Page 86 of You Were Always Mine
I don’t ease up. I don’t slow. I keep hammering into her like I’m trying to carve myself into her body, every brutal thrust staking a claim no one can ever erase. Her cries blur into moans, into sobs, into something raw and broken that makes my blood run hotter.
I sink my teeth into her shoulder, hard enough to bruise, hard enough she’ll feel me tomorrow when she tries to forget—but she won’t forget. Not when she’s dripping around me like this, clenching so tight it’s almost pain.
Her hands slap weakly against my chest, but then she’s clutching at me, dragging me closer, gasping my name like a prayer. I growl into her skin, my jaw locked down on her throat as I leave another mark, darker, filthier, mine.
“You feel that?” I rasp against her ear, biting again, lower this time, where no one else will ever see but she’llalways know. “Every mark. Every inch of my cock inside you. You belong to me, Scar. Say it.”
She’s too far gone, shuddering beneath me, her cries breaking apart as I drive her harder, marking her over and over like I’ll fucking lose my mind if I stop.
Her skin is a canvas, and I ruin it. Bruises blooming beneath my teeth, her throat mottled, her chest streaked with bites, her thighs trembling with every savage mark I leave. She’s wrecked—hair plastered to her face, lips swollen, body shaking as I drag her apart and piece her back together under me.
I pull out at the very last second, her broken cry clawing at me as I fist myself, spilling hot over the bruises I just gave her, painting her stomach, her breasts, her throat. She whimpers when it hits her skin, sticky and filthy, dripping down the ridges of her ribs, and I smear it across her chest with my hand, grinding it into her like I’m branding her with more than just my mouth.
“Look at you,” I snarl, pressing my cock against her slick entrance again, rubbing the mess of me into her folds until she’s gasping, overstimulated and twitching. “Covered in me. Marked. Claimed. You’ll never wash me off, Scar.”
Her hips buck, desperate, soaking herself with the cum I drag between her thighs, her sobs turning into breathless, filthy pleas.
I don’t give her time to breathe. She’s still slick with me, covered in the mess I made, when I press the head of my cock against her soaked folds and shove back inside.
The sound that rips out of her throat is half-scream, half-sob, her body convulsing around me like she can’t take it, like she’ll break in two—but she doesn’t stopclinging to me, nails carving down my back, dragging me deeper.
“Fuck, Scar—” I choke against her ear, grinding hard, burying myself until I’m seated to the hilt, the slick heat of her mixing with the cum I forced into her. It coats me, coats her, makes every thrust dirtier, wetter, more obscene.
Her walls spasm around me, already too tight, already fluttering like she’s going to shatter again, and I bite down on her throat to hold myself there, to keep from losing it instantly.
“You feel that?” I whisper, filthy and raw, my hand fisting her hair while I pound her deeper. “That’s me inside you. Filling you, marking you. You’ll never get me out of you—not here, not anywhere.”
Her whimper is a broken prayer, and it only drives me harder, relentless, merciless, fucking her into the mattress until the only thing she can do is take it.
I don’t let her catch a single breath. Every thrust is brutal, a punishing drive that slams her into her rattling like it’s about to split. My fingers dig into her hips so hard I know I’ll leave bruises—my marks, proof she’s mine.
She claws at me, begs, cries out, but it only makes me shove deeper, harder, until the sound of us is obscene—skin, sweat, and the slick mess of my cum being forced in deeper with every stroke.
Her voice cracks when she screams my name, hoarse and raw, but I don’t stop. I grab her face, force her eyes open to me, spit venom and tenderness all at once.
“Break for me, Scar. Scream for me. You don’t get to hide from me—not ever.”
Her body convulses around me, spasms so tight it almost hurts to stay buried inside her, but I hold her down, grinding through it, refusing to let her go.
She sobs, a broken, desperate sound, her entire body collapsing under the weight of it, trembling like she’s shattered into pieces only I can hold together. And still, I keep driving into her, merciless, forcing every ounce of her collapse to belong to me.
Her body is already wrecked, trembling under me, but I don’t stop—I can’t. Every thrust is harder, deeper, until my vision blurs, until the only thing in the world is the heat of her, the sound of her sobs breaking into screams.
I pin her wrists above her head, my chest crushing hers, teeth scraping down her neck until I bite hard enough to make her cry out, and I grind into that sound like it’s oxygen.
The pressure coils low, brutal, unbearable, and when it snaps, I bury myself to the hilt, spilling so deep it feels like I’m pouring every dark, fucked-up piece of myself into her. It tears a roar out of me, violent, guttural, like I’m being split open right alongside her.
She breaks at the same time—body clenching, collapsing beneath me, sobbing my name like a prayer and a curse while I empty into her over and over.
It isn’t just release. It’s annihilation. Every thrust of my hips as I come drags us both deeper into ruin, shattering us until there’s nothing left but sweat, tears, and the wreckage of two people who can’t crawl back from this.
And when it’s done, I can’t pull out. I’m still buried in her, still twitching inside her, still clinging to her as if I let go the world itself will end.
Her body is limp on top of me, skin slick with sweat, lashes clumped from tears. I can still feel the tremors running through her, and I can’t stop myself from pressing my mouth to the side of her throat, dragging breath after ragged breath against her.
“I don’t know how to stop,” I rasp, my voice barely there, more air than sound. “Every time I swear I’ll let you go, I end up deeper. Worse.” My lips brush her jaw, then the salt-wet curve of her cheek. “I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you.”
Her fingers twitch against the seat, hesitant, then curl into my back like she’s anchoring me. Her voice is hoarse, raw from screaming, but it comes anyway—soft, almost shy in its wreckage.
