Page 31 of Mountain Daddy

He fucks me filthy. Leaves me clawing at the sheets. My legs wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper, tighter.

He fucks me like he’s branding me from the inside out.

Like he's claiming me. Like he's marking me. He reaches places inside me that no one else ever has.

But it's not enough. I need more. Need all of him.

I grab at his shirt, tear it open. Desperate for his skin.

My nails rake down his chest, leave red marks.

“You marking me sweetheart?” He punishes me with a slam that makes me slide up. That makes the bed groan.

And I want more.

“Yes,” I gasp.

Something dangerous flashes in his eyes. He pulls out. Leaves me empty. Aching.

“Turn over.”

I flip onto my stomach, breath ragged.

He doesn’t wait. Just grabs my hips and hauls me up onto my knees, ass in the air, back arched—offered.

Exposed.

His.

He drags his hands down my spine, slow and sinful, like he’s tracing a racetrack he plans to win.

Over my lower back, across the curve of my ass—palms firm, fingers splayed, claiming every inch like he owns the rights to my body.

Then he thrusts back inside me from behind—deeper, sharper, devastating.

I scream into the pillow, not from pain, but from the pure overload of sensation.

He’s everywhere.

Inside me,over me, all-consuming.

“That's it,” he growls, setting a punishing pace. “Let me hear you. Let the whole world know who's fucking you.”

His hands grip my hips hard enough to leave bruises. I'll wear those marks like badges of honor.

One hand slides up my spine, fisting in my hair. He pulls my head back, forcing me to arch, to take him even deeper.

“Who do you belong to?” he demands.

“You,” I sob. “I belong to you.”

“Say my name.”

“Nikolai!”

“Again.”

“Nikolai! Oh God, Nikolai!”

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