Page 52 of Ditching the Dragon (Fated Dates)

He grabs my knee and hooks it over his hip, lining his cock up at my entrance.

Bold green eyes fixate on mine, the golden flecks forming into a slitted oval that both scares and entices me.

When he pushes inside, the stretch immediately brings the most immense relief.

I’m sore, and it’s been weeks since he had me last, but none of that matters.

Because my stupid heart is happy to have him here, in bed, with me.

He’s gentle again, his thickness amplifying his care instead of taking away from it. I’m so wet, he easily slides in and out.

I shift my hips against him to encourage him to fuck me harder.

“Yeah, you really hate me,” he grumbles.

“I will if you don’t hurry the fuck up and get me off.”

Wick smirks, the mischief obvious. I know he’s planning something, even if he can’t address it right this second.

But he still gives me what I want. His hips shift and swing forward as he sinks harshly into me.

The pace picks up as Wick impales me on his hard cock. My body heats eagerly at the sensation.

“Wick,” I whisper.

“Fucking mine, Annie. Entirely mine.”

Wick leans in for a kiss, but it isn’t angry in the least. It’s slow and painful. His lips part and his tongue swipes at mine in this sensual play I’ve yet to experience from him.

“Yours,” I whisper back. I don’t think he hears me. I barely say it, but he senses the shift. He pivots on top of me, his arms holding him up even while he pins me to the mattress. He stops moving entirely to peer down at me.

When he resumes his pace, it’s slow and deep.

Wick combs fly-aways off my forehead as he sinks into me with the roll of his hips.

Those hypervigilant eyes are practically slits. Wick takes me in a deep rhythm that never relents. It’s like he realized he didn’t like where we were going and wants to try again, because irate Wick is gone.

This Wick is soulful and earnest and repentant.

He strokes a long thumb over my cheek and watches my lips part for him.

“Mine,” he whispers. “And yours, Annie. Always yours.”

That thought finally sinks in. Yes, we have our problems. He still wants to lock me in the basement.

But I can’t ignore the threads tying us together.

I’m his, but he’s also mine.

I can’t escape.

And I don’t want to.

His pace picks up, his steady rhythm never faltering and patiently pushing me to the precipice.

His earthy, rich scent warms my chest. Slick sweat makes our skin glide over each other, like our bodies are tired of the constant friction between us.

Without thinking, I hook my legs high around his waist so he grazes my clit. He seems to realize why I’ve done it, because he begins to shift in a way that makes him grind against me.

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