Page 137 of The Sin Binders Ascent

I feel him hard and hot against my thigh, and it only makes it worse. Makes me ache to be filled, to take him inside, to make this real in the only way that counts.

My voice breaks when I say his name again. But I’m past shame now. Past hesitation. I want everything. All of him. I want it now.

“Get inside me,” I gasp, fingers still wrapped tight around his wrist, the one that was just inside me, still slick with the mess he pulled from my body.

He freezes, just for a breath. His gaze flicks up, and the look in his eyes is pure ruin.

“I am,” he says, voice low, dark with a kind of humor that drips hunger. “But I know what you mean.”

His fingers slip from me, slow, wet, leaving me empty and aching. I whimper, hips lifting in protest, needing him back. Now.

He shifts up onto his knees, chest rising with each breath like he’s holding back a wave. The rain outside the shelter is louder now, heavy and relentless, but it might as well not exist. The only sound I care about is the rough drag of his breath, the slap of skin as he strokes himself once, slow and hard, lining up with where I’m open and desperate for him.

I brace my feet against the stone, legs parted, eyes locked on his. My pulse is a drumbeat in my throat, in my chest, between my legs.

And then he pushes in. My mouth falls open, and no sound comes out at first. Just air. Just shock. Just the impossible fullness of him stretching me, filling me like he’s been waiting his whole life to do this. My fingers claw at the stone beneathme, desperate to hold on to something, anything, as his cock sinks in deeper, inch by inch, until he’s buried completely.

“Gods,” I breathe.

He lowers himself over me again, one hand planted beside my head, the other gripping the back of my thigh, pulling it higher around his waist. His forehead presses to mine, breath ragged.

“You feel…” he grits out. “So fucking tight.”

I roll my hips beneath him, and he groans, head tipping down, lips dragging across my jaw, my cheek, then finally crushing mine.

His hips start to move, slow at first, drawing back and then sliding back in, the stretch every bit as sweet and maddening as the first thrust. I meet him, rocking my hips to match his rhythm, grounding myself with one hand on his shoulder, the other sliding between us to find my clit.

The first pass of my fingers makes me cry out into his mouth. He swallows the sound, biting my lower lip, his thrusts picking up speed as I grind harder against him.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he groans. “Touch yourself for me. Just like that.”

My fingers circle faster. His hips snap harder. The stone beneath my spine might as well be a bed of feathers for all I care. I’m floating, tethered only by the way he drives into me, the way his body covers mine, the way his mouth finds mine again and again, desperate and deep.

Every thrust slams into that ache I’ve been carrying since the first night in this place. Every grind of my clit against him is another stitch unraveling. My body is heat and sweat and friction, and he’s all around me, inside me, drowning me in sensation I didn’t know I still had the capacity to feel.

His hand slips between us, covering mine. Our fingers move together, rough and perfect, circling, pressing, building.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he growls against my mouth. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

But I do. Because I feel it too. This isn’t just need. It’s obliteration.

“Harder,” I gasp, voice wrecked, raw, my nails digging into the curve of his shoulder. “Faster. Please.”

The word falls from my lips before I can catch it, thick with need, stripped of anything but want. I hate how desperate I sound, how much I mean it.

He stills for a heartbeat. I see it, the way something in him snaps. His jaw clenches. His hand tightens around my thigh.

“Yeah?” he growls, eyes flicking over my face like he’s memorizing what I look like when I beg.

Then he gives it to me.

His hips slam into mine with force now, brutal and relentless, every thrust punching a moan from my chest. The sound of our bodies meeting echoes off the stone walls, wet and sharp and hungry. My back scrapes against the uneven ground, and I know I’ll be sore. The earth here is unforgiving, packed and jagged and unyielding. But none of it matters. All I can feel is him. All I can think about is the way he’s fucking me now, like I’m the only thing keeping him alive.

He’s deep. Deeper than I can handle, but I want more. I take it. I meet every thrust with a lift of my hips, grinding against him on the downstroke, fingers still rubbing tight circles over my clit.

I’m so close. The heat is curling tighter, my thighs shaking, my body slick and shivering with how much I want this, how much Ineedthis. Sweat rolls down my temple. My throat is raw from the sounds he’s dragging out of me, and still, I don’t stop.

Theo’s voice is in my ear, rough and breathless. “Look at you. Gods, Luna. You’re soaked. I can feel how close you are. You’re fucking clenching around me.”

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