Page 157 of They Are Mine

Hard. Violent. Overwhelming.

A cry spills from my lips, my body shaking, trembling, the restraints digging into my wrists as I pull, convulsing beneath him.

He doesn’t stop.

Not until I whimper. Not until I’m too sensitive, too raw, too wrecked.

Only then does he pull away.

I feel his breath against my thigh, feel the wet heat of his mouth pressing one last kiss against my skin.

Then, his voice. Low. Rough. Utterly wrecked. “You’re fucking perfect, baby doll.”

Oh. Oh.

He’s mine.

I can’t believe how right I was about him.

The way he’s handling me, keeping me bound and blindfolded, leaving me aching, desperate, wrecked, it’s perfect. He’s perfect.

I pull at the restraints, just to feel them hold me tighter. God, I love this.

I feel his hands ghosting over my body, teasing, never quite touching where I need him most. He drags his fingertips over my stomach, down the soft curve of my hip, so close between my thighs, then gone.

I squirm, trying to shift, trying to chase his touch.

He chuckles. Low. Deep. Amused.

“Impatient?” he murmurs.

I whimper.

But he waits for me to say it.

“Please, sir,” I breathe. So sweet. So obedient.

I hear the sharp exhale of his breath.

Then, finally, finally, he grips my hips and presses inside me.

Oh. Oh, God.

He’s so thick, so deep.

I can feel every inch of him.

I gasp, body arching, wrists straining, back bowing.

His hand slides over my stomach, holding me steady, keeping me still as he fills me completely.

Then, he moves.

Slow, deep, devastating strokes, dragging himself out before thrusting back in, making me feel everything.

I can’t see him.

But I can hear him.

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