Page 26 of His to Command

"You," I gasp, beyond pride or hesitation. "I'm yours, Hudson. Only yours."

He rewards me with a single deep thrust that seats him fully inside me. We both cry out at the sensation—the perfect fullness, the intimate connection.

"Mine," he growls, beginning a rhythm that's deep and measured. "Say it again."

"Yours." The word falls from my lips like a prayer. "Completely yours."

With each thrust, each possessive declaration, something shifts inside me—a final surrender of self-protection, of boundaries. I've spent my life making myself smaller, less noticeable, less demanding. Now I arch into Hudson's possession, greedy for more, shameless in my need.

"That's it," he encourages, pace increasing as he reads my surrender in my eyes. "Give me everything, Robin. Everything."

His hands grip my hips, lifting them for deeper penetration. The new angle hits something inside me that makes lights burst behind my eyes. I pull hard against the restraints, not to escape but to ground myself in the rising tide of sensation.

"Hudson, I'm?—"

"Not yet," he commands. "Wait for me."

He slides one hand between our bodies, fingers finding my clit, circling with devastating precision. The dual stimulation is almost too much—his cock stretching me, his fingers working me, his eyes devouring me.

"Now," he finally says, voice breaking with his own approaching climax. "Come now, Robin. Let me feel you."

The permission unlocks something primal within me. My orgasm crashes over me in waves so intense I scream his name, inner muscles clamping around him, drawing him deeper. Hudson follows immediately, his rhythm faltering as he empties himself inside me with a guttural moan that might be my name.

For long moments, there's only the sound of our ragged breathing, the aftershocks of pleasure rippling through mybound body. Hudson collapses beside me, not withdrawing, keeping us connected as he fumbles with the restraint on my right wrist.

"Let me," he murmurs, freeing first one arm, then the other.

I immediately wrap my arms around him, needing the contact, the closeness. He reaches down to untie my ankles, then gathers me against his chest.

"Okay?" he asks, pressing kisses to my hair, my temple, the corner of my mouth.

"Perfect," I whisper, boneless and sated in his embrace.

His arms tighten around me possessively. "Mine," he says again, but this time the word holds something beyond ownership—a tenderness, a wonder.

"Yours," I agree, pressing a kiss over his heart. "And you're mine."

He stiffens slightly at the reciprocal claim, then relaxes with a small laugh. "Yes," he admits. "Completely."

We lie tangled together as morning light fills the room, neither willing to break the spell with movement. His hand traces idle patterns on my back, my hip, my thigh—not to arouse but to maintain connection.

"Robin." The way he says my name—reverent, certain—makes me look up. His expression is more open than I've ever seen it, the usual mask of control completely absent. "This is real. What's happening between us. It's not just sex or obsession or temporary insanity."

"I know." And I do. Whatever this is—this consuming need, this recognition, this inevitable gravitational pull—it transcends normal categories. It's not just love, though that word hovers unspoken between us. It's deeper. More primal. More necessary.

"I've never felt this before," he confesses, voice rough with emotion. "Never wanted to."

I reach up to trace the sharp line of his jaw, the fullness of his lower lip. "Me neither."

His hand captures mine, brings it to his mouth for a kiss. "I was dead before you. Just going through motions. Building. Acquiring. Existing."

The vulnerable admission makes my heart clench. "And now?"

His eyes—those steel eyes that first captured mine across a conference table—hold an emotion I never expected to see there. "Now I'm alive. Because of you."

I kiss him then, pouring everything I can't yet say into the press of my lips against his. He responds with equal fervor, equal emotion.

When we finally part, I rest my forehead against his, breathing him in. "I thought obsession was something to fear," I tell him. "Something unhealthy. Dangerous."

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