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So I flood him harder.

His breath catches, sharp and broken, and I see it—the exact moment he snaps.

Ambrose growls, low and vicious, crawling over me like a man possessed. His mouth finds mine, rough and bruising, devouring me like he wants to eat the magic straight out of me. He doesn’t waste time—doesn’t hesitate—his cock already hard again, dragging against my slick folds like his body belongs to me now, like I’ve made him something ravenous.

He slams back inside without warning. I cry out, legs locking around his hips, pulling him deeper even as he pounds into me like he’s trying to drive the magic out of my body and into his own.

But I keep giving.

Every thrust, every snap of his hips, I spill more. It coils through the bond, through my skin, slick and consuming, until he’s cursing against my throat, fucking me like he can’t stop.

Because he can’t.

He pulls out when I come again, flips me onto my stomach without speaking, hauls my hips up and takes me from behind—rougher this time, hips slamming into me hard enough I see stars.

And I keep pouring.

My magic crawls into his veins, humming dark and sweet beneath his skin, feeding the want until I feel him unraveling again—his thrusts sharp, desperate, teeth sinking into my shoulder like he’s trying to keep himself tethered.

I come again, wrecked and shaking, my body clenching around him, and he follows, breath ragged, cock twitching inside me.

But it doesn’t stop.

I don’t stop.

The moment he pulls out, slick and spent and breathing like he’s about to fall apart, I flip onto my back and drag him down again, hands curling in his hair, pulling him to my mouth.

“Again,” I breathe against his lips. “More.”

He shakes his head once, voice breaking. “You’re going to kill me.”

I smile, wicked and soft, pressing my magic into him until he’s gasping, until I feel his cock twitch against my thigh, already hardening again.

“I’m going to ruin you,” I whisper.

And I do.

He takes me again.

And again.

And again.

Until neither of us can breathe without the taste of the other in our mouths. Until there’s no room left in his body for anything but me. Until he forgets who he was before I made him mine.

By the time I’m done with him, he’s wrecked. Sweat slicks his skin, chest heaving like he’s run himself into the ground, muscles trembling beneath the weight of what I’ve poured into him. His hair sticks damp to his forehead, the crisp, untouchable Ambrose Dalmar unraveled into something real and ruined—red, raw, utterly mine.

His thrusts slowed long ago, hips dragging like every movement costs him everything. But I didn’t let him stop. I kept pulling him back under, kept pouring more into him, every wave of magic, every pulse of sin, every drop of craving until I hollowed him out.

And now, he’s empty.

Spent.

He collapses beside me, arm draped heavy across his face like he’s trying to catch his breath, like he’s shielding himself from the way I’m still watching him. His body hums with the aftermath of it, his magic tangled and full, overwhelmed, overstretched.

And for the first time since I’ve known him—he doesn’t move.

Ambrose always leaves. Always tucks himself back into that sharp, cold armor and walks out like nothing touched him, like he didn’t just fall apart in my hands. But now, his body is too heavy, too drained, too fucking tired to do anything but stay.