Page 55 of Bought
And somehow, despite the painful stretching, I want more. The deep achy burn turns to a burning ache. We keep going until he’s nearly entirely inside me.
I feel him in places I didn’t know existed.
It’s overwhelming. Intimate. Earth-shattering.
I’d only worried about the physical aspect before this night, the unknown of how it would all go.
I never even thought of the emotional side.
It’s the way he touches me as if I am something sacred. The way he looks into my eyes as if he sees all of me and desires every guarded piece.
He kisses me then. Deep and slow. And tells me how beautiful I am. How good I feel. How much he wants this.
I believe him.
I’ve never felt more raw, more full, or more profoundly protected than I do right now.
His hand finds mine, pinning it above my head, our fingers locked. “You okay, baby?”
“Yes,” I gasp.
His other hand cups my hip, guiding me into his rhythm, teaching me to surrender with every movement. The world dissolves into heat and sensation. Pain melts into pleasure, nerves into need.
His hands are firm, guiding me, pressing me down when I arch, pulling me closer when I try to breathe. I lose myself in the rhythm of him.
Demand and reward.
Every thrust is a brand, marking me as his. “Good girl. You’re all mine. You still okay?” His words are husky with restraint. He’s still not moving, waiting for me, holding everything back.
I nod, my throat too tight to speak.
“Say it,” he whispers. “Tell me.”
“I’m okay,” I breathe. “More than okay.”
His jaw clenches. His control is a taut wire between us, frayed and close to snapping. I can feel the tension in every muscle of his body, coiled and shaking.
“You’re so damn tight,” he growls, like the words cost him to say. “Like you were made for me.”
And then he goes harder. The sensation rips a moan from my lips. It’s too much and not enough, pleasure wrapped in pain, and still I arch into him, desperate for more.
He keeps his gaze locked on mine, like he needs to see every reaction, every tremble, every ounce of surrender I give him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t,” I whisper, barely audible. “Please… don’t stop.”
Something in him shatters. The restraint gives way.
My nails dig into his back. I can feel the sweat slicking our skin, the sounds of our bodies filling the room, the sheets twisting beneath us. He leans down, pressing kisses along my neck, my collarbone, my shoulder.
Reverent but filthy.
“I’m not letting you go, after this,” he mutters against my skin. “You understand me? I’m not done with you. Not even close.”
My breath catches. The words shouldn’t thrill me, but they do.
And when I fall apart beneath him, I’m shaking, gasping, and clinging to him like he’s the only real thing in the world. He follows with a low groan, burying himself deep, holding me tight as his release hits.
And he fills me up in a way I’ve never been able to imagine, but now I know.
