Page 26 of My Masked Savior
“Mine,” I growl against the back of her neck, hips jerking with aftershocks. “All mine.”
When I finally pull out, I sit back on my heels, transfixed. My cum trickles from her opening, stark white against the warm caramel of her skin. The contrast is obscene. Beautiful.
I drag my thumb through the mess, gathering it, then push it back inside her.
“Every drop stays where I put it.”
Morgan trembles in my arms, aftershocks still rippling through her. I scoop her up like she weighs nothing, carrying her to the bed. She doesn’t protest, just rests her head against my chest, eyes already half-closed.
I pull back the sheets and lay her down, then slide in beside her.
Before she can drift off completely, I hook her leg over my hip and push back inside her. Still slick with our combined release, still tight enough to make my jaw clench.
“What are you...” Her voice is drowsy, confused. “What are you doing?”
“Keeping my cock where it belongs while you sleep.”
She blinks at me, those dark eyes hazy with exhaustion. For a moment, I think she’ll argue, but then her lids flutter closed and she just... accepts it. Her bodyrelaxes around me, letting me stay buried deep while her breathing evens out.
The trust in that surrender twists something in my chest.
I know I’ve lost the plot. Breeding her like that when she’s not on birth control—it crosses every line I’ve ever drawn. Every step I take in my life is always calculated and purposeful. Nothing about tonight has been either.
But Morgan does things to my rational mind I don’t understand.
She makes me want to mark her permanently, to tie her to me in ways that can’t be undone. To keep her safe from everyone—including the parts of myself I usually control so carefully.
My hand finds her hip, thumb stroking idle circles against her skin. She shifts slightly in her sleep, and the movement sends a fresh wave of heat through me. I’m already hardening again inside her.
This is madness.
But as I watch her sleep, feel her warmth surrounding me, I can’t bring myself to care.
I waketo winter light filtering through the blinds, disoriented for half a second before reality settles. Morgan’s warm body is pressed against mine, one leg still hooked over my hip, even though my cock has slipped out during the night.
Her breathing is deep and even, and her face is relaxed in sleep. Without the anxiety that usually tightens her features, she looks younger. Vulnerable in a way that makes my chest constrict.
I extract myself carefully, easing her leg down and slipping out from beside her. She murmurs something unintelligible but doesn’t wake, just burrows deeper into the pillow.
The clock on my nightstand reads 8:03 AM. Work doesn’t start until two, which gives me hours to kill.
I pull on a pair of sweatpants and head to the kitchen, mind already cataloging what I have in the fridge. Not much—I don’t cook often. Eggs, some bacon that might still be good, bread that’s definitely stale.
It’ll have to do.
I crack eggs into a bowl, whisking them while the bacon sizzles in a pan. The domesticity of it feels foreign. I can’t remember the last time I cooked for someone else. Can’t remember wanting to.
But I want Morgan to wake up to something other than an empty bed and regret.
The eggs scramble easily, and I toast the bread. Nothing fancy, but it’s food. I arrange everything on a plate, grab a glass of orange juice, and balance it all on my forearms.
Morgan’s still asleep when I push the bedroom door open with my hip. Sunlight catches the curves of her body beneath my sheets, and for a moment, I just stand there, taking in the sight of her in my space.
Mine.
I set the plate on the nightstand and sit on the edge of the bed, hand finding her shoulder.
“Wake up, princess.”
