Chapter 17: The Devil's Dance
The hand on her shoulder was a brand. Before Jade could rip it away, spin and scream, Dex’s other arm snaked around her waist, yanking her backward off the dance floor in one brutal motion. Her back collided with the solid wall of his chest. The guy in the button-down shirt reached out, a protest forming on his lips.
Cole was there instantly, stepping between them. He didn’t shove, didn’t raise his voice over the music. He simply placed a hand on the guy’s chest, leaned in close to his ear, and said something. Jade couldn’t hear it, but she saw the color drain from the guy’s face. He nodded once, sharply, and melted back into the crowd.
“Get your fucking hands off me,” Jade snarled, twisting in Dex’s grip. It was like trying to bend iron.
“You made your point,” Dex’s voice growled directly into her ear, the vibration traveling straight down her spine. His breath was hot and smelled of whiskey and smoke. “Now we’re making ours.”
Cole turned, his blue eyes glinting in the strobe light. He smiled, but it was all teeth. “Public display’s not your style, princess. Let’s take this somewhere… quieter.” He gestured with his chin toward the VIP section.
They moved as one unit, a wall of leather and muscle guiding—no, propelling—her through the press of bodies. People parted for them without a word. Addison’s face appeared, contorted with confusion and then dawning alarm from the edge of the dance floor. Liliana held her back, a firm hand on her arm, watching the procession with a look of intense, clinical interest.
They bypassed the purple booth. Instead, Dex shouldered open a discreet door marked ‘PRIVATE’ beside the bar. It led to a narrow, carpeted hallway, the music becoming a dull throb behind thick walls. Another door, unlocked. Dex pushed it open and shoved Jade inside.
It was a storage room, or a forgotten office. Dim, dusty light from a single bare bulb hung from the ceiling. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with cardboard boxes and cases of liquor. The air was still and cool, smelling of old paper and disinfectant. The door clicked shut behind Cole, cutting off the last threads of the club’s pulse.
Suddenly, the silence was overwhelming.
Jade whirled around, her chest heaving. “What the hell is wrong with you two? You can’t just—”
“We can,” Cole said flatly, leaning against the closed door, blocking the only exit. He crossed his arms. “You danced with him like you wanted him. Did you?”
“It’s none of your business!”
“It became our business the second you decided to use some frat boy to piss us off,” Dex said. He hadn’t moved from the center of the small room, his presence shrinking the space. His obsidian eyes were fixed on her, a storm held barely in check. “You want to play games, Jade? Fine. But you play by our rules.”
“I don’t want your rules!” she spat, the fury making her bold. “I don’t want this… this caveman bullshit!”
Cole pushed off the door. “You’re lying.” He took a slow step toward her. “You’ve been lying since the moment you first saw us. To us. To yourself. All that art school independence.” He was in front of her now, a hair’s breadth away. He didn’t touch her. “It’s a pretty shield. But we both know what you really want.”
His finger came up, traced the neckline of her backless dress. She flinched. “You want to not be in charge. You want to be taken. You want to feel something so real it fucking terrifies you.”
Her breath hitched. The truth of it, laid bare in this filthy room, was more violating than their hands.
Dex moved then. He came up behind her, his body not touching hers but surrounding her with his heat, his scent of leather and engine oil. “You wanted strangers?” he murmured, his voice a low rasp that vibrated in her bones. “We can be strangers.”
His hands landed on her hips, big and heavy and final. Cole watched, his blue eyes darkening, a predator seeing the trap spring shut.
“Let’s show you how it’s really done,” Dex said.
Then his hands moved. One slid around to her stomach, holding her steady against him. The other slid up her thigh, under the hem of her short dress. His calloused fingers found the lace edge of her panties and hooked into them.
“Dex—” His name left her lips, half-protest, half-plea.
He didn’t hesitate. With a single, brutal tug, he ripped the lace apart. The sound was obscenely loud in the quiet room. The shreds of black silk fell to her ankles. A cold shock, then a searing heat, flooded her core.
Cole’s smirk returned, wicked and knowing. He closed the last inch of space between them, his hands coming up to cup her face. “Open your mouth,” he commanded, his voice soft.
When she didn’t move fast enough, his thumb pressed against her lips, prying them apart. He kissed her, but it wasn’t a kiss. It was a claiming. Deep, wet, and possessive, his tongue sweeping into her mouth as his hands tangled in her dark curls, holding her head still for his invasion.
Behind her, Dex’s fingers dipped between her legs from behind. He found her soaked, her body betraying her rage. He grunted, a sound of dark satisfaction. One thick finger pushed inside her, then two, stretching her without preamble. She gasped into Cole’s mouth, a muffled sound of shock. There was no gentleness, no teasing. It was a blunt, physical proof of her own helpless arousal.
Cole broke the kiss, trailing his lips down her jaw to her ear. “Look at you,” he breathed, his own breath ragged. “So fucking mad. And so fucking wet for it.” He bit her earlobe, hard enough to make her cry out. “That’s it. Let him feel it.”
Dex’s fingers worked her ruthlessly, the heel of his palm grinding against her clit. The stimulation was rough, crude, and devastatingly effective. A coil of raw pleasure, barbed and hot, tightened low in her belly. She tried to arch away, but Dex’s arm banded around her waist, locking her in place against the hard ridge of his erection straining against his jeans.
“Please—” she whimpered, not knowing what she was asking for.
“Please what?” Dex growled, curling his fingers inside her. “You don’t get to call the shots now.”
Cole’s hands left her face. He dropped to his knees in front of her, his eyes never leaving hers. He pushed her dress up around her waist, baring her completely to the dusty light. He looked at her, at Dex’s large hand working between her thighs, and his smile was feral. He leaned forward and replaced Dex’s palm with his mouth.
The shock of his hot, wet tongue lashing her clit made her legs buckle. Dex held her upright. Cole ate her like a man starved, with messy, hungry swipes and sucks, his hands gripping the backs of her thighs, holding her open. The dual assault was overwhelming—Dex’s fingers stretching and filling her from behind, Cole’s relentless mouth on her sensitive flesh. The world narrowed to the sensations, to the coarse sound of their breathing, to the slick, filthy sounds of Cole’s ministrations.
Her anger fractured, then dissolved completely. A broken, keening sound tore from her throat. Her hands flew out, one tangling in Cole’s shaggy hair, not to push him away but to hold him there, the other reaching back to clutch at Dex’s leather-clad thigh.
“That’s it,” Cole moaned against her, the vibration tipping her closer to the edge. “Come on his fingers. Do it.”
The command, the sheer filthy demand of it, shoved her over. Her climax ripped through her with violent, silent intensity, muscles clamping down on Dex’s fingers, her vision whiting out for a second. Cole kept his mouth on her, sucking her through the trembling waves until she was twitching and oversensitive.
Before she could even sag in Dex’s arms, he was moving. He withdrew his fingers, wiping them on the back of her thigh. In one smooth motion, he spun her around to face him. His eyes were pure black fire. He unbuttoned his jeans, freeing his cock. It was thick, veins standing out along the length, the head already glistening. He didn’t guide it. He didn’t ask. He lifted her by the waist as if she weighed nothing, pressed the blunt tip against her still-throbbing entrance, and sank her down onto him in one devastating thrust.
The air left her lungs in a punched-out gasp. He was so big, filling her so completely it bordered on pain. She was stretched, impaled, her body forced to accommodate him. He held her there, suspended, his face inches from hers, letting her feel every inch of him inside her.
“This,” he breathed, his voice raw. “This is what you wanted when you were grinding on him.”
He began to move her, his hands vise-like on her hips, setting a punishing rhythm that jolted her with each drive upward. Each thrust knocked a sound from her—a gasp, a moan, his name. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck, holding on as he fucked her in the stark light of the storage room.
Cole stood. He watched for a moment, his own jeans tented, his lips still wet from her. Then he moved behind Dex. He put his hands on Dex’s shoulders, not to pull him away, but to steady him. To be part of it. His blue eyes met Jade’s over Dex’s heaving shoulder. He winked, a cruel, beautiful gesture.
Dex’s pace became frantic, brutal. The shelves rattled with their impact. He was grunting now, animal sounds she felt in her own throat. His control was slipping. With a final, deep snarl, he buried himself to the hilt and held her there as he came, his release hot and pulsing inside her.
He stayed like that for a long moment, his forehead pressed to her shoulder, his breath gusting hot against her neck. Then, gently, he lowered her shaking legs to the floor. She was unsteady, her body throbbing, dripping with him.
Cole was there instantly. He turned her to face the wall of shelves, pressing her front against the cool cardboard. He nudged her legs apart with his knee. She heard the rasp of his zipper.
“My turn,” he whispered, his voice thick.
He wasn’t as careful as Dex. He was hungry. He plunged into her from behind, the wet, tight slide made easier by Dex’s spend. He fucked her fast and hard, one hand fisted in her hair, pulling her head back, the other splayed on her lower back, holding her down for his thrusts.
“You see?” he panted into her ear, his hips slapping against her skin. “You can try to run. You can try to pretend. But this is where you belong. Between us. Taking everything we give you.”
His words unraveled something else in her, a final surrender. She pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts, a wanton sound of encouragement torn from her lips. It was what he was waiting for. His rhythm broke, turned frantic, and with a choked curse, he came inside her, collapsing over her back, his teeth sinking into the strap of her dress.
For a minute, the only sound was their ragged breathing echoing in the small room. The smell of sex, sweat, and dust was overpowering.
Cole pulled out slowly. He tucked himself away, ran a hand through his sweaty hair.
Dex was already done up, his face a mask of dark, sated tension. He looked at Jade, at her dress askew, her legs trembling, the evidence of them both glistening on her inner thighs. Something unreadable flickered in his eyes.
Without a word, he shrugged out of his leather jacket and draped it over her shoulders. It was heavy, warm from his body, and smelled overwhelmingly of him. It covered her completely.
Cole opened the door, checking the hallway. He nodded to Dex.
Dex took Jade’s hand. His touch, now, was different. Firm, but not crushing. He led her, numb and pliant, out of the room, down the hall, and back into the pounding chaos of the club. They walked her straight past the dance floor, past a wide-eyed Addison and a calmly observing Liliana, and out into the cool night air.
A bike was parked at the curb. Dex guided her onto it, settling her in front of him. Cole swung onto his own, the engine roaring to life.
They didn’t speak. They drove through the neon-lit streets to her apartment building. Dex walked her to her door, his hand on the small of her back. At her threshold, he took the key from her shaking fingers, unlocked it, and guided her inside.
He stood in the doorway, a looming silhouette against the dim hall light. He looked at her, wrapped in his too-big jacket, her makeup smudged, her eyes hollow and full of confused shock.
“Sleep,” was all he said.
Then he turned and left, pulling the door shut behind him with a soft, final click. She heard the twin growls of their bikes fade into the distance.
Alone, she slid down the wall to the floor. The scent of them, of sex and leather and man, clung to her skin, sealed inside his jacket. She sat there in the dark, feeling utterly ruined, and more alive than she had ever been in her life.
The tremors took a long time to subside. They were not just in her legs, but deep in her bones, a visceral aftershock that left her muscles feeling both liquefied and acid-etched. She stared at the dark ceiling, the ghost of the storage room’s single bulb still imprinted on her vision. Her body was a map of their possession: a dull throb between her legs, the sticky chill on her thighs, the sharp ache where Cole’s teeth had bitten her strap, the deep, sore fullness inside her.
A raw, swollen feeling. A hollowed-out ache.
And beneath it, a current of pure, undiluted electricity.
“Fuck,” she whispered to the empty room. The word hung in the dark, a confession and a curse. She peeled Dex’s jacket from her shoulders, the leather whispering as it fell to the floor. The smell of him, of them, of what they’d done, rose from it like heat from asphalt. She stood on shaky limbs, shedding the ruined dress as she walked naked to the bathroom. The cold tiles shocked her feet.
In the sterile white light, her reflection was a stranger. Her mascara was smudged into dark shadows beneath her eyes, her lips puffy and bee-stung. A faint red mark bloomed on her hip—the imprint of Dex’s grip. She saw the wildness in her own brown eyes, a feral glint that didn’t align with the art school graduate who curated her life in tasteful neutrals. She turned on the shower, scalding hot, and stepped under the torrent, hoping to wash away the evidence.
It didn’t work. The water sluiced over her skin, but the sensation of being filled, of being used so completely, remained engraved on her nerves. She soaped herself roughly, her fingers sliding between her legs. Sore. Exquisitely, brutally sore. She remembered the unyielding push of Dex inside her, the frantic slap of Cole’s hips. A fresh wave of heat, unwelcome and potent, flooded her belly. She leaned her forehead against the cool tile, breath fogging the glass.
That was the best sex she’s ever had in her life.
The thought arrived fully formed, undeniable. It wasn’t about love, or tenderness, or even respect. It was about obliteration. They had dismantled her, piece by furious piece, and in the ruins, she had found a terrifying kind of freedom. A freedom from choice, from pretense, from her own carefully constructed self.
The buzz of her phone on the bathroom counter cut through the steam. She wrapped herself in a towel and saw Addison’s name flashing.
She answered. “Hey.”
“Jesus Christ, Jade. What the fuck was that? Are you okay? Liliana physically restrained me from charging after them. I swear to god, I’m calling the—”
“Don’t.” Jade’s voice was surprisingly steady.
A pause. “What?”
“Don’t call anyone. I’m… I’m fine.”
“You’re fine? They marched you out of there like a prisoner of war! You looked… I don’t know what you looked like. Shell-shocked. Are you at home? I’m coming over.”
“No, Ads. Not tonight.” Jade walked back into the living room, the towel trailing dampness on the floor. Her eyes fell on the discarded leather jacket. It looked like a fallen animal in the moonlight.
“What do you mean, not tonight? This is psycho behavior. That was some possessive, caveman shit. We need to talk about this.”
“We will. Tomorrow.” Jade picked up the jacket. The weight of it was familiar now. She brought it to her face, against her better judgment, and inhaled. Engine grease, smoke, male sweat, and underneath it all, the specific, dark scent of Dex. Her stomach tightened.
“Jade. Please. Tell me you’re not into this. Tell me you’re going to block their numbers and never see those animals again.”
Jade closed her eyes. She saw Cole’s wink over Dex’s shoulder. She felt the brutal, perfect fullness. “I can’t tell you that,” she said softly.
Addison was silent for a full ten seconds. “Oh,” she finally breathed. The single syllable was packed with understanding, worry, and a sliver of voyeuristic thrill. “Oh, wow. Okay.”
“Yeah.”
“Was it… I mean, after they…?”
“I don’t want to talk about it yet.” Jade’s fingers traced a worn seam on the jacket’s shoulder. “But I’m not scared of them, Ads.”
“Maybe you should be.”
“Maybe.” Jade laid the jacket over the back of her sofa, a deliberate placement. A flag planted. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
She ended the call and stood naked in the center of her pristine loft. The space, with its clean lines and curated art, suddenly felt sterile and false. A set. The jacket on her sofa was the only real thing in it. She did not put on pajamas. She slid between her cool sheets, her skin still humming.
Sleep was a shallow pool she could not dive into. Every time she drifted, the memory would jolt her awake: Dex’s grunt in her ear, the feel of the cardboard boxes against her palms, the taste of her own pleasure in Cole’s kiss. Her body would clench, a phantom echo of the penetration. She stared at the ceiling, her mind circling the undeniable, shameful truth.
It wasn’t just the best sex. It was a door kicked open inside her, revealing a landscape she hadn’t known existed. Dark, demanding, and irrevocable.
A key scratched in the lock of her apartment door.
Her breath seized. It turned slowly. The door opened, then closed with a soft, definitive click. Heavy footsteps, measured and quiet, moved across her floor. She didn’t move. She didn’t call out. She just watched the shadow blot out the moonlight creeping in from the window.
Dex stood at the foot of her bed. He was just a darker shape in the darkness, but she could feel his eyes on her. He smelled of night air and cold leather.
“You came back,” she said, her voice a thread.
“Jacket,” he said, his voice a low rumble.
“You came back for your jacket at two in the morning?”
“No.”
He moved then. Not toward the sofa, but around the side of the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight. He still wore his boots, his jeans. He stretched out beside her, on top of the covers, a solid, warm presence radiating heat. He didn’t touch her.
“Why?” she whispered.
“You needed to know I would.”
The simplicity of it undid her. It wasn’t an apology. It wasn’t an explanation. It was a statement of fact. He was there because he chose to be. The same way he had chosen to take her in the storage room.
“Cole?” she asked.
“Waiting downstairs.”
He didn’t touch her. He just lay there, a silent monolith in the dark, his breathing a slow, steady counterpoint to her racing heart. The space between them crackled, charged with everything unsaid, everything done in that storage room. His scent, mingled with hers now, filled the pristine sheets.
She turned her head on the pillow. In the gloom, she could just make out the hard line of his jaw, the glint of his eyes watching the ceiling. “Why isn’t he up here?”
“My call,” Dex said, the words leaving no room for debate.
“Convenient.” The anger she’d submerged in the shower began to simmer again, heated by his proximity, by the sheer audacity of him in her bed. “You get to decide everything.”
“Someone has to.”
“I decide for myself.” She pushed up onto one elbow, the sheet pooling at her waist. “You don’t get to just take me out of a club, fuck me in a storage room, and then crawl into my bed like some… some guard dog.”
He turned his head then. His obsidian eyes found hers, absorbing the moonlight. “You think that’s what this is?”
“What else would you call it?” Her voice climbed, sharp with a fury that was also a plea. “You treat me like a thing. You and Cole. A toy to fight over.”
He moved fast. One moment he was lying beside her, the next he was hovering over her, a hand planted on either side of her head, caging her in. His weight wasn’t on her, but his presence was absolute. “You were never a thing,” he growled, the low sound vibrating through the mattress. “A thing doesn’t look at me the way you do. A thing doesn’t come on my fingers and then bite my shoulder to keep from screaming.”
She flushed, heat spreading across her chest. “You forced me.”
“Did I?” He lowered his face until his lips were a breath from hers. His smell, leather and night, was everywhere. “You had a choice. You could have kneed me in the balls. You could have screamed the place down. You didn’t.” He leaned closer, his nose brushing hers. “You held on tighter.”
Her breath hitched. The truth of it was a live wire in her gut. “That doesn’t make it right.”
“Never said it was right.” He shifted, his knee nudging her legs apart, settling his weight between them. The hard ridge of his erection pressed against her through the layers of denim and sheet. “It just is.”
She was wet already. The feel of him there, the memory of him inside her, the raw authority in his posture, it all conspired against her rage. Her body arched infinitesimally, seeking pressure. He saw it. A dark satisfaction flickered in his eyes.
“See?” he murmured, grinding against her once, a slow, deliberate roll of his hips. The friction was maddening through the fabric. “Your body knows the truth. It’s your mind that’s lying.”
She wanted to argue. To claw at him. To push him away and pull him closer in the same desperate motion. Instead, a broken sound escaped her lips. It was all the invitation he needed.
He kissed her. It wasn’t like Cole’s consuming, theatrical kiss. This was something else. Darker. Softer in its brutality. His mouth covered hers, his tongue sweeping in not to conquer, but to claim a territory he already owned. It was deep, wet, and devastatingly thorough. He tasted of whiskey and regret. Her hands came up, fingers tangling in the rough silk of his hair, holding him to her.
When he broke the kiss, they were both breathing hard. “Cole’s waiting upstairs,” he said again, as if reminding himself.
“Let him wait,” she heard herself say, the words slurred with want.
A sharp, almost pained look crossed his face. He shook his head, a muscle working in his jaw. “Can’t do that to him.”
The statement, so simple, so loaded with a loyalty she barely understood, sliced through the fog of her arousal. It reminded her of the dynamic, of being a prize between them. The anger surged back, cleaner now, pointed.
She shoved at his chest. He resisted for a second, then allowed her to push him back, rolling onto his side beside her. She sat up, the sheet falling away completely.
“So what? You take shifts? You fuck me, then he comes up for his turn?” Her laugh was brittle. “Is he just sitting on my stoop, checking his watch?”
Dex sat up too, the bed groaning. He raked a hand through his hair. “It’s not like that.”
“Then what is it like, Dex? Enlighten me. Because from where I’m sitting, it feels exactly like that.” She threw her legs over the side of the bed, putting physical distance between them. The cool air on her naked skin was a shock. “You left me dripping with both of you. You paraded me out of that club. And now you’re here playing the noble night watchman? While your best friend cools his heels outside? That’s fucked up.”
He was silent for a long moment. Then he stood, his tall frame casting a long shadow in the moonlight. He walked to the window, looking out at the sleeping city. “He’s not waiting outside.”
“Where, then?”
Dex turned. His expression was unreadable. “He’s in his apartment.”
Jade blinked. “What?”
“He’s in his apartment. Waiting.”
She stood, stalking toward him, her nakedness forgotten in the face of this new violation. She felt him, his presence, the sheer gravitational pull of him, and she was already horny and wet but she was pissed, a confusing, hot whirlpool of sensation.
“You both literally passed me around like a blow-up doll against my will.” She jammed a finger into his chest. It was like poking granite. “I can call the cops on you and tell them you raped me.”
“Cops,” he said quietly. “Raped.”
“You can’t… you can’t just live above me and stalk me and do whatever you want!”
“I didn’t know,” he said, the words flat.
She stared at him. “Fuck you.”
“He’s my brother,” Dex said, the word heavy with meaning. “Not by blood. By everything that matters.”
“And that means you share?” The question was a venomous dart.
A shadow passed over his face. The conflict was there, raw and open for a second. The loyalty, the attraction, the possessiveness warring behind his eyes. “It means,” he said slowly, deliberately, “that I don’t take what’s his. And he doesn’t take what’s mine.”
“I’m not a possession!”
“Aren’t you?” He closed the final distance, his hands coming up to frame her face. They were warm, rough, impossibly gentle. “Look at you. You’re shaking. You’re naked in front of a man you say raped you. And you’re not running. You’re not screaming.” His thumb traced her lower lip. “You’re waiting.”
Tears of frustration pricked her eyes. He was right. Every cell in her body was tuned to his frequency, humming with a terrible need. “I hate you,” she breathed, the words lacking all conviction.
“I know.” He leaned down, his forehead touching hers. “Hate me tomorrow.”
His mouth found hers again, but this kiss was different. It was a concession. A surrender. It was deep and searching and heartbreakingly tender. It unraveled the last of her resistance. She kissed him back, her hands sliding up his hard chest, fisting in the soft cotton of his shirt.
He walked her backward until her knees hit the edge of the bed. He laid her down, following her, covering her body with his. He kissed her throat, the hollow between her breasts, his lips leaving a trail of fire. He took one nipple into his mouth, suckling deeply, his tongue flicking the hardened peak until she cried out, her back arching off the mattress.
He moved lower, his kisses blazing a path down her stomach. He hooked his hands under her knees, pushing her legs apart, opening her to the cool air and his heated gaze. She was completely exposed, utterly vulnerable. She could feel her own wetness, could smell the scent of their earlier sex.
“Dex,” she whimpered.
He didn’t answer with words. He answered with his mouth.
He buried his face between her legs, and the world dissolved. There was no gentleness, no tentative exploration. It was a feast. He ate her like a man claiming his last meal, with broad, languid strokes of his tongue that coated his lips with her essence. He suckled her clit, drawing the sensitive bud into his mouth, applying a rhythmic pressure that had her fists clutching the sheets. He fucked her with his tongue, spearing deep, curling it inside her.
She came hard and fast, a silent, convulsing climax that ripped through her with no warning. He didn’t let up. He gentled his touch, licking her through the shuddering aftershocks, then built her up again with relentless, focused attention. Her hips bucked against his face, seeking more, seeking oblivion. A second orgasm gathered, tighter, brighter.
“I’m… I can’t…” she gasped.
He lifted his head, his chin glistening. “You can. You will.” His voice was guttural, thick with her taste. “You come for me. Again.”
He lowered his mouth, his tongue finding a vicious, perfect rhythm over her swollen clit. He slipped two fingers inside her, curling them, stroking a spot that made her see stars. The coil snapped. Her second orgasm was louder, a broken cry that echoed in the quiet loft. It went on and on, a relentless wave of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.
Before the last tremor had faded, he was moving up her body, fumbling with his jeans. He freed his cock, thick and straining, the head already wet. He pressed it against her soaked entrance.
He didn’t ask. He looked into her eyes, his own black with a need that mirrored hers. She nodded, a tiny, desperate movement.
He pushed inside. The stretch was profound, a delicious burn that made her gasp. He filled her completely, a solid, unyielding presence that anchored her to the earth. He didn’t move for a long moment, just letting her feel him, letting her adjust to the sheer size of him.
Then he began to move. Slow, deep, measured strokes that pushed the air from her lungs. Each thrust dragged against that exquisite, sensitive spot, reigniting the embers of her climax. She wrapped her legs high around his waist, locking her ankles, pulling him deeper.
“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice strained.
She opened her eyes. His face was above hers, a mask of fierce concentration, of raw, undisguised hunger. Sweat beaded on his temple. She saw the tattoos on his neck pulse with the effort of his restraint.
“This,” he grunted, driving into her, “is mine.”
He was claiming her. Not just her body, but the chaos inside her. The frustration, the anger, the untamed want. He was fucking it all into submission, into coherence. His pace increased, becoming harder, faster. The bed slammed against the wall in a steady, brutal rhythm. He dipped his head, his teeth grazing her collar bone, not biting, just a warning of possession.
Her third orgasm built, a tsunami from the depths of her gut. It wasn’t sweet or sharp. It was a deep, rolling quake that started where they were joined and radiated outward, melting her bones, blurring her