Page 41 of Marked to Be Mine (Erased #1)

“They would have terminated me for this weakness,” he said in a voice so low I barely heard it. There was something terrible and honest in his eyes. “For wanting something for myself.”

His words settled between us. This wasn’t just sex—it was defiance. It was him claiming humanity they tried to strip away. It was both of us refusing to be what Oblivion wanted: him a weapon, me a broken shell.

“I shouldn’t be capable of this,” he confessed against my ear. “They designed me to simulate desire only as a weapon. This is…different. This is mine. Ours.”

Before I could process his words, Reaper dropped to his knees. Water cascaded down his shoulders, highlighting his defined muscles.

My gaze slid downward to his cock—hard, thick, intimidating. Heat rushed through me. I wanted him inside me with primal urgency.

“Put your leg over my shoulder,” he commanded. “I’ll keep you standing.”

I hesitated, conscious of my recovering strength. “I’m not sure I can.”

“Trust me.” His eyes locked with mine. “I won’t let you fall.”

Something in the phrase resonated beyond this moment—a larger promise. I carefully lifted my leg over his broad shoulder, exposing myself to his hungry gaze.

“Perfect,” he murmured, his breath hot against my inner thigh. His hands spread me apart. “So fucking beautiful. ”

I felt intensely vulnerable—physically and emotionally naked. My hands sought purchase on the slick tile.

“Hold me tight,” he instructed, guiding my hands to his hair. “You’ll need the stability.”

I threaded my fingers through his damp hair as his tongue made first contact—a long stroke from my entrance to my clit. The sensation sent a jolt through my body. My fingers tightened in his hair.

“Fuck,” I cursed, head falling back.

The world narrowed to his mouth, creating patterns of pleasure.

His technique was devastatingly efficient—firm strokes alternating with focused attention on my clit.

He didn’t build gradually; he read my body and adjusted ruthlessly.

When my breath hitched, he repeated the motion until my thighs trembled.

He swirled his tongue against my sensitive bundle of nerves, then flickered right against the tip, until I was seeing stars in my vision.

I could barely handle it—it was as if dozens of different sensations hit me all at once, with no intention of fading.

“No one’s touched you like this,” he murmured, eyes meeting mine with unsettling intensity. “Only me. No one knows what your body needs the way I do.”

There was something possessive and desperate in his claim—like a man who’d never owned anything discovering something precious. It should have frightened me. Instead, it made me feel powerful.

“Look at me while I make you come with my tongue,” he demanded, before sucking my clit between his lips, the suction tearing a cry from my throat. I struggled to keep my eyes open, let alone focus on him, but somehow, I gathered the strength to find his eyes.

My leg shook over his shoulder as he slid a finger inside me, curling upward to find that spot that made stars burst behind my eyelids all over again. He added a second finger, stretching me while his tongue continued its motion.

“I can’t stand much longer,” I panted, my supporting leg weakening. “Oh, God, this feels...”

“You don’t need to,” he murmured against me. “I’ve got you.”

His strong hands shifted, one arm wrapping around my thigh to support my weight. I was now practically sitting on his face, supported entirely by his strength. My world had narrowed to where his tongue met my flesh, to the fingers stretching and stroking inside me.

The dual stimulation became too much. My back arched, body tensing as orgasm approached.

“Give me this,” he urged, voice rough with need. “Let me feel you come apart.”

My orgasm crashed through with unexpected force. My body convulsed, thighs clamping around his head, fingers pulling his hair. Wave after wave washed over me, each more intense than the last. I made sounds I’d never heard from my own throat—raw cries echoing off shower walls.

Through it all, his mouth never stopped, drawing out my pleasure until I was gasping, trembling. My leg gave out, but he didn’t let me fall. His strong arms caught me, cradling me against his chest as he slid to sitting, letting me collapse against him while aftershocks pulsed through me .

“Breathe, Maeve,” he murmured against my temple, stroking my spine. “I’ve got you.”

I was still trembling when I felt his heart hammering against my cheek. The realization startled me—his pulse was racing, his breathing ragged. This controlled weapon was affected by my pleasure as though it were his own.

I raised my head to find his eyes on me, pupils blown wide, something raw in his expression.

“You’re still shaking,” he observed, concern evident. His fingertips traced a bruise with careful gentleness. “We should get you into bed. You need rest.”

“I need this more than rest,” I insisted, my voice stronger than I expected.

“I need to feel alive, to feel like myself again. What Brock did to me…” I pressed my forehead against his.

“He tried to hollow me out, make me a shell to be filled with their programming. I need to remember who I am.” My voice was still trembling. “Please. I need you.”

His expression darkened with hunger, but hesitation remained. “Your pulse is too elevated. Your body is still recovering.”

“I don’t need to stand for what I want to do to you,” I countered, reaching to wrap my fingers around his cock. The contact drew a harsh sound from his throat.

His hands closed over mine, stilling my movement. “Maeve.” My name sounded different—like a warning, like a prayer. “This isn’t a transaction.”

I realized he didn’t want reciprocity born from duty rather than desire .

“I want to taste you,” I told him, voice certain. “I want to make you feel what you just made me feel. Not because I owe you—because I want to. Because it arouses me.”

Something in my words reached him. The controlled mask slipped, revealing naked hunger.

We held each other’s gaze in a silent battle. Finally, he nodded. “Two minutes,” he stated. “Then you’re mine.”

He helped me position myself between his legs as he sat against the tile. The shower floor was hard beneath my knees, but I didn’t care—I wanted this, wanted to bring him pleasure as intense as what he’d given me.

His cock jutted proudly, thick and heavy, already slick with pre-cum. His hand brushed wet hair from my face with unexpected gentleness, thumb tracing a small healing cut. How many people had touched him with tenderness rather than to inflict pain?

“Two minutes,” he reminded me, voice rough yet tender. “Make them count.”

I wrapped my fingers around his base, feeling his weight in my palm. My other hand gripped his thigh, feeling the muscle flex.

“You don’t need to count,” I murmured, running my tongue along his shaft. “I’ll make every second count.”

His sharp intake of breath was satisfying. I traced the vein from base to tip, savoring his taste beneath clean water. When I reached the sensitive ridge beneath the head, I circled it, watching his abdominals tighten.

“Fuck.” The word left his mouth on a hiss, fingers tightening in my hair .

I took the head between my lips, sucking while my tongue worked the sensitive spot. His thighs tensed as I gradually took him deeper. My hand worked what I couldn’t fit, twisting slightly in rhythm with my lips.

“That’s it,” he growled, his approval sending a thrill through me. “Just like that.”

I hollowed my cheeks, increasing suction as I established a steady rhythm. His breathing grew heavier, his hand in my hair guiding subtly. I followed his lead, taking him as deep as I could before focusing attention on the sensitive head.

I glanced up to find his eyes closed, head tilted back against the tile—a vulnerability I never expected. The sight of this lethal man surrendering to pleasure was intoxicating. At this moment, he was neither weapon nor operative, just a man experiencing pleasure he’d been denied his entire life.

Every response felt like a victory against his programming. Each gasp, each involuntary movement proved that beneath conditioning, there was still a man capable of feeling. I moaned around him, the vibration causing his hips to jerk forward.

“One minute left,” he said, voice strained.

I took him deeper, relaxing my throat to accommodate his length. My hand cupped his balls, rolling them gently while my mouth worked him with increased intensity.

His controlled facade cracked. His muscles tightened, breathing ragged. His cock pulsed against my tongue, growing harder.

I looked up through wet lashes to find him watching with an intensity that stole my breath. His eyes burned with naked hunger. I held his gaze as I took him deeper, watching his pupils dilate.

“Thirty seconds,” he managed.

I doubled my efforts, determined to make him lose control. I took him to my throat, swallowing while my hand worked the base in tight, twisting strokes. My other hand continued manipulating his balls, occasionally venturing behind to press against the sensitive spot.

A muscle in his jaw jumped. There was something almost painful in his expression—pleasure mixing with vulnerability. Like what I was doing was reaching parts long buried under programming.

His hand tightened in my hair, his breathing harsh. I felt his thighs trembling, his hips making small, involuntary thrusts. He was close, and I felt triumph knowing I’d brought this controlled man to the edge.

Just as I felt the tension that preceded release, Reaper suddenly pulled back. His cock stood rigidly, wet from my mouth and visibly throbbing. “Enough,” he growled, voice unrecognizable. “I need to be inside you now.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, knowing he was close to climax. “I can finish...”

“Inside you,” he insisted, eyes nearly black with desire. “I need to feel you around me when I come.”