Page 38 of Stolen By the Wraiths
"You'll get more," he promised, continuing his downward journey with methodical patience. "When I decide you're ready for it."
When he finally settled between my thighs, his first touch was tentative—just the tip of his tongue against my clit. The contact sent fire through my entire body, and I gasped his name while my hands fisted in his hair.
"You taste incredible," he murmured against my slick flesh, then used his tongue to explore me thoroughly. He mapped every fold, every sensitive spot, alternating between firm pressure and feather-light touches that had me writhing beneath him.
When he sealed his lips around my clit and sucked while pressing two fingers deep inside me, I nearly came off the bed. The dual stimulation was overwhelming, especially when he crooked his fingers to hit that perfect spot while his tongue worked magic.
"So wet for me," he said, pulling back to watch his fingers disappear into my body. "So perfect. So mine."
He added a third finger, stretching me while his thumb found my clit. The combination had me racing toward the edge embarrassingly fast.
"Come for me," he commanded when I was trembling on the edge. "Let me feel your release."
The orgasm crashed over me, my body convulsing while he continued his worship through every wave. But even as I shook with aftershocks, his hunger was building again—a need that went beyond satisfaction into something much more primal.
"I need you inside me," I demanded when I could speak again. "Now."
"Are you certain?" he asked, positioning himself at my entrance while fighting for control. "I don't think I can be gentle."
"I don't want gentle," I said firmly, meeting his gaze. "I want you to claim me like you mean it. Show me what happens when you nearly lose what's yours."
The words shattered his restraint. He thrust into me with possessive power that made me cry out, my body struggling to accommodate his size. The stretch burned before transforming into pure pleasure as those textured ridges found places inside me I'd never known existed.
"Fuck," I gasped, clawing at his shoulders as he buried himself to the hilt. "You feel incredible."
He stilled, letting me adjust, but his control was hanging by a thread. When I rolled my hips experimentally, he growled and began to move.
Each thrust was a revelation. The ridges created textures that rubbed against my inner walls with every movement, while the curve of his cock found my g-spot with devastating precision. When he angled his hips differently, the head pressed against that spot deep inside that made me see stars.
"Mine," he snarled, setting a rhythm that was possessive and demanding. "Mine to claim, mine to protect, mine to love."
"Yours," I agreed breathlessly, matching his rhythm. "Always yours. Only yours."
The pace was brutal and perfect, each movement designed to remind us both of our complete possession of each other. When he angled his thrusts to find that perfect spot, I screamed his name and clawed at his shoulders, overwhelmed by sensation and emotion in equal measure.
"Again," he commanded as I convulsed around him. "Come for me again. Show me how good I make you feel."
I shattered a second time, pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. But he didn't stop, continuing to drive into me with relentless possession until I was sobbing with overstimulation and desperate need.
"One more," he demanded, his own voice strained with approaching climax. "Give me one more and I'll fill you so completely you'll carry me for days."
The promise sent me over the edge again, this climax deeper and more soul-shaking than the others. As my inner muscles clamped down on him, he roared his own release, claiming mine with the kind of finality that rewrote the meaning of belonging.
In the aftermath, we lay tangled together, slick with sweat and trembling with satisfaction. The bond hummed between us with perfect contentment, a connection that had survived the worst and emerged stronger.
"No regrets?" I asked, echoing our familiar ritual.
"Only that it took a torture facility to make me realize how perfectly matched we are," he said, gathering me closer while his silver lines gradually dimmed. "In every way that matters."
I traced gentle patterns on his chest, but when my finger accidentally brushed a particularly sensitive junction, he flinched—just barely, but I felt it. The phantom echo of pain, of violation. The collar's torture had left marks that went deeper than skin.
"We make a good team," I said softly, my touch deliberately soothing now.
"The best team," he agreed, pressing his lips to my temple. "Ready to take on whatever comes next."
The ship hummed around us, carrying us toward a future we would write together.
RESSH
