Page 86 of Curvy Cabin Fever

“I’ll put a baby in you,” he snarls, hand tightening on my hip. “Make you mine in every fucking way. That what you want?”

More than anything in the world.

“Fuck—yes, yes, give it to me?—”

“Good girl. You’re gonna take all of it. Gonna carry my baby. Show everyone who you belong to.”

And then he comes, thick and deep and endless, groaning into my shoulder like he’s branding me from the inside out.

He fucks me with everything he’s got. No gentleness, no restraint—just sweat and skin and fire. The headboard slams against the wall with each thrust, the bed frame creaking beneath us. A dark, primal part of me hopes Morgan and Rhett can hear us—I want them to know that right now, I belong to Damien alone.

I come screaming, my nails digging into his shoulders, my body shattering around him. The orgasm rips through me like a storm, tearing down every defense, leaving me raw and open.

But he doesn’t stop.

He flips me over without warning, yanking my hips up and slamming back into me from behind. One hand tangles in my hair, pulling just hard enough to arch my spine, while the other grips my hip with bruising force.

“Look how well you take me,” he groans, voice strained with the effort of holding back. “So fucking perfect. Made for this. Made for me.”

I sob into the pillow, overwhelmed by sensation, by emotion, by the way he fills me so deeply.

And then I come again—harder than ever before.

My entire body convulses, clenching around him, tears streaming down my face. I’ve never felt anything like this—this complete surrender, this total obliteration of self. It’s terrifying. It’s beautiful.

“That’s it,” he rasps, his rhythm faltering. “Give it all to me.”

He doesn’t stop until he’s done—until he’s spilled inside me again with a broken moan, his hands branding my skin, his teeth at my shoulder, his whole body shaking with the force of his release. I feel him pulse inside me, filling me, marking me as his in the most primal way possible.

For a minute, neither of us moves.

We just breathe.

Like we forgot how and are remembering together.

Then he collapses beside me and drags me into his chest, one strong arm wrapped around my waist, the other stroking my hair away from my damp face. His heartbeat thunders against my back, gradually slowing as we lie there in the aftermath.

“You okay?” he mutters into my hair, his voice gentler now, almost uncertain.

I nod.

Barely.

My whole body feels like liquid, like I might dissolve into the sheets.

“Was that too much?” he asks, quieter now, and I hear the vulnerability beneath the question.

“No,” I whisper, turning in his arms to face him. I trace the sharp line of his jaw with trembling fingers. “It was exactly what I needed.”

Something softens in his expression before he catches my hand and presses a kiss to my palm. Then he pulls the blanket over us both and tucks me tighter against his chest.

“You're still mine,” he states, and there’s no question in it this time, just certainty.

And I smile.

Because I never wanted to be anything else.

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