Page 44

“You feel incredible,” he says, his voice a rasp. “Made for me. You were made for me, Sophia.”

I’m going to come again. I can feel it building, different from the first one, deeper, heavier, a pressure that starts at the base of my spine and radiates outward through my pelvis and into my thighs. I’m gripping him so hard my arms ache.

“Dominic. I’m going to—”

“I know.” His voice is barely human. “I can feel it. I can feel you. Come for me.”

He lowers his mouth to my neck. The junction of my neck and shoulder, the left side, the exact spot where the pulse runs close to the surface. His lips are hot against my skin and his tongue traces a line along the tendon and I feel his teeth, not biting, just resting there, and the sensation of his teeth against my throat while he’s inside me, while the orgasm is building to something I’m not sure I’ll survive, is the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced.

I come. It hits me like a wall. My whole body seizes, my back arching, my legs clamping around his waist, every muscle contracting in a wave that starts at my center and rolls outward until my fingers are tingling and my toes are curled and I’m screaming his name into the dark.

And at the peak, at the exact apex of the orgasm when every nerve in my body is firing at maximum capacity, he bites.

I gasp as his teeth sink into the junction of my neck and shoulder. Not a nibble. Not a love bite. A real bite, hard enough to break skin, hard enough that I feel the sharp sting of puncture beneath the overwhelming flood of the orgasm. It hurts. It doesn’t hurt. Both sensations exist simultaneously, the pain subsumed by the pleasure, and then something else happens, something I have no framework for.

A lock clicks shut inside my chest.

That’s the closest I can come to describing it. The pull that’s been living between my ribs for weeks, the second heartbeat, the unnamed ache that I’ve been carrying since the first day I walked into his office. All of it surges to a crescendo and then settles. Sealed. Like something inside me has finally clicked into the place it was built to fit.

I feel him everywhere. Not just physically, not just the weight of his body on mine and the heat of his skin and the thickness of him still inside me. I feel him in my chest, a presence that wasn’t there thirty seconds ago, warm and fierce and unmistakably alive. His heartbeat. I can feel his heartbeat alongside mine, a second rhythm that syncs with the first and locks into phase.

He releases the bite and drives into me one final time, burying himself to the hilt, and I feel him come inside me. Hot, pulsing, spilling deep, his hips grinding against mine as his orgasm tears through him. He groans my name against the wound on my neck, his whole body shuddering, his arms trembling where they hold his weight. I feel the heat of him spreading through me. And the raw intimacy of him coming inside me while something impossible seals in my chest makes tears spill from the corners of my eyes.

Not from pain. From the size of what I’m feeling, the enormity of it, the way it fills every empty space I’ve been carrying since my father died and keeps filling, warm and relentless, until there’s no room left for anything else.

He lifts his head. His eyes are gold and wet and the expression on his face is the most unguarded thing I’ve ever seen. Reverence. Possession.

“Mine,” he says. His voice is shattered. “You’re mine.”

I don’t answer with words. I pull his mouth to mine and kiss him and I taste copper, my blood on his lips, and I don’t care. I kiss him until we’re both breathing hard again.

He pulls out of me slowly, leaving me achingly empty. But only for a second. Because before I can reach for him, before I can even register the separation, his hands are on my hips and he’s flipping me over.

“On your hands and knees,” he says. His voice is different now. Rougher. Darker.

I get to my hands and knees. My arms are trembling. I can feel his cum slipping down the inside of my thigh and the sensation sends a pulse of heat through my already oversensitized body.

His hands grip my hips. His fingers dig into the flesh hard enough that I know there will be bruises tomorrow. Purple fingerprints on my skin, his marks along with the bite mark, evidence of this night written on my body in a language anyone could read. I don’t care. I want them. I want every bruise.

He enters me from behind in one hard stroke and the angle is deeper this way, fuller, and I drop to my elbows and press my face into the pillow and make a sound that’s half moan and half sob. He pulls back and slams forward and the force of it jolts my whole body, and I grab fistfuls of the sheets and hold on because the alternative is being pushed across the bed and off the other side.

He sets a pace that is relentless. Hard, fast, the sound of his hips slapping my ass filling the room. Sweat is dripping off his body onto my back. I can hear his breathing, ragged and harsh, and underneath it the growl that’s become a constant, a vibration that resonates in my bones and makes my body clench around him with every thrust.

“So good,” he says. His fingers tighten on my hips, pulling me back onto him as he drives forward, meeting in the middle with an impact that steals my breath. “You take me so well. Every inch. Like you were built for me.”

I can’t speak. I can only whimper, high and broken, into the pillow, my hands twisting the sheets so tightly the fabric creaks. The orgasm is building again, faster than I thought possible, stacked on top of the first two like waves in a rising tide, and the pressure is enormous, a weight in my pelvis that feels like it might break me open.

He shifts his angle, just slightly, and his cock drags across that spot inside me and I shatter. The orgasm rips through me without warning, my whole body convulsing, my walls clamping down around him so hard he groans, and I scream into the pillow and my fingers nearly tear through the sheets.

He follows me over the edge. Two more strokes, three, and then he buries himself deep and his hips lock against mine and he lifts his head and roars. A guttural, animal sound that no human throat should be able to produce. It echoes off the bedroom walls and I feel it vibrate through his body and into mine where we’re joined and the aftershocks of my orgasm pulse around him as he empties himself inside me for the second time.

He collapses over my back. His chest is heaving against my shoulder blades, slick with sweat, his heart hammering so hard I can feel it through his ribcage. I’m flat on my stomach, crushed into the mattress by his weight, and I can’t move and I don’t want to. His mouth finds the bite mark on my neck and his lips rest there, his breathing slowing gradually, and I feel his heartbeat in my chest, the doubled rhythm that I’m starting to understand is permanent.

We lie there. I don’t know how long. Time has stopped having meaning. My body is trembling in the aftermath, small aftershocks rolling through me, and every time one hits I clench around him where he’s still inside me and he makes a sound against my neck that’s somewhere between pain and pleasure.

Eventually he rolls off me. I lie face-down in the wreckage of his bed, sweat-soaked sheets tangled around my legs, my hair a disaster, every muscle in my body vibrating with exhaustion and satisfaction. He lies beside me, one arm thrown over his eyes, his chest still rising and falling faster than normal.

“Shower,” I manage.