Page 69 of Beneath the Thorned Crown

She moans, her head dropping forward, her back arching deeper as she meets my thrusts.

"Look at you," I rasp, my fingers trailing up her spine before fisting into her hair, tugging her head back just enough so she hears me. "Taking me so fucking well."

She whimpers, her walls squeezing around me, her body desperate for release.

I reach around, slipping my hand between her legs, finding her clit, circling it with slow, teasing strokes.

"Dominic," she gasps, her voice breaking, her body trembling beneath me.

"Come for me," I order, my voice rough as I bury myself inside her. "I want to feel you fucking lose it on my cock."

And she does.

Her entire body shudders, her moan turning into a sharp cry as her orgasm slams into her, her pussy clenching around me so tight I almost fucking lose it right there.

But I don’t stop.

I thrust through it, dragging out every second of her release, chasing my own high as I fuck her harder, deeper, until I feel my own pleasure boiling over.

With a final, punishing thrust, I bury myself deep inside her, groaning her name as I come, spilling inside her, claiming her in the only way I know how.

For a moment, neither of us moves.

The only sounds in the room are our ragged breaths, the quiet murmur of the city outside, the pounding of my heart.

Her breath slows, my body melting into her as the last tremors of pleasure fade. I put my arms around her, holding her close, grounding myself in the warmth of her skin, the way her body fits against me like she was made to be here.

She exhales softly, moving toward me. She presses her face against my neck, her lashes fluttering as sleep pulls at her. I feel the stress in her body ease, the weight of exhaustion overtaking whatever unspoken thoughts linger between us.

For a moment, I let myself indulge in this. In her.

My fingers trail down her spine, slow and intentional, memorizing the curves of her body, the way she breathes when she’s wrapped around me like this—peaceful, trusting. I hate that I have to leave.

But I know I have to.

This isn’t safe.

She shifts slightly, her lips parting as she murmurs incoherent words, but she doesn’t wake. Her breathing evens out, soft and rhythmic, each inhale and exhale like a quiet plea for me to stay.

I don’t move right away.

Instead, I just watch her.

The way the dim glow from the city outside casts soft shadows across her face, the faint rise and fall of her chest, the small crease between her brows as if, even in sleep, she can sense something slipping away.

I reach up, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. Her skin is warm beneath my fingertips, and for a second, I let them linger.

Then, reluctantly, I pull away.

I slip out of bed carefully, ignoring the ache in my chest, the one I can’t explain. I pull on my clothes without making asound, my movements slow. When I glance back at her, she’s curled onto her side now, one arm stretched toward where I was just lying.

I swallow hard.

Forcing myself to move, I reach for the blanket and pull it over her, tucking it around her frame, shielding her from the icy air that seeps through the room.

I stand there for a second longer than necessary.

Then I turn.

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