Page 108 of Give In

Craving him.

“This is it,” he said, sliding his hand to grip my chin. “You made the choice, knowing damn well what this was. No more walls. No backtracking. And no more running. We’ll deal with my job, your classes, your damn secrets. We’ll deal together because we are together. You need to accept it and trust me.”

“I do,” I said before I could fully process all he’d said.

He shook his head. “You don’t. But you will because you don’t have a choice.” His speed quickened, his eyes growing almost feral as they moved down my body to my breasts. “I’ve already come on your pretty tits.” His gaze continued until he was staring at where my pussy was shoved full of his cock. “The way you’re squeezing me so tight, your sweet juices coating my cock and dripping down my balls, I’m gonna shoot deep inside your tight pussy. That still leaves down your throat, all over your beautiful face, in your ass, and wherever else I decide.”

I didn’t think I could come again—ever. Definitely not so soon. But his words—his filthy-sweet words—had my body ready for more. Greedy for it.

“You know why?” Damien asked, though he didn’t give me the chance to answer. “Because I can. Because you love it, get off on it, want it just as bad as I do.” He pulled out almost all the way, just the thick head still stretching me. “Because you’re mine.”

Slamming in, whatever shred of control he’d been clinging to was gone. Gripping my hip and shoulder, Damien held me where he wanted as he fucked me with frenzied abandon.

My battered ass stung as it slid against the sheets. My clit ached, and my pussy was stretched, stuffed, and tender. But I spread my legs farther, offering him my body.

Offering him me.

Because he was right. I loved it. I wanted it. And despite how wrung raw I was, my pussy pulsed, tightly squeezing him as I got off on it.

Each word was a harsh staccato on a thrust as he cursed me. Worshipped me. “Fuck, Eden. Fucking depraved angel. My angel. Fuck.”

In all that’d happened that night—all the arguing, sharing, and leaping—nothing was as profound as the way he came. I could live to be a hundred and fifty, and on my deathbed, I’d still remember the way he grunted my name, the feel of his body surrounding me, and the storm of emotions in his midnight eyes.

Still twitching inside me, Damien pressed his forehead to mine as we fought to catch our breath.

I knew the exact moment he had blood flowing to his brain again because his muscles flexed, as though he were bracing. Based on our track record, I didn’t blame him.

But I was too tired to be a pain in the ass. Too light and free to take on the weight of the world.

Too happy to soil it with should-bes and preconceived notions of normality.

I leaned up, ignoring the way Damien tensed further. Pressing my smiling lips to his, I stroked his stubbled cheek.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he whispered against my lips before pulling away to meet my gaze. “This is just the beginning. You gave me you and there’s no going back.”

Do I want to go back to an empty bed, fine enough orgasms, and a life without Damien, all so I can say I’m normal?

Pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, I released it and nodded. “I know.”

Damien kissed me, his cock twitching.

Holy hell, if he fucks me again, there’s a good chance I’ll die.

He pinched my nipple hard enough to make me gasp, using that opening to deepen the kiss and twirl his tongue with mine.

Meh, it’s worth the risk.

My decision didn’t matter, though, because Damien ended the kiss and shifted away. His cock slid free, making me wince even as I moaned softly.

His gaze locked between my legs, and I began to close them, once again self-conscious since I was no longer mindless with lust. He softly slapped my thigh.

“Try to hide what’s mine, and I’ll tie you spread-eagle to the bed,” he threatened. My body must’ve shown my reaction, because he smirked as he stroked his cock lazily. “Maybe I’ll do it anyway.” His fingers skimmed along the seam of my pussy lips, gliding through my wetness mixed with his come. “Perfect.”

He honestly thinks I’m perfect. Not that I’ll be perfect if I change this, this, this, and this. Not that I’ll never be perfect so I’m not worth his time. Not that the fake me is perfect, but the real me would be found wanting.

He knows me better than anyone, and he thinks I’m perfect.

A small smile pulled at my lips, and I dropped my knees open.