Page 31 of Possession

He should be cowering. He should be pissing himself. He should be begging—and I should be ripping him apart.

Instead, he’s stroking my cheek.

Instead, I’m shaking so fucking hard that I feel like I’m going to fall.

More tears spill down Lucas’s cheeks, but it feels like they mean something different now. “It’s okay,” he says softly, still stroking my cheek. “It’s okay.”

I choke. It’snotokay. Nothing is okay. A week ago, yes. Now, no. This isn’t acceptable.

So why the hell am I letting him touch me, tug at me, pull me into the bed to lie down with him? Why am I putting my arms around him and burying my face against his neck?

Why do I feel like I would die if I had to go back to not having him?

TEN

Lucas

I don’t really understand what happened in the shower. He was fine, then he wasn’t.

But … he wasn’t really fine, was he?

He was upset before we left the cell. I think it was the collar, or at least that was part of it. I don’t blame him for hating that. I hated it too. I hate everything about this situation.

Except … I kind of don’t.

In some weird, unexpected way, I’m actually the happiest I’ve ever been in my life.

Even though I still don’t know his name or anything about his past, I feel a closeness to him that I’ve never experienced. There’s something incredibly honest and real in the wordlessness of our connection. I have to trust my intuition, and I’m finding it to be a good guide, like when I reached out to him while he was angry after the shower. It was scary to do that, but I could tell that what he was feeling wasn’t really anger. It was pain. And it didn’t really matter whether I had an explanation for it, only that I saw it and reached out—and that he accepted my gesture.

I don’t think words could make a deeper connection than that.

That doesn’t mean I don’t have questions, but there’s something pure in knowing him like this, through observation and touch.

I almost feel like I’m getting to know myself as well. Here, with him, I feel free of my identity and history. I’m evolving intosomething else, someoneelse, and it feels like a truer version of me, like what I was supposed to be all along.

It’s so freeing.

Some of that comes from the bareness of this space, the absence of social clutter, but most of it comes from him. His primality helps me access my own.

My intuition.

My sexuality.

I’ve never known desire before, and now I love it. I’ve never known surrender before, and now I crave it, constantly.

With him so often lying behind me, his body against mine, his heat bleeding into me, his arms around me, I’m hard all the time. I want him inside me all the time. I want the rhythm of his body fucking mine. I want him to take me to that place again where I can let go so completely.

Maybe the way I’m breathing gives me away, but he murmurs against the back of my head, and his hand wanders down from my belly to my groin. He hums softly in my ear when he finds my hard cock and starts stroking it.

I sigh in relief. For a while, I just let him stroke me idly. There’s no rush. We have nothing but time, and I can float in the warm, luxurious space of my arousal. But as his cock hardens behind me, I get restless. It’s impossible not to with his erection prodding the back of my leg near my ass.

He releases me to reach between our bodies. He grips his own cock and guides it between my legs. I open for him.

“Ohhh,” I breathe at the sensation of his hard shaft snugged up against my taint and his broad cockhead pressing against my swollen balls. I shudder and clamp my legs together to intensify the sensation. He makes a breathy sound and rolls his hips. His hand wraps around my cock again and resumes stroking.

I start to writhe and whine because it’s both too much and not enough. This is what he does to me. He makes me so hungry, so needy, so sexual. He makes it okay for me to be those things.

He rumbles as I get more restless. Drawing himself up, he rolls me onto my back and repositions himself over me. Settling on his elbows, he rests his cock against mine and starts to frot me with the slickness of our precum.

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