Page 90 of Inheritance
A stretch, a slide, a claiming.
My breath stuttered.
He moved with purpose—deep and controlled. His hand still wrapped around my wrist, the other gripping the edge of the desk beside my head.
Every movement was a choice. Measured. No rush. No words.
My thighs wrapped around his waist. I arched into him.
The room faded. There was only him. The heat building again. The soft slap of skin. The ragged edge of breath between us.
I reached for his shoulder, but again he caught me—pinning both wrists above my head this time. His palm pressed flat against mine. Fingers curled between my fingers.
His mouth hovered just over mine.
I felt him everywhere. The weight of him inside me. The restraint in his muscles. The fire in his eyes.
He thrust again—slower this time, but deeper. My back arched off the desk, the edge pressing into my shoulder blades. The way he moved wasn't rushed. It was deliberate, like he was learning something with every pass. The drag of him out, the push back in. Each stroke built on the last.
I couldn’t move. Not really. His hands had mine locked in place above my head. His body kept me pinned. I was open. Exposed. And he looked down like he meant to memorize every reaction I gave him.
I tightened around him. His jaw flexed, a sound catching low in his throat. His rhythm faltered just once, and the next thrust was harder. Not punishing—just needed. Like it cost him something not to give in completely.
He pressed his forehead to mine again, breathing through his nose, steady and close.
“You’re mine.”
I shifted beneath him, trying to lift my hips higher. He grunted and grabbed my thigh, dragging my leg up over his shoulder. The angle changed everything. The next thrust made me gasp. Then another. I was trembling.
“Say it,” he said against my cheek. Not a demand—just something he needed.
“I’m yours,” I whispered.
He let go of my hands. They fell limply to the desk. I didn’t use them. Couldn’t. Everything in me was caught on the rhythm of him pounding me.
He kissed me. Open mouth, tongue slow, like it mattered more than anything else. Then his hand wrapped around my throat—not squeezing, just holding. Holding me still while he watched me come apart for him.
My thighs shook and I clenched around him as the heat inside me snapped, white-hot and flooding. My whole body arched, mouth open but silent. He didn’t stop. He stayed with me, chased it, fucked through it.
I felt him swell. His thrusts turned ragged. He pressed in all the way, hips flush to mine, and came—deep and full, his body shaking against mine as he buried it deep inside me.
For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of our breathing. His weight on top of me. His hand loosening on my throat, then sliding up to cup my jaw.
He didn’t move to pull out. Just rested there. Still inside me, still holding me like I was the only thing tethering him to the room.
Gabriel
She was still shaking when I slowed down. Thighs wrapped around my waist, lips parted, fingers slack against the edge of the desk. Her body gripped me like it didn’t know how to let go.
“Am I forgiven?” She asked.
I held still, buried deep inside her, and waited. Her chest rose against mine, breath by breath. No words. Just the soft sound of her exhale cooling the skin at my throat.
“Yes.”
When I pulled out, it was slow. Careful. Her legs dropped from around me with a slight tremble, her heel catching briefly on the desk edge before slipping free. I caught her with both hands—one at her hip, one at her back—until her feet touched the floor again.
She stood. A little unsteady, but she didn’t reach for anything. Just looked up at me, skin flushed, hair slightly mussed from where I’d had my hand in it.
