Page 101 of Her Soul to Own

“That you want me to fuck you.”

I swallow around the knot in my throat. Shame claws at me for half a second, but desire bulldozes it. I want this. I want him. I want everything he’s about to give me.

“Please,” I whisper. “Silas… please. I want you to fuck me.”

His growl is pure sin.

And then he drives into me.

One brutal, deep thrust that makes my eyes fly open and my mouth drop in a scream. He’s big, so fucking big, and the stretch is obscene, overwhelming, and toe-curling. My muscles clamp down instinctively, trying to accommodate him, but he doesn’t give me time to adjust.

He pulls back and thrusts again. Harder.

Then again. Deeper.

The air leaves my lungs. All I can do is hang on as he pounds into me, the slap of skin on skin obscene and echoing in the quiet room, tangled with my gasps and his harsh grunts.

My hands scrabble for purchase on the carpet. My body is on fire, every nerve ending sparking under his touch, his dominance, his complete and utter claim.

“You feel that?” he snarls, his hand fisting in my hair again and yanking my head back so I can’t hide. “That’s what being whole feels like. Not broken. Not ruined. Just fucking mine.”

“Yes,” I sob, the word torn from my throat. “God, yes—yours.”

Silas lets out a harsh sound like he’s losing control. His pace turns erratic, brutal. He fucks me like I’m his salvation and his damnation wrapped into one. And maybe I am. Maybe that’s all I’ve ever been.

And then he slows.

It’s not enough to give me a reprieve, just enough to make me aware of every inch, every thrust, and every growl he pushes against my spine. I feel him shift behind me and feel his hand slip into the back pocket of his jeans. A small, unfamiliar click slices through the air.

“What…” I start, but I don’t get the rest out.

He answers by pressing something hard and humming between my thighs.

A vibrator.

I jolt like I’ve been electrocuted, the sharp buzz sending a shockwave of pleasure straight through me. My arms buckle, and I collapse fully into the carpet as he keeps it there, right against my clit, while he thrusts back into me, deeper now, somehow rougher and smoother all at once.

My moan fractures into a cry as the stimulation pushes me to the edge immediately, my body trembling, slick, and overstimulated.

“Silas… fuck…”

He groans above me, and then his palm smacks my ass again, the sting shocking enough to draw a strangled scream from my throat. I don’t even register shame anymore. It’s burned out of me and replaced with raw, glistening need.

“Say something,” he growls, his breath labored.

In answer, I shove my hips back into him, chasing every ounce of friction I can. “I don’t think I’ve learned my lesson yet.”

“Still so fucking defiant.” His hand grips my ass, then spanks it again—harder this time—right as the vibrator pulses in a cruel new rhythm. The dual sensations hit like a fuse and flame.

I arch my spine as best I can beneath him. “Again.”

His fingers clamp down on my hip. The other presses the toy harder against my clit, dragging it in slow, torturous circles as he fucks me with brutal, relentless thrusts.

“I’ll make you beg to be ruined,” he growls. “I’ll make you forget who you were before me.”

He starts a rhythm, inhuman and perfect. In. Spank. Out. Vibrate.

I lose myself in it. I’m screaming and moaning, uttering incoherent words.

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