Chapter 36 #3
I collapsed back onto the mattress, boneless, gasping, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes.
Whether from him or the pain, I didn’t know and didn’t care.
He rose above me, his face glistening with my arousal.
He looked feral, satisfied, and so fucking turned on it was a wonder he hadn’t come just from watching me fall apart.
He didn’t give me a second to recover. He positioned himself at my entrance, the broad, slick head nudging against my sensitized flesh. My inner muscles, still fluttering from the climax, clenched around him instinctively.
“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice guttural.
I forced my heavy lids open. His eyes were black with need, fixed on mine.
“I have never wanted anything—in my fucking life—like I want you, Pip,” he stated, and began to push inside.
It was a different kind of stretch this time.
I was swollen, sensitive, hyper-aware of every millimeter of him as he filled me, slowly, inexorably, until he was buried to the hilt.
The feeling of being so completely impaled, so owned, after the intimate violation of his mouth, was overwhelming. A broken whimper escaped me.
He stilled, fully sheathed. A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Okay?” The single word was strained, torn from him.
“More than okay,” I breathed. “You feel… you’re everywhere.”
That was all the permission he needed.
He began to move, and it was nothing like the careful, measured pace from the kitchen. This was a claiming. He pulled almost all the way out, then drove back in with a force that jolted me up the bed, a deep, grinding thrust that rubbed against a spot inside me that made stars burst behind my eyes.
“Oh! Cade!”
“That’s it,” he growled, setting a ruthless, pounding rhythm. “Take it. Take all of me.”
His words were a broken plea. A continuous stream in my ear, punctuated by his ragged breaths and the wet, slapping sound of our bodies joining. He braced himself on one hand, the other sliding under my ass, tilting my hips to take him even deeper.
“I can’t stop wanting you,” he grunted, his eyes dropping to where we were joined. “I don’t even know if want is the right word. I see you beneath me, taking me, and everything inside of me is at peace.”
I looked down, the sight nearly making me come again on the spot. The thick, veined length of him thrusting in and out of my stretched flesh, glistening under the low light. It was lewd. It was beautiful. It was us.
“Cade, I’m—I can’t—it’s too much,” I babbled, another orgasm building, coiling from my toes, from the very roots of my hair.
“You can,” he promised, his pace becoming harder and faster. “You’re feeling how I feel every minute of every day.”
His thumb found my clit, rubbing rough, tight circles, and that was it.
The second climax detonated, even more intense than the first, a full-body seizure of pleasure so acute it felt like pain.
I screamed, my back arching in a painful tightness in my ribs, my internal muscles clamping down on him in rhythmic, vicious pulses.
My coming again tore his control to shreds.
With a raw, guttural roar that was pure possession, he slammed into me one final, devastating time and came.
I felt the hot, pulsing rush of his release flooding me, wave after wave, marking me, filling me.
His hips jerked through the aftershocks, his whole body shuddering as he collapsed on top of me, careful even in his abandon to keep his weight off my injured side.
For long minutes, there was only the sound of our shattered breathing, the frantic hammering of our hearts slowly syncing, slowing. The room smelled of sex, of sweat, of us.
Eventually, he softened and slipped out of me, a slow, wet slide that made me whimper softly.
He didn’t go far. He rolled to his side, pulling me with him, tucking me back into the shelter of his body.
His hand slid between my thighs, his fingers gently, possessively, tracing the swollen, well-used flesh he’d just claimed.
“Tell me you know, Pip,” he whispered, his lips against my shoulder blade. “Tell me you know you mean more to me than anything? I have the world at my fingertips and all I want is you.”
It wasn’t about proving he hadn’t given up on me or stopped wanting me anymore. Something settled inside my soul then. A peace. A final, quiet surrender. Not to him, and not to the ugly little fears I’d been feeding all week.
To the truth.
I really was it for him.
Exhaustion, deep and bone-melting, pulled at me. Nestled in the heat of him, surrounded by the physical proof of his hunger, the ghost of his filthy words still echoing in my ears, the noise finally stopped for the first time in days.
The fear.
The doubt.
The endless what-ifs I’d been carrying around like extra bruises.
They just… stopped.
He’d warned me he wouldn’t stop.
And he hadn’t.
He’d taken everything, given everything, and somewhere in the wreckage of every fear I’d built up before he walked through that kitchen door, I finally believed him.
There wasn’t room left for doubt anymore.