Page 59 of What If I Hate You
"You're mine," I growl against her ear, my voice barely recognizable. "Say it."
"I'm yours," she gasps, her walls fluttering around me. "And you're mine, Bear. All mine."
The possessiveness in her voice sends a fresh wave of heat through me. I've never wanted to belong to anyone before, but with Blakely, the thought of being claimed makes me harder than steel. I release her hair to grip her hip again, holding her steady as I drive into her with renewed force.
Her nails scrape against the tile as she braces herself, her body trembling with each thrust. I'm consumed by her. The way her back arches, the sweet curve of her spine, the perfect roundness of her ass as it meets my hips. I'm drunk on the power of making Blakely Rivers, the woman who terrifies men twice her size with just a glance, come undone beneath me.
"Fuck, I'm close," she moans, her voice ragged and desperate. "Don't stop, Bear. Please don't stop."
I increase my pace, my fingers working her clit with ruthless precision as I slam into her over and over. The kitchen is filled with the obscene symphony of our bodies, skin slapping against skin, her breathless moans, my guttural groans, as her pussy takes me deeper with each thrust.
"Come for me. Let me feel you come all over my cock," I command, my voice raw with need. "I want to feel you shatter around me."
She responds with a broken cry, her entire body tensing as the orgasm rips through her. Her pussy clenches around me in rhythmic pulses, milking my cock with such intensity that my vision blurs at the edges. I continue driving into her through her climax, prolonging the waves of pleasure that have her sobbing my name.
"That's it, sweetheart. That’s a good fucking girl," I growl, feeling my own release building at the base of my spine. "Take it all."
Her arms give out completely, and she collapses forward, her cheek pressed against the cool tile as her body continues to tremble. The sight of her completely wrecked beneath me pushes me closer to the edge. I grab her hips and haul her back up, impaling her on my cock with such force that she screams my name. Her body is limp with pleasure, completely surrendered to me, and the power of it drives me to the brink.
"I'm going to fill you up," I growl, my rhythm becoming erratic as I chase my release. "Going to mark you from the inside out."
"Yes," she moans, her voice hoarse from screaming. "Please, Bear. I want to feel it."
Her words are my undoing. With a roar that tears from the depths of my chest, I slam into her one final time and explode, pumping her full of my release as stars burst behind my eyelids. The pleasure is so intense it's almost painful, wave after wave crashing through me as I empty inside her.
I collapse forward, barely catching myself on my forearms to avoid crushing her beneath me. We're both panting, sweat-slicked, and trembling in the aftermath. I can feel my release leaking from her, marking my kitchen floor, and I've never seen anything so goddamn perfect in my life. I press my forehead between her shoulder blades, my breath hot against her skin as I struggle to remember how to breathe normally.
Holy fuck.
That just happened.
"Jesus Christ," I whisper against her spine, pressing a soft kiss to the vertebra that juts out prominently. "Are you okay?"
She makes a noise—half laugh, half groan—and turns her head to look at me over her shoulder. Her eyes are glazed, her lips swollen from my kisses, her hair a wild tangle around her flushed face. She's never looked more beautiful.
"If I say yes, will you do that again?" she asks, her voice deliciously hoarse from screaming.
I can't help but laugh, the sound rumbling from deep in my chest. "Give me five minutes to remember how to breathe, and I'll fuck you on every surface in this apartment."
I carefully pull out of her, both of us groaning at the sensation, and roll onto my back beside her on the cold tile. My chest heaves as I stare at the ceiling, my body humming withsatisfaction. Killer chooses this moment to reappear, meowing indignantly from the doorway as if offended by our display.
"Your cat's judging us," Blakely says, her voice raspy as she turns to face me, wincing slightly at the movement.
"He'll get over it," I say, reaching out to trace the marks I've left on her body; purple bruises blooming on her neck, red handprints on her hips, bite marks scattered across her collarbone and breasts. She's a masterpiece of my own making, and something primal in me thrills at the sight.
"You're staring," she states, reaching out to trace the scratches she left on my chest.
"Can't help it. You're fucking beautiful," I say, pulling her against me despite the hard floor beneath us. "Especially covered in my marks."
She smiles, a lazy, satisfied thing that makes my chest tighten in a way that has nothing to do with sex. "I think I marked you pretty good too." Her fingers trace a particularly deep scratch on my shoulder. "This one might scar."
"Good," I say, kissing her forehead. "I want the reminder."
"I didn't mean to claw you up so badly."
"Yes, you did," I counter. "And I fucking loved it."
We lie there in comfortable silence, our breathing gradually slowing, her head on my chest and my arm wrapped around her. Killer eventually approaches, sniffing curiously at our tangled limbs before deciding we're not worth his attention and wandering off again. I feel Blakely shiver against me as the sweat cools on her skin.
