Page 23 of Mated to the Kingpin

A moan slips from my lips without permission—because I want him to. I want him to do every wicked thing those words promise.

He leans down and grips my jaw, forcing my eyes to his. His irises are blue fire, locked to mine like they’ll drag the truth from my soul.

“You’re mine, Claire. Say it.”

“Yes,” I whisper. It’s not just my surrender. It’s my declaration. “I’m yours.”

His mouth crashes to mine, all teeth and fury. And then?—

Then he thrusts.

I scream. A full cry ripped from my throat like lightning. He buries himself all the way to the base and I swear I feel him in my lungs. It’s so much—too much—and somehow not enough.

He groans against my neck, grinding in deeper as if the depth he’s already buried in isn’t enough, as if he wants to crawl inside me and stay there until I forget my name and only remember his.

“You feel that?” he growls, hips snapping hard, making me gasp. “That’s your cunt wrapping around what fucking belongs to it. What it’s been waiting for all this time.”

“Oh my God,” I stammer, wrecked. “Liam?—”

“That’s it. Say my name. You remember this.” His breath scorches over my skin. “You remember it every time you walk.Every time you sit down. Every time you even think about touching yourself—this is what you’ll remember.”

His thrusts are savage now, sharp, punishing, and I can’t stop myself from begging. My hands clutch his arms, nails dragging down his muscles, my hips lifting to meet every devastating stroke.

It’s not like I imagined—not as a girl hoping for stolen kisses and meadow sex and whispered promises.

It’s better.

It’s filthy, raw, maddening.

It’s him.

He’s pressed over me like a shield, hands in my hair, breath on my ear, body driving into mine in a rhythm that feels more like confession than conquest. And with each slam of his hips, I feel myself unraveling. His cock hits some bruising place inside me that drags another orgasm boiling to the surface.

“Liam—Liam I—” I cry out, trembling, light exploding behind my eyes. “Please?—”

“You gonna come on my cock, sweetheart?”

I nod frantically. I’m past words. Past sense. Past everything but the feel of him and the heat between us.

“Then look at me when you do it. Look at me while I own every fucking piece of you.”

I open my eyes—and that’s all it takes.

I shatter.

My orgasm crashes over me with terrifying force. My body locks, my throat goes hoarse, and I can’t do anything but sob his name as wave after wave slams through me. My nails claw down his back. My thighs seize. I shake beneath him, overwhelmed and wide open and completely undone.

“You should see yourself,” he snarls, voice breaking with restraint. “Wrecked for me. Fucking perfect.”

He doesn’t stop. He keeps pounding into me, harder now—as if my orgasm makes him lose what little control he had left. Each stroke drives deeper, meaner, like he’s trying to brand my womb from the inside.

“Beg me to come in you,” he growls, voice hoarse. “Tell me you want me to finish inside, fill that sweet cunt with my seed. Knot you up so I fucking live in you for days.”

“Yes—fuck—yes, do it,” I gasp, everything clenched tight. “I want it. I want all of it?—”

“You’re gonna take all of me,” he snarls. “You’re gonna carry me. Smell like me. Bleed with my fucking name on your lips.”

And then he slams in deep, so deep it hurts.

---