Page 241 of The Devil's Thorn

I wasn’t thinking anymore. I couldn’t. I was breaking. And I wanted it.

The sound of his hips against mine echoed in the vast, vaulted chamber, a wicked counterpoint to the silence that surrounded us. Each smack of skin was a slap against heaven. Every breath I took felt stolen.

The way he moaned—dark and possessive—told me he’d needed this just as much as I did. His hand wrapped tighter around my waist, pulling me back onto him, deeper, harder,until I felt like I’d shatter under the weight of what we were doing. What we were becoming.

Then—like fate had been waiting for its cue—the church bells began to ring. The first chime rolled through the cathedral like thunder, deep and slow. I felt it in my bones, in the center of my chest where my heart used to be.

Another bell. And another. Each one struck in perfect time with his thrusts—heavy, deliberate, echoing across the stone like a countdown to my undoing.

By the fourth chime, I was whimpering. By the fifth, I was begging. And then— His hand slid around my front, fingers parting me without hesitation, without mercy. He found my clit with terrifying accuracy, stroking in circles that were almost too much. Almost cruel.

I bucked beneath him, but I couldn’t get away—not from his grip, not from the inevitability. “Rafael—” My voice cracked, breathless.

He didn’t let up. He never did.

“You’re going to come for me,” he said against my ear, words rough and raw and absolute. “Right here. Right now. While the whole fucking church listens.”

I shattered.

My orgasm tore through me like a flood. No warning. No grace. Just a wave of pure, white-hot sensation that left me sobbing against the wall. My knees gave out, but he held me up—thrusting through my release like heownedit, like it was another part of me he’d conquered.

My cry was swallowed by the ringing bells and the hollow hush of the saints.

I wasn’t just undone. I washis. Completely. Utterly. Unapologetically.

I was still shaking when he pulled me upright. One brutal tug on the sash bound around my wrists, and I was wrenched backinto him—my spine pressed to the hard heat of his chest, the tremors of my orgasm still echoing through me like aftershocks. My legs barely held me. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

But Rafael didn’t care. His hand tangled in my hair, yanking my head back until my neck arched, exposing my throat to the cool air and his hot breath.

“Look at you,” he rasped against my ear, voice rough with hunger and something darker. “Still trembling… still wet.”

I whimpered, caught between overstimulation and craving. I was already spent, and still I wanted more. Still I needed it.

“You think I’m done with you?” His grip tightened, his hips snapping forward, thrusting back into me so deep I gasped.

“Rafael—” It was a whisper. A plea. A prayer he never taught me how to say.

“You belong to me,” he growled. “Every fucking part of you.”

Each word landed with the force of his body, sharp and possessive. He was using my tied wrists and my hair as leverage now, pulling me down onto him with every punishing thrust, his rhythm brutal and unforgiving.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t escape. But I didn’t want to. He was unraveling me again—mercilessly, masterfully. And I was letting him.

The church bells were still ringing. Fainter now. Slower. Like even heaven had grown tired of trying to drown us out.

“You feel that?” he hissed against my neck. “The way you’re squeezing me? You were made for this. Made for me.”

I moaned, my body helpless in his grip, head swimming, every nerve raw and exposed.

“I’m going to come inside you,” he said, voice low and shaking with restraint. “I’m going to fill you so deep you’ll still feel me tomorrow.”

My breath caught.

And then— He slammed into me one final time, rough and deep, and froze.

A guttural sound tore from his throat—half snarl, half vow—and I felt him spill into me, hot and possessive, as if marking me from the inside out. His grip on my hair and wrists tightened as he emptied himself, every pulse claiming me again and again.

He held me there, flush against him, still trembling from the force of it. My skin was slick with sweat, my lungs dragging in breath that felt borrowed.