Chapter 10 Milo #3
She was tight. So fucking tight that my arms shook and my jaw locked and every instinct I had screamed at me to slam home.
But I didn't. I gave it to her little by little, and felt the way her body resisted, then yielded, then gripped me so hard that my vision blurred even though there was nothing to see.
Her breath came in short, sharp bursts. Her nails carved crescents into my biceps.
"Breathe, baby girl."
She exhaled, and her body softened around me, opened for me, and I sank deeper.
"That's it." I kissed the corner of her mouth. Another inch. "Taking me so well."
"You're—" She gasped. "God, you're—"
"I know." I bottomed out, and we both went still.
Fully seated. Buried to the hilt in the tightest, wettest heat I'd ever felt. I could feel her pulse around my cock, every flutter, every involuntary clench. My forehead dropped against hers. Breathing hard. Both of us.
"Okay?" My voice didn't sound like mine.
She rocked her hips. We both groaned. "Move."
I pulled out slow. Pushed back in. Felt every inch of her grip me, resist me, pull me deeper. Watched the darkness where her face was and listened to every sound. Every gasp, every whimper, every soft yes that fell from her lips.
Then I stopped being gentle.
I drove into her hard, and she cried out, her legs wrapping around my hips, heels digging into my ass, pulling me deeper. The bed frame struck the wall with a sharp, rhythmic percussion that matched my thrusts.
"God—yes—"
"Not god." I gripped her jaw, tilting her face up. "Say my name."
"Milo—"
"Louder."
"Milo—"
"That's my girl." I fucked her harder, deeper, angling my hips so I hit the spot that made her voice break. "You feel that? Feel how deep I am?"
"Yes— fuck— yes—"
"No one else gets this." I buried myself to the root and ground against her, my pubic bone pressing her clit, and she sobbed. Actual tears spilling from her blind eyes, not from pain but from the sheer overwhelming flood of sensation. "No one else touches you. No one else makes you come. Just me."
She was crying now, overwhelmed. Tears sliding from the corners of her eyes and disappearing into her hair, and I felt the last wall I had left give way at the trust it took for this woman, who never showed weakness in front of anyone, to let me see her like this.
I kissed her tears. Tasted the salt. And kept moving.
"Milo, please— I'm going to—"
"Not yet." I slowed. Pulled almost all the way out and held there, just the tip still inside of her, while she writhed and clawed at my back and begged. "Not until I tell you."
"I can't— please—"
"You can." I slid back in, and she moaned so loud I felt it vibrate against my chest. "You'll hold it for me."
I fucked her slow now. Deep, grinding strokes that dragged across every nerve, pulling sounds out of her that were barely human. Her nails raked down my back hard enough to draw blood, and I hissed and drove harder.
I wanted her marks. Wanted evidence on my skin. Proof that she'd touched me, that this happened, that somewhere in this hollow fucking life, something had been real.
"You're mine," I said against her mouth. It wasn't a question. It was a fact. Like gravity. Like death. "Do you understand? Mine."
"Yes— Milo— please—"
"No one follows you. No one watches you. No one even fucking breathes near you." I felt her tighten around me, her walls gripping so hard I nearly lost it. "If they do, I'll put them in the ground too."
Any sane woman would have fought to get away from me.
Instead, she pulled my face down and kissed me with an intensity that rearranged the furniture in my skull.
"Then be mine too," she whispered against my lips. "Because I don't share either."
At her softly spoken demand, I lost it.
Completely. The last shred of control I'd been white-knuckling since I walked through her door was gone. I hitched her leg higher, changed the angle, and fucked her with everything I had. Hard. Deep. And relentless.
"Come," I growled against her throat. "Come for me, Raven. Now."
She broke for me.
The orgasm hit her at the same time it hit me. Her entire body seized, her pussy clamping down around my cock in rhythmic waves, her voice shattering on my name and nothing else.
I buried myself deep—as deep as I could go—and came inside her.
The climax tore through me from the base of my spine, and I held her hips tight against mine and spilled everything I had into her while the room went white and the only thing anchoring me to earth was her body beneath mine, around mine, holding me while I shook apart.
I emptied myself inside her the way I'd never done with anyone. There was no distance. No barrier. Nothing between us.
"Good girl," I breathed against her throat. "My good girl."
And when it was over, we lay tangled in the dark.
I still thought I should leave. Go back to my empty apartment and my empty life and pretend this night had never happened.
Instead, I pulled her closer and pressed my lips against the top of her head. She smelled like jasmine and sex and sweat and me.
Me. My scent on her skin. My marks on her throat. My cum still inside her.
Her breathing evened out. She was falling asleep in my arms, naked and trusting and branded with evidence of what I'd done to her. What she'd let me do. What she'd begged me to do.
I lay in her darkness, in her world, and felt the full weight of what I'd become. Not a blank slate anymore. Not a void where problems disappeared. I was a man who'd killed for a woman he barely knew and then fucked her like she was the only real thing in his life.
Because she was.
My father's ghost whispered from the shadows: You're dead, boy. You just don't know it yet.
Maybe. Probably.
I closed my eyes. Pulled the darkness of her world around us like a blanket. Her world…and my world now, too.
Completely. Fucking. Fucked.