Chapter 4: Morning Reclamation
Consciousness returned in pieces. The smell of lavender and linen. A warm, solid weight against my back. A band of heat across my stomach. I kept my eyes closed, letting the memories trickle in like sunlight. The look in his eyes. The way the bed had slammed against the wall. That raw, choking sound he’d made when he came. My hips ached pleasantly, a deep echo of the bruises forming there, shaped like his thumbs. My breath hitched. My body clenched involuntarily at the visceral replay.God. Every perfect minute. I had never thought I would crave being unmade like that. The thought tightened low in my belly. An unmistakable pulse of heat, sharp and sweet. I wanted him to do it again, right now, before the world or my pride could intervene. As if he’d heard the thought, the heavy arm draped over my waist shifted. His fingers trailed down from my navel, rasping through the damp thatch of curls. My entire body went stiff and then melted. Goosebumps raced over my skin.
“Open up for me,” he murmured against the back of my neck. His voice was sleep-rough, a dark command wrapped in velvet. My heart hammered against my ribs.
I obliged, unlocking my thighs with a slow, deliberate roll. The movement was minimal. Just enough. The tips of his fingers brushed against slick, swollen flesh, the simple contact making me gasp. He wasted no time. Two fingers slid into me, a blunt, glorious stretch that stole my breath. My head fell back against his shoulder.
“Christ,” he breathed into my skin, curling his fingers in a slow, maddening rhythm. “You’re soaked. Thinking about it, too?”
I couldn’t answer. I just arched back against him, chasing the exquisite pressure. He was painfully hard against my lower back, a thick ridge of insistent heat.
“Feels like the middle of a goddamn wet dream,” he groaned. His hips ground against me, dragging that hard length through the cleft of my ass. “Woke up like this. Because of you.”
He buried his face against my neck, his own breathing growing ragged as his fingers worked me. “I’m going to make you come. Just like this.”
His promise was a dark root, searing through every nerve. He adjusted his rhythm, his thumb finding my clit, circling with a deliberate, cruel precision that shot fire up my spine.
"Then I’m going to do it again." The words were a growl, a vow. The bed felt impossibly solid beneath us, the sheets cool. The contrast to the heat between us was dizzying.
"I want to feel you tighten around my cock." His voice was low, nearly feral. His fingers pushed deeper, twisting. “I want you coming on both. One right after the other. Just for me."
His thumb pressed harder and I couldn't hold back. A raw, whimpering cry tore from my throat as I broke over his hand, shuddering uncontrollably against him. His lips found the sweat-damp skin beneath my ear.
"Good," he breathed, pulling his glistening fingers free with a slick sound. He nudged my leg up with his knee, changing the angle in a single possessive movement. The air vanished from my lungs.
He entered me in one smooth, hard thrust. I was so sensitive, the fullness nearly painful in its perfection. A sharp, broken scream was my only welcome. He gripped my hip, pinning me in place, and set a fierce, unyielding pace.
"Now this one," he demanded, driving the air from me with every movement. His other hand tangled in my hair, holding my head back against his shoulder. I could feel the tendons straining in his neck. “Show me. Let me have it.”
The pressure built again, a different kind. Hot and full and absolutely owned. My muscles fluttered, clenching hard around him as he pushed me over a second edge, his name a raw wound in my throat. This time, I took him with me. His rhythm fractured and he drove into me, burying himself as deeply as sheathing a sword, his own roar muffled against my skin. A fresh, scalding pulse painted my insides.
He was breathing harder than I was, his whole body shaking against mine. We didn't move. We stayed there, fused together, in the wreckage. He loosened his grip on my hair, his hand sliding down to rest, spent, over the one on my hip. A gesture of exhausted ownership. The silence was different this time. A stillness born of mutual ruin. Unsealed. He kissed the ridge of my shoulder. Light, fleeting.
"This," he whispered into the dawn. "This is what you get.