Page 93 of Fractured Loyalties

His cock is hard, straining, the tip glistening as he positions himself between my thighs. He doesn’t rush this either, his control a dark, deliberate force.

He leans down, his lips brushing mine as he claims my mouth in a kiss, letting me taste myself on his tongue, a kiss that’s both tender and possessive. “You’re mine,” he murmurs, and I nod, too lost to speak.

He enters me slowly, so fucking slowly, his cock stretching me, filling me inch by agonizing inch. The burn is exquisite, a mix of pain and want that makes me gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders. He’s memorizing me, his eyes locked on mine, watching every flicker of my expression as he claims me. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he groans, his voice rough, his control fraying as he sinks deeper, his hips flush against mine.

I clutch at him, my legs wrapping tight around his waist, pulling him deeper.

“Oh God, Elias.... Don’t stop,” I whisper, and it tears the restraint straight out of him.

He moves like something finally unchained—his thrusts deep and relentless, each one a command my body answers without hesitation. The silk sheets slip beneath me, a cold contrast to the burn he leaves behind with every drive of his hips.

It’s not tender. It’s not rehearsed. It’s real—raw and consuming, a brutal kind of worship.

His hand locks around my wrists again, moving and pinning them above my head, his grip a brand. The other hand grips my hip, angling me open, taking me with precision that borders on savage.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he growls, voice cracked with want, the sound a low rasp dragged from the back of his throat.

And I moan—because I feel all the intensity of this moment all over.

Because it’s never felt like this with anyone else.

Because it’s not just sex. It’s surrender. It’s fury turned into friction. It’s pain and pleasure tangled into one blistering thread.

The room fills with the sounds of us—the slap of skin, my moans, his low groans as he fucks me with a purpose that borders on obsession.

My pussy clenches around him, each thrust pushing me closer to the edge again, my body alive with the heat of him, the weight of him, the fucking power of him. “Elias,” I gasp, my voice breaking as he hits that spot inside me, over and over, relentless, unyielding.

“Come for me,” he commands, his hand sliding between us, fingers circling my clit, fast and rough, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. I’m lost, my body spiraling, the pressure building until it’s too much, too fucking much.

I scream his name, my orgasm ripping through me, my pussy pulsing around his cock, pulling him deeper as I shatter beneath him. He doesn’t stop, he thrusts harder, faster, his breath ragged as he chases his own release.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” he groans, his voice raw, his hips stuttering as he drives into me one last time, deep and hard. I feel him pulse inside me, his release flooding me, hisbody trembling as he buries his face in my neck, his breath hot against my skin. We stay like that, locked together, our breaths mingling, our bodies slick with sweat and need.

It’s not a fall—it’s a fucking landing, somewhere neither of us has ever been. A place where control and surrender blur, where pain and pleasure are one, where we’re both ruined and remade.

He releases my wrists, his fingers tracing the marks left behind, a gentle contrast to the intensity of moments before. He kisses me, soft now, like he’s sealing a vow. I’m still trembling, my body humming with the aftershocks, my heart pounding with the weight of what we’ve done.

Later, he pulls me against him, his arms a cage I don’t want to escape. The room is quiet again, but the air is heavy with the truth we’ve carved into each other. This is who we are—raw, broken, bound by something darker and deeper than love.

The silence that follows is anything but empty. It’s thick, warm, laced with breath and the echo of everything we just tore open. Our bodies are tangled. The sweat between us clings like a second skin. Elias’s chest rises and falls beneath my cheek. I feel every thud of his pulse where our skin still touches.

He’s quiet. But it’s not the silence I’ve known in him before—not the haunted kind, not the coiled waiting for the world to fall apart.

This one feels earned.

Like something found its place.

I slide my fingers along his ribs, then rest them over the space just above his heart.

He exhales like it matters.

And maybe it does.

“I didn’t expect you to be so....” I trail off, unsure how to finish it.

“So what?”

I tilt my head up. “So good at knowing exactly how to break me in the right way.”