Page 78 of Savage Union
“No,” I rasp, thrusting again—deeper this time, more sure. “Not yet.”
Because I needed her to come first. Needed togiveher that.
But now?
Now Itake.
Her nails press into my back again, this time harder, and I can feel her body responding—already sensitive, already trembling.
“Too much?” I ask, voice like gravel as I drive into her with more force now, not brutal, buthungry.
She shakes her head, lashes fluttering. “Don’t stop.”
Fuck.
My control snaps.
I grip her hips, tilting her just right, and start to move in earnest—hips rolling with slow, devastating purpose, hitting every spot that makes her gasp and cling to me like she’s drowning. The table creaks beneath us, her thighs shaking against my ribs.
Every sound she makes feeds something dark inside me. Every whimper, every moan, every broken syllable of my name.
“You feel that?” I growl, slamming in to the hilt. “That’sminenow.”
She nods, dazed. “Yours,” she breathes.
And that’s it.
I lose it.
My rhythm falters, body locking tight, muscles straining as the pressure explodes inside me like a grenade. I bury myself in her, as deep as I can go, groaning her name like it’s a fucking prayer as I come—hot and endless, thick ropes spilling into her, marking her from the inside out.
She feels every pulse of it. Iknowshe does. Her eyes flutter, her lips parting in a soundless gasp as her hips shift like her bodyis trying tokeepit, keepme, like her body already knows what her mind hasn’t accepted yet.
That she’sminenow.
When it’s over, I collapse against her, both of us drenched in sweat, still locked together. Her heartbeat thunders against my chest. My breath is ragged in her ear. My hands don’t know where to rest—her hips, her throat, her fucking heart.
I nuzzle into the crook of her neck, voice low, dangerous.
“No one else,” I whisper, still buried deep. “Ever. Say it.”
She exhales shakily, arms winding around my back.
“No one else,” she whispers. “Just you.”
And just like that?—
I’m ruined.
In the aftermath, I hold her close, her head resting on my chest as our breathing gradually slows. I know we should move—the dining table is hardly comfortable, and Antonia will return eventually to clear the meal neither of us touched. But I'm reluctant to break this moment of peace, this temporary truce in the war between us.
"Are you alright?" I ask again, stroking her hair.
She nods against my chest. "I think so."
"You should have told me."
"Would it have changed anything?" she asks, and I hear the genuine question beneath the defiance.
