot you need to tell them, the logistics of marrying me, what that means for where you choose to live…” I trail off when I see her face change. She hadn’t considered that marrying me might mean that she has to move to the US for good.
“I’ll be able to visit England though, won’t I?” she asks. “Even if it’s just once a year—”
I hook her chin with my finger and press my thumb into the dimple there. “Of course, whenever you like.”
Her hand finds mine, squeezing once. There is steel in her grip. "Thank you."
I nod because there’s no need for more. She understands now. I’m not the polished suitor her mother would choose, but I am the man who will burn down obstacles without hesitation because she asked me to. And I will keep doing it for the rest of our lives.
"Breakfast," I say, standing. "Then we decide what you want done with this. Your sister. Your family. Whatever you need."
She watches me with those blue eyes that saw straight through me across a crowded room. "You're really going to let me decide?"
"I bought you to be my wife, not my prisoner." I lean down and kiss her forehead. "Choose, Amelia. I’ll make it happen."