Page 75 of Gathered Sparkle

“You can.” His grip on my throat tightens for half a second, just enough to make me fully register that he’s still in control. “Color?”

“Green.”

“Then do what you’re told, precious.”

His voice.

The steady pressure.

The unrelenting rhythm of his cock driving into me. It’s too much. My body locks up, every muscle tightening, my world narrowing to the only thing that matters right now.

Him.

A cry rips from my throat as I shatter around him, this orgasm different from the others, messier, wilder, untethered.

Just pure, blinding release.

My walls clamp down, clenching around his cock, milking him, pulling him under with me. His hips snap up one last time, a ragged groan breaking from his chest as he gives in, his body bowing beneath me.

Koen curses as his cock pulses, branding me with everything he has to give.

My body trembles through the aftershocks while my pulse is erratic, my limbs boneless. His thumb slows but doesn’t stop, drawing out every last ripple of pleasure until I’m shuddering, oversensitive, and wrecked.

His grip on my throat disappears, moving to smooth over the skin he just held, gently rubbing, soothing, like he’s making sure I’m okay.

A whimper slips from my lips, not just from the pleasure but from the overwhelming, inescapable feeling of being his. I blink down at him, my body still reeling, my brain still catching up.

The way he’s watching me, waiting. Not with regret. Not with hesitation. Just… waiting.

When he speaks, his voice is quiet. “Color?”

I instantly know my answer, so I force my tired lips to move, to let him hear the truth of what he really wants to know.

That I’m still here. I’m safe. And I still want him.

“Green.”

His jaw relaxes just before I collapse against him, my forehead resting against his, our sweat-slicked skin sticking together.

His arms wrap around me immediately, securing me, locking me in. Like he needs me close. His breath is warm against my temple when he murmurs, “Mine.”

“Yours.” I exhale, not fighting it, not questioning it.

He tightens his hold on me. “And you’re worthy of every fucking thing I give you.”

Not just my body. Not just my pleasure.

All of it.

I let his words wash over me, let them settle into the places I’ve kept hidden, the cracks I’ve tried to ignore.

Yeah.

Maybe he’s right.

Maybe I’m worthy of him.

And maybe I want to be.

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