Page 105 of Velvet Chains

I couldn’t speak. Just nodded, breath ragged.

“Say it,” he ordered.

“Yes,” I choked. “Yes.”

“Then come.”

He drove his fingers back inside me and fastened his mouth to my clit, tongue relentless, pace brutal. My head hit the wall. I screamed his name—short, sharp, broken. My orgasm ripped through me like a live wire. My knees buckled.

Fuck.

When I finally came down, my head was spinning, blood roaring in my ears—but even through the rush of it, I heard the sound of a zipper. The thud of jeans hitting the floor.

I found myself smiling. “No patience?”

“None,” he said, dragging me into his arms. His body was molten heat beneath cold, damp clothes, his cock flushed and heavy against my thigh. “Not when it comes to you.”

He kissed me—deep, demanding—and I groaned into his mouth, tasting myself on his tongue. He backed toward the door, pulling me with him, and by the time his spine hit the wood, I was straddling him. Skin to skin. Slick and open. Hungry.

His cock slid between my legs, teasing, thick, just barely there.

I could feel every inch of him. Every inch I needed.

“You’re going to kill me,” I whispered.

“You first,” he said, gripping my hips and grinding up into me.

I came again. Instantly. Too fast. Too hard. Shaking against him, nails digging into his shoulders.

But it didn’t end.

He caught me around the waist and turned—flipped me like it cost him nothing—and pressed me chest-first against the wall. One hand braced beside my head. The other dragged down the curve of my ass, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.

Then he thrust inside.

I cried out, forehead hitting the wall. He filled me completely, without preamble, without hesitation. Rough and full. Like it was his right.

The floor was cold beneath my feet. The air sharp in my lungs. The whole world narrowed to the friction between us, to the sound of his breath, to the snap of his hips. I tensed around him. Came again.

Still, he didn’t stop.

I wanted him to. I didn’t. I wanted him to ruin me. I wanted him to need me ruined.

When my legs buckled, he caught me again—turned me, pulled me down to the floor with him. And then I was riding him, thighs shaking, hair falling wild into my face. He grabbed my hips, slammed up into me with enough force to knock the breath from my chest.

“Oh my god,” I gasped, curling forward.

He caught me by the throat and pulled me back up. “Look at me,” he growled. “Come for me.”

I did.

And again.

I lost track of how many times. My whole body was tight, flushed, unraveling, and he was right there with me—watching, pushing, devouring every sound I made. Until I came one last time and collapsed forward, boneless, shaking, utterly gone.

And that’s when he let go.

He buried himself deep, growled my name, and came so hard I felt it everywhere.