Page 43 of His Ruthless Claim

My hands slide higher, mapping the curve of her thighs, memorizing every reaction. This possessive need to mark her, claim her, threatens to overwhelm my carefully maintained control.

I have never wanted anyone like I want her. I didn't understand the guys that couldn't keep their dicks in their pants. I was more than happy without ever being touched.

But Skye makes me want everything. Every smile, every laugh, every gasp and moan. I want her to keep it all.

"Then you better keep still." I drag my teeth against her neck, just below her ear. "Wouldn't want to draw attention."

She nods, spreading her legs further and dragging a ledger toward her so she looks like she's hunched over it instead of what's actually going on. The trust in that gesture hits me like a physical blow. I should step back, analyze why she affects me this way. Instead, I let my fingers climb higher, drinking in every shuddered breath and barely contained whimper.

My fingers work beneath her dress, finding her already wet for me. Pushing her thong to the side, I press against her clit first, firm circles that have her biting her lip to keep quiet. The way she writhes against my hand, fighting to stay composed while I unravel her, sends a jolt of possessive heat through my veins.

"You’re mine," I growl into her ear, my voice low and rough. "No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to touch you. You understand?"

She nods, her breath hitching as I slide two fingers inside her. Her walls clench around me, tight and desperate, and I can’t help but smirk against her neck. "Good girl."

Her hands grip the edge of the counter, her knuckles white from the strain of keeping quiet. I move my thumb back to her clit, applying just enough pressure to tease. "Tell me, Skye. Tell me who you belong to."

"You," she whispers, her voice trembling. It’s barely audible, but it’s enough.

I press deeper, curling my fingers just enough to make her gasp. "Say it louder."

"You." Her body trembles as she tries to hold herself together. "I belong to you."

The words send a surge of satisfaction through me, something primal and possessive that I’ve never felt before. It’s not the control I’m used to - this is raw, unhinged, and it scares me how much I fucking crave it.

Her hips rock against my hand, desperate for more, but I slow my pace, drawing it out. "Not yet. You don’t get to come until I say so."

She whimpers, her body shaking with the effort to obey. The way she fights for control, the way she wants to please me, it’s fucking intoxicating. My fingers move slower, teasing her, stretching her until she’s panting against my chest.

"Please," she breathes, her voice broken and desperate.

I press my lips to her ear, my voice a dark promise. "Come for me, Skye. Let them all see how good you are for me."

Her body tenses, her orgasm crashing through her as she bites down on her lip to muffle the sound. I feel her clencharound my fingers, her entire body trembling as she falls apart in my arms.

I don’t pull away. I keep her close, my fingers still inside her as she rides out the waves. When she finally goes limp against me, I just stare at her, a slight sheen over her face and her eyes hooded with bliss.

If anyone had been watching, they definitely know what happened. But my presence tends to keep everyone at bay, and honestly, I wish they had watched. That itch beneath my skin is clawing at me to demand everyone know she ismine.

Slowly, I pull my fingers out and lick them clean. She watches, slack jawed, as I savor the taste of her.

Then I reach for her, my hands shaking slightly as I smooth down her dress, fingers trembling against the silk. The loss of control burns through my veins like poison - foreign, dangerous. I've killed men without blinking. Orchestrated empires falling. Never once has my pulse quickened, my composure cracked.

But here, watching Skye's chest rise and fall as she catches her breath, I'm undone. The usual emptiness in my chest fills with something raw and untamed. Something that makes me want to tear apart anyone who looks at her wrong.

Her amber eyes meet mine as I adjust the strap of her dress, sliding it back into place. That familiar smirk plays at her lips, but there's something softer beneath it. Something that makes my hands shake harder.

"Your tie's crooked." She reaches up, perfectly manicured nails grazing my throat as she fixes my windsor knot. The casual intimacy of the gesture hits like a knife between my ribs.

I should step back. Create distance. Analyze why she affects me this way. Instead, I let her straighten my tie, watching how the light catches the gold flecks in her eyes.

She presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth, gentle in a way I don't deserve. Everything in me screams to run, to lock downthese emotions threatening to crack my carefully constructed walls.

But her fingers curl into my shirt, holding me close, and for the first time since I watched my mother die, I think maybe control isn't everything. Maybe there's power in letting go, in giving yourself to someone completely.

The thought terrifies me more than any gun to my head ever has.

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