Page 25 of Fallen Empire (The Fallen Trilogy #2)

He didn’t give me a second to recover. In one fluid motion, he turned me around, lifted my legs around his waist, and slammed into me so deep I nearly lost consciousness. The breath punched from my lungs as my walls stretched to take him, and a strangled cry left my lips.

“Fuck,” I hissed, my head falling back against the wall behind me. He was too big. Too deep. Every motion a perfect kind of torment that blurred the lines between pain and pleasure—chaotic and consuming, just like us.

“I want to watch you when you cum, baby.” He growled, his voice rough with need. His grip tightened on my ass as he thrust into me, pulling me against him with every punishing stroke, forcing me to take all of him. Over and over.

My climax was already building again, lightning coiling low in my belly, and it felt like my soul was clawing its way out of my body.

“Look at me, Mills,” he demanded, voice tight with restraint as his hips slammed into mine, each thrust harder than the last. I tried—I tried to hold his gaze, but my body was unraveling too fast.

“Ben—” I choked, my head rolling forward, forehead pressed to his as I clung to him, eyes fluttering shut.

“No,” he growled, one hand catching the back of my neck as he forced me to look at him. “Keep your eyes on me when you fall apart.”

And then he tilted his hips just right—just fucking right—and everything inside me shattered.

My mouth opened on a scream I didn’t have the breath to give, my body convulsing as the orgasm ripped through me like a goddamn wildfire.

I didn’t just come—I collapsed , clenching around him so hard he cursed against my lips and slammed into me one last time.

He stayed buried deep, trembling as he came with me—raw and unfiltered, spilling himself inside me with a low, broken moan that made my entire body tremble again. It wasn’t just sex. It was a claim.

And God help me, I never wanted to be free of it.

I was still wrapped around him as he kicked off his shoes and shoved his jeans the rest of the way off.

The only thing left between us was his shirt—thin, soft cotton clinging to his frame.

He didn’t say a word, just carried me straight to my bedroom like he owned the place. And maybe, in this moment, he did.

My head rested on his shoulder, body limp in his hold, breath still stuttering from what he’d already done to me. He angled his head and dragged his mouth along the curve of my neck, sucking hard enough to bruise just before he tossed me onto the bed.

My legs fell open the second I landed—unguarded, aching, his.

Ben let out a low growl. It wasn’t just lust. It was reverence. Possession. That I was his.

He reached back and yanked his shirt over his head with one hand, flinging it to the side like it offended him.

My eyes raked over every inch of him—God, I hadn’t remembered him looking this good.

The new tattoos inked across his torso made him look darker.

Wilder. There was one along his ribcage that looked military—something jagged and personal, a piece of the war he never talked about but never left behind.

The man was built of hard muscle and sin. A body made to destroy and protect. And right now? It was all mine.

My gaze dropped lower, following the trail of faint hair that disappeared beneath his waistband—and holy hell.

He was huge.

Maybe it was the time apart. Maybe it was just my starved imagination.

But I didn’t remember him being this big.

Or looking like a walking sex god who pulled desire out of me with a single fucking breath.

I licked my lips without thinking, eyes locked on the thick length he gripped in his hand as he stroked slowly from base to tip.

“You look like you want a taste.” That fucking smirk curved across his mouth like it had never left.

I didn’t answer.

I moved to all fours and crawled across the bed to him, never breaking eye contact.

He held himself out for me—an offering, a dare.

I took it.

In one fluid motion, I wrapped my lips around him, sliding his cock deep into my mouth until I felt him hit the back of my throat. I pulled back slowly, swirling my tongue as I went, then took him again—deeper this time. Sloppier. Hungrier.

His hands tangled in my hair, gripping tight as he guided me lower. My throat stretched to take him, and when I swallowed his cock, he hissed.

“Fuck, Mills…”

He held me there, thick and pulsing in the back of my throat, savoring the moment.

Then he started to move.

His hips snapped forward, and he fucked my mouth with brutal precision—each thrust harder, deeper, pulling guttural sounds from his chest as I gripped his thighs to steady myself.

And God, I wanted to ruin him.

I adjusted myself on my knees, spreading them wider for balance as I took him deeper.

One hand slid behind him, fingers digging into the firm muscle of his ass, nails raking down until I heard him curse.

The other hand cradled and rolled his balls in my palm, slow and deliberate, teasing the way I knew would wreck him.

I didn’t think I could come from this—just him fucking my mouth, nothing else. But the pressure was coiling. Building. A third climax sitting heavy at the base of my spine, begging to be released.

And just before it hit, his fist tangled in my hair and yanked my head back with force, pulling me off his cock with a wet gasp.

“Uh-uh,” he growled, voice dark and ragged. “I’m shattering in your mouth, baby.” His eyes were molten as they locked onto mine. “I want to feel your pussy clench around my cock when you fall apart again.”

He lifted me in one swift move and tossed me onto the bed, my back hitting the mattress with a bounce. My legs fell open again, unashamed, aching, ready. But this time, he moved between them. His body hovered over mine as he stroked himself once… twice… then stopped.

Instead, he slid one finger inside of me—slow, deliberate. Then another. I arched, gasping as he curled them just right, and then—

Oh god.

He slid those soaked fingers lower, spreading the wetness further before pressing one slick finger against the tight ring of muscle below. Entering the tightest hole on my body. Breaking the barrier for the first time.

“Fuck, Mills…” His voice broke on a growl. “I won’t take you here tonight. But it’s mine.”

His words coiled around my spine like a fuse—igniting everything.

The pressure. The stretch. The way he invaded every inch of my body like it was owed to him. It was foreign. Filthy. And so goddamn good I almost came right then. I whimpered, hips twitching as my body clenched around his finger, aching for more—aching for him.

And then he pulled them out.

Only long enough to line himself up to my entrance.

I barely had time to register the flush spreading over my chest before his cock slammed deep inside of me in one brutal motion. My scream tore through the room as my body arched off the bed, trying to adjust, to take all of him. He was too thick. Too deep. And I took every inch.

He gripped my waist like he needed grounding, like he’d lose control if he didn’t anchor himself to me.

Then he started moving—slow at first, dragging his cock almost all the way out before slamming back in, grinding his pelvis against my clit with every punishing thrust. The friction was blinding. I was unraveling. Spiraling.

Losing myself completely.

He grabbed my leg and threw it over his shoulder, plunging deeper, so deep I swore I could feel him in my stomach. My body convulsed beneath him, made for this. Made for him.

He leaned down, never breaking rhythm, and fucked me harder—relentless, brutal. Drops of sweat fell from his chest to my cheek, his breath ragged against my skin. My nails scraped down his back, drawing blood as I clung to him, holding on for dear life.

He groaned, the sound animalistic, desperate. “You feel so fucking good, baby. So tight. So perfect. Say it. Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” I gasped, voice hoarse and broken beneath the weight of him. “I’ve always been yours.”

That was it.

He lost it. Primal need surged through him, unraveling every thread of restraint. Years of pent-up frustration. Years of wanting me while I clung to others just to protect my heart. It all came undone.

His rhythm faltered, hips snapping forward with a desperation that bordered on manic. He buried himself so deep I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think—only feel. His hand wrapped around my throat, not choking, but claiming . Possessive.

He looked down at me like he was about to brand his name into my soul.

“You’re gonna cum for me again,” he growled, thumb dragging down between us to circle my clit with just enough pressure to make me whimper. “One more. Right now. All over my fucking cock.”

And I did.

I shattered—on command, in his hands, as if he owned me. Because the truth was… he did.

My body clamped around him, pulsing and trembling as my climax exploded through every nerve ending.

A scream caught in my throat as white-hot pleasure burned through me, and his moan followed—deep, guttural, primal—as he drove into me one final time and came with a violent tremble, his release spilling deep while his name spilled from my lips like a vow.

He was right.

There was no going back from this.

And as he collapsed on top of me, bodies tangled in sweat and sex and every emotion we’d tried to outrun, I realized one thing.

Whatever darkness waited inside Pandora’s box… it would be nothing compared to the hell I’d endure if I lost this.

He didn’t move for a long time. Just stayed there, his chest pressed to mine, both of us panting, hearts racing like we’d just run through hell and back.

Finally, he shifted, pressing a kiss to my temple before pulling out and gently lifting me into his arms. He carried me like I was made of glass, even after what we’d just done.

“I thought you wanted pasta,” he muttered as he nudged the bedroom door open with his foot.

I smirked, still dazed and limp in his arms. “That was better than pasta.”

He chuckled—deep, satisfied, smug. “I’ll still order some. You need to eat, and I don’t think you’re walking anytime soon.”

He adjusted me on the bed with the same care he’d once used to handle explosives, then disappeared into the bathroom.

I heard the faucet run, then the soft pad of his footsteps as he returned.

He leaned down, and I felt the warm glide of a washcloth over my skin—gentle, reverent, like I was something sacred.

“Chinese or Italian?” he asked.

I didn’t answer right away.

I was too busy watching him—watching us —finally become something more than just broken people pretending we were fine.