Page 65 of Sweet Doe

All the way to the hilt.

Her scream splits the air. Her back bows. Her wrists strain against the cuffs.

“Fucking hell,” I groan. “You feel like heaven—tight—wet—perfect—mine.”

I don’t fuck her soft. I don’t fuck her sweet.

I pound into her like I’m trying to bury my name in her womb.

Her mouth falls open. Her body jerks. Every stroke punches a moan out of her lungs. Her cunt grips me like a vice, fluttering, desperate, drowning in pleasure.

“Say it,” I growl.

“Yours—”

“Say it again.”

“Yours—yours—always?—”

I reach up and tear the blindfold off.

Her eyes meet mine.

Ruined. Worshipping. Unhinged.

“Come for me,” I snarl. “Now. Let go.”

She shatters.

It’s violent. Loud. Beautiful.

Her whole body convulses as she comes, soaking me, sobbing, babbling nonsense. I don’t stop. I fuck her through it. Deeper. Harder. Until I come with a roar, spilling into her, holding her still, branding her from the inside out.

Afterward, I collapse over her. Breathing rapidly. Shaking.

I kiss every mark I left on her skin.

Untie her wrists. Rub the red lines. Pull her into my lap like she’s made of something sacred.

Because she is.

“You did so good, sweet doe,” I murmur, kissing her temple. “So fucking good for me.”

She hums. Drowsy. Boneless. “You’re such a sick fuck.”

“You like it.”

“I love it.”

She leans her head on my shoulder. Her voice is barely a whisper. “Are we really gonna stay here forever?”

I stroke her hair. “There’s nothing for us out there. Just noise. This… this is home.”

She nods, and I know she believes me now.

We fall asleep like that. Tied to each other. Safe in our silence. The snow still falling outside. No one watching. No one left to take her.

Because she’s not just my girl.

She’s my fucking religion, and I’ll worship her until the day I die.