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Thwack.
I combusted on his fifth strike.
I grew wings and flew.
My entire body came.
Waking and rippling, milking and fisting.
I made noises.
I begged for things. Nonsense, unknown things.
I wasn’t human as I shattered and fractured and—
“Ily. Goddammit.” Henri dragged me onto him. Crawling inside me as deep as he could go. “Ily. Fuck. Fuck!”
His release spurted and coated, branding me in hot, ropey liquid.
His grunts as he kept feeding me his orgasm threatened to push me into another.
I could barely see, hardly think.
He destroyed me.
When he finally shuddered and held himself locked inside me, I shivered at the sensation of him marking me forever as his.
I wore his cum.
I had his scent all over me.
With a breathless groan, he withdrew, tripped backward, and fought hands that no longer worked to stuff his spent erection into his black slacks and buckle up.
Twisting upright, I sat primly on the edge of the bed.
A wet patch soaked into my dress, matching the silvery trails of my arousal glinting on the black fabric over his fly.
He caught me looking. “Told you your juices were all over me.”
I smiled, embracing the flood of possession. You’re mine. My body says so.
He nodded and placed a fist over his heart. Forever.
“Come along, little nightmare.” Snatching my wrist, he dragged me off the bed and carted me toward the door. “Time to party.”
A flood of moisture oozed hotly down my thigh.
I cringed.
He wrenched open the door and laughed at my screwed-up face. “Bit of a mess down there? Maybe if you’re a good girl tonight, I’ll lick you clean.”
I stumbled.
He caught me.
He whispered into my ear, “You still with me, mon cœur?” (My heart.)
I caught his gorgeous grey eyes.
