Page 46 of Held-

His fingers slide down between us, finding my clit without hesitation. He rubs tight, filthy circles in rhythm with his thrusts, eyes locked on mine, begging to see me fall apart.

“You come for me,” he growls, rough and breathless. “Right here. Right now.”

I try to hold on, but it’s impossible. The pressure coils, white-hot and relentless, until it snaps all at once. I cry out his name, legs shaking, body clenching around him as the orgasm crashes over me.

He groans as I squeeze around him, his rhythm faltering.

“That’s it, baby. You’re mine now.”

And when he follows me over the edge, spilling inside me with a growl torn from somewhere deep and primal, I swear I feel it everywhere. Not just inside, but under my skin, in my blood, in the places I thought were untouchable.

When it’s over, he stays there, breathing hard against my neck, both of us tangled in heat and sweat and something neither of us dares name.

He presses a kiss just beneath my ear and whispers, “Amen.”

His breath warms the hollow of my neck, slow and ragged, chest rising and falling against mine. He's still hard inside me, still holding me open around him, like he carved a place for himself inside of me, and now he refuses to leave.

I shift beneath him, sensitive and overstimulated, but craving more.

He feels it.

“Fuck,” he growls, barely lifting his head. “You’re still clenching around me.”

I can’t answer. My throat is raw from crying out his name, and my body is still reeling. But I want it again. Deeper. Slower. Meaner. Whatever way he’ll take me.

His hand finds my jaw, thumb dragging across my lower lip.

“You got one more in you?”

I nod, dazed. “Yeah.”

“Thought so.” He kisses me, slow this time, but no less intense. He tastes like sweat, and sin, and ownership.

Then he starts to move again.

The pace is different now. No urgency, no rush. Just long, deliberate thrusts that make me feel every inch of him, every inch of myself. I’m sore, stretched, and already unraveling all over again. And he doesn’t let me hide from it.

“You feel that?” he murmurs. “That’s me, inside every part of you.”

I nod again, eyes fluttering.

“You’re taking my cock so good, princess,” he continues, breath thick and filthy. “Like you were made for it. Like you’ve been waiting for me.”

“I have,” I whisper.

A flicker crosses his face. That dark, disarming softness only men like him know how to wear. He leans in close, lips brushing my ear.

“Say it again.”

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Good girl,” he rasps.

He thrusts harder, just once, and I cry out, nails digging into his arms. “Oh, God.”

“You don’t pray to him anymore. You pray to me now.”

I moan, already close again. The rhythm of his hips becomes punishing, reverent. My name falls from his lips, a benediction wrapped in the grit of everything he isn’t supposed to feel. He reaches between us again, fingers finding my clit, circling in time with his thrusts.