30. Branded.
Selene
"My thighs are spread wide, my core pulsing, offered up as a sacrifice to the man looming over me."
It sounds like a line straight out of one of my novels, except... it's real.
Ron is standing at the foot of the bed.
We lit a few candles that cast long, flickering shadows across his bare chest.
His dark jeans are unbuttoned, the zipper down, revealing the sharp V-line sloping toward his groin.
His blue eyes, usually so clear and sunny, are now dark, liquid pools, devoured by a lust so black and primal it steals my breath.
In his right hand, he grips the branding iron from the challenge.
The thermal plate at its tip emits a red, luminescent, hypnotic glow in the dim light of the bedroom. It isn't real fire, but the metal's temperature is high enough to radiate a thick, arousing heat that I can feel even from this distance.
Ron takes a slow step toward me, stepping right into the space between my spread legs. His body heat washes over me, mixing with the heat of the object he's holding in his fist.
"You live in the minds of monsters, of dominants. But writing it isn't the same as living it. Is it?" he whispers.
I swallow hard, shaking my head slightly against the pillow. "No. It isn't."
He leans over me. His face is a breath away from my stomach. He lifts the brand, hovering the red, hot, glowing plate a millimeter from the pale skin of my inner thigh. He doesn't touch me, but the heat radiating from the iron caresses my epidermis, covering me in goosebumps from head to toe.
"You're shaking," he notes, a fucking lethal, lopsided smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.
"Because of you," I pant, balling my fists in the sheets.
Slowly, Ron glides the glowing brand downward.
He brings the red plate, pulsing with heat, to a miserable half-inch from my bare skin.
He doesn't touch me. But the thermal wave radiating from that glowing circle is thick, physical, heavy.
It's an invisible wall of fire that caresses my skin, making me flush.
He slowly hovers the heat source mid-air, following the line of my stomach, then dragging it lower, lingering cruelly on the crease of my groin and grazing my inner thigh, a breath away from my already soaked core.
I moan shamelessly, arching my back in search of a contact that he denies me.
The extreme heat pulls all my blood to the surface; I feel my skin quiver, tingle, and my slickness flows heavier in response to that burning wave driving me insane.
His gaze never leaves the spot where the red light illuminates my spread legs. He is admiring me with the dark devotion of a fanatic.
"You're gorgeous when you burn for me," he whispers.
His voice has dropped another octave. He trails the heat up my side, stopping to let the boiling air pulse right over the high curve of my hip.
"And when I'm done, everyone will know who you belong to. Even if this fake brand washes off with water... in your head, it'll stay forever. You will be branded by me, Selene."
His words, so filthy, so damn perfect for my fantasies, make me even wetter. I slide on the mattress, instinctively thrusting my hips upward toward that heat source, silently begging him to stop playing and just take me.
"Brand me, Ron," the plea tears from me in a desperate gasp. "Do it."
The blue of his eyes catches fire.
He adjusts his grip on the handle of the iron, the muscles in his forearm flexing. He leans in closer, his hot breath mixing with the scorching air surrounding my skin.
And then, he does it.
He presses the hot red plate directly against me.
Hiss.
I let out a sharp cry, throwing my head back. The temperature of the plate shocks my senses, an intense, sharp, localized jolt of heat that sets my nerve endings on fire, melting the luminescent red paint against me, marking me.
The pressure of his hand is firm, decisive, possessive.
"Mine," he growls, pressing down one last time before lifting the iron.
I open my eyes, panting, my chest rising and falling in sharp jerks.
On my pale hip glows a blood-red brand. The area still tingles, radiating heat.
Ron looks at it. His breathing grows heavy, ragged. He sees his mark on me and a visceral sound—a mix of primal triumph and pure lust—rips through his throat. He tosses the branding iron aside, sheds whatever is left separating him from me, and lunges onto my body like a starving predator.
His hands grab my thighs, pulling them even wider, opening me up completely beneath him.
"Look at it," he orders, his voice cracking with urgency. "Look at my mark on you, Selly, while I go in."
I look down, obeying, my heart exploding in my ears. I look at the bright redness on my hip. And then I look at his erection, rock-hard, veiny, slick with pre-come, pressing against my wet slit.
With a single, inexorable, endless thrust, Ron penetrates me.
A scream is torn from my throat, but he catches it, leaning forward and crashing his mouth onto mine. The kiss is brutal; it tastes of thirst and dominance. He fills me completely, stretching me, spreading me, erasing every single empty space inside me in a perfect, seamless fit.
It's a dark need. His hips slam against mine, and the wet sound of skin crashing against skin fills the shadows of the room.
His massive, sweat-drenched chest repeatedly collides with my bare breasts, while his hips dictate a ruthless rhythm.
He plants his thumbs right over the red brand he just pressed into me. His fingers grip my flesh, the rough pressure fusing with the lingering heat of the burn.
"Ron... ah... God!" I moan without restraint, my nails digging into his sculpted back, scratching him mercilessly in search of an anchor.
"Yes," he growls against my neck, kissing my collarbone before biting down on it, leaving a small mark that makes me shiver right to the bone. "Take it, little Selly. Give yourself to me."
"Y-yes," I whimper, lost in a hell of liquid pleasure. I don't even know who I am anymore. Maybe just a woman completely at the mercy of the only man capable of taming her. "Give me all of it, fuck. Deeper."
His answering growl vibrates through me.
He changes his angle, lifting my hips off the mattress with his left arm. His right hand, meanwhile, abandons its grip on my branded hip and slides downward, slipping between our sweaty bodies.
I feel his fingers get slick with my own juices, gathering my slippery, boiling essence. Then, his touch traces the cleft of my ass, caressing my sensitive skin, stopping exactly against my tightest, most forbidden entrance.
I gasp, my eyes flying open in the dark. An electric, filthy, fucking arousing shiver paralyzes me.
"Ron..." I pant, my breath catching in my throat.
"You said all of it, Selly," he whispers in my ear, his voice thick with dark lust. "Let go. Relax for me."
I don't have the strength to fight him, nor do I want to. I obey, exhaling heavily. My body surrenders to the tone of his voice, melting away all tension.
With a firm, calculated pressure, Ron pushes the tip of his finger, made slick and greasy by my own pleasure, inside me.
A high, broken moan is ripped from my lips. The sensation of intrusion is shocking for a fraction of a second, but it almost instantly turns into a dense, absolute, obscene pleasure.
When Ron resumes driving his hips, the friction becomes unbearable. His finger inside presses against my back wall at the exact same moment his hard cock sinks into my front, stretching me wide.
The double fullness makes me lose my mind. It's too much. It's everything. It's a stimulation so deep, invasive, and devastating that I literally see flashes of light behind my closed eyelids.
"Fuck... yes," he growls through clenched teeth. I feel the muscles in his chest flex under the effort as he feels how my internal muscles desperately clamp down around him in both places. "You're so fucking tight everywhere. Do you like it, baby?"
"Yes... ah... God, yes!" I almost scream, my nails tearing into the skin of his shoulders in a desperate search for an anchor.
The pace turns frantic, hammering, a continuous crash that knocks the wind out of me.
The devastating friction, combined with that new, total fullness, builds an unbearable tension in my lower belly.
Every time he thrusts into me, he slightly curls the finger inside my back door, massaging me from within, and my brain literally short-circuits.
I feel like I'm going to explode. I can't handle this level of sensory overload anymore.
My breath catches in my throat, turning into a panicky sob. It's a new, all-consuming sensation. There's an uncontainable, liquid, incredibly heavy pressure pushing against my lower stomach, like I'm a dam on the verge of breaking at any second.
"Ron... I... I can't hold it back," I pant, wrapping my hands tightly around his sculpted arms. "It's too much. I feel like..."
"Don't hold it back. Let go, Selly."
His voice is a dark, aroused growl, vibrating with pure fervor. He knows exactly what is happening to me. Instead of slowing down, he sinks his teeth into my earlobe and curls that fucking finger inside me, stimulating me with calculated cruelty, while his hips continue to hammer me without mercy.
"Trust me, don't stop, baby." He whispers, his breath scorching against my ear. "Get me all wet, Selly."
The sound of those filthy words, combined with that last, devastating dual thrust, blows the final valve of my self-control.
The orgasm crashes over me with a violence that disintegrates me.
My body arches backward, drawn taut as a bowstring. I scream his name into the dark, a sharp, liberating cry, as my core explodes in violent spasms, clamping down on his length like a vice.
And then, the dam breaks.
A hot, fluid, unstoppable rush gushes from me with unprecedented force. Squirting is absolute liberation, a blinding, uncontrollable discharge of pleasure that floods Ron, soaking him and drenching the sheets beneath us.
I keep gushing over him, trembling convulsively, shaken by waves of pleasure that leave me blind, deaf, and completely drained of all logical thought.
Ron breaks instantly, too. He lets out a hoarse, guttural roar.
He gently slips his finger out at the last second, tightens his grip on my hips with both hands, and goes rigid above me.
The veins in his neck pulse as he drives in to his absolute maximum depth, emptying himself into the latex wrapper with a series of short, sharp, desperate thrusts, shaking brutally against my body.
His weight collapses onto my chest. Our breathing is a broken, ragged rasp that echoes in the silent room. Our hearts slam against each other, wild and synchronized in a beautiful tachycardia. The scent of sex, intense and sweet, saturates the air.
I keep my eyes closed, my legs like jelly, my body still quivering with tiny aftershocks. I feel the wetness of the sheets beneath me, the tangible proof of how I literally lost my mind for this man.
Slowly, Ron lifts his head from the crook of my neck, propping himself up on his elbows. He looks at me. His hair is plastered to his forehead and his eyes are still clouded by the fog of pleasure, but incredibly clear and attentive.
He lowers his gaze to where our bodies are joined, observing the liquid disaster I just made.
A slow, tired, infinitely proud smile spreads across his face.
His gaze travels back up as he traces the outline of the red brand stamped on my hip with his thumb, now smeared by our sweat and my slickness.
"Holy Christ, Selene..." he whispers, his voice thick with raw adoration, softly kissing my sweaty temple as his breath ruffles my hair. "Absolutely, fucking perfect."
Later, I'm the one clinging to him in the night. And he doesn't let go.
He holds me tight against him.
He strokes my hair.
He whispers the sweetest things to me.