Page 167 of Little Spider

His mouth twitches. Like the doesn’t know if he should laugh or throw me against the wall but he doesn’t move. So I do.

I reach between us, wrap my fingers around him, and guide him inside. Not fast. Not rough. Just enough to make us both feel it. The stretch. The slide. The surrender.

I sink down, inch by inch, and his breath punches out of him but I don’t let him move. I press a hand to his chest.

“No.”

His eyes open then.

And what I see?

Isn’t Damien.

Isn’t the surgeon. Or the priest. Or the executioner.

It’s all of them.

And none.

Just him.

Raw. Unshielded. Mine.

And I say it again.

“You’re mine too.”

His cock stretches me perfectly. Full. Deep. Familiar but this time, I don’t grind down on him. I don’t whimper. I don’tbeg. I just sit there—hips lowered, walls fluttering around him, watching the tension climb his throat like a threat.

His hands grip the sheets.

Not my waist.

Not my throat.

Not my leash.

Because he knows.

He knows this moment isn’t his to lead.

It’s mine.

I roll my hips once. Slow. Deep.

His jaw clenches.

I do it again.

And again.

Each movement deliberate.

Torturous.

Not to tease.

To remind him.