Page 483 of Rosetti Family New York
"This what you wanted?" he pants, gripping my hips as he pounds into me. "To be tied up and fucked like my personal little slut?"
"Yes," I sob, the combination of restraint and his dirty words pushing me higher. "Hell, yes, use me."
He hits that perfect spot inside me with every thrust, and I can feel my orgasm building despite his earlier denial. I clench around him, trying to pull him deeper.
"You feel so fucking good," he groans, one hand moving to rub my clit. "So tight and wet around my cock. Made for me."
The dual stimulation is too much. "Van, I'm coming—"
"Come for me," he commands. "Let me feel that pussy squeeze my cock."
I explode around him, my orgasm ripping through me so intensely that I see stars. My walls pulse and clench, milking him as he continues to thrust into me.
"That's it," he growls, his rhythm becoming erratic. "Such a good girl, coming on my cock like that."
He's close, I can tell by the way his breathing changes, the way his fingers dig into my hips. I want to feel him come inside me, want to be filled with his cum while I'm helpless to do anything but take it.
I let the filthy words fall from my lips. "Fill me up," I gasp, still shaking from my orgasm. "Please, Van, I want your cum."
He buries himself deep and comes, his cock pulsing as he empties himself inside me. I can feel the warmth spreading through me, claiming me in the most primal way.
He collapses against me, both of us breathing hard, his cock still buried in my pussy. After a moment, he reaches up to untie my wrists, massaging the marks the silk left behind.
"How do you feel?" he asks, concern bleeding through the post-orgasmic haze.
"Perfect," I whisper, and mean it. "Completely perfect."
Later, Van works warm oil into my wrists, his aftercare as thorough as everything else he does. The oil smells like lavender, warming under his careful touch as he massages away any soreness from the restraints.
I'm wrapped in his softest sweater, the cashmere like a cloud against my sensitive skin, nested against his chest. I can feel his cum slowly leaking from my well-fucked pussy, a warm reminder of what we just shared.
"Better?" he asks, pressing soft kisses to each wrist where the silk left faint pink marks.
"Perfect," I murmur, stretching languidly. "How are you feeling?"
He's quiet for a moment, still massaging my hands. "I've never told anyone about the court-martial details before," he admits. "Not that, and not the full truth about being restrained while all those men died."
The weight of that trust settles over me. "Thank you for sharing it with me."
"Thank you for staying," he says, arms tightening around me. "For not running when you saw how fucked up I really am."
I turn in his arms so I can see his face. The vulnerability there makes my chest tight with love and something deeper. "Van, you literally had me tied up. Where was I going to run to?"
That startles a genuine laugh out of him, some of the tension breaking. But then his expression grows serious again, stormy eyes holding mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
"What we just did," he says, voice dropping to that commanding tone that makes my pussy clench. "The trust you gave me, the way you let me take you completely…" His hands frame my face. "You understand what this means, don't you?"
The air between us shifts, becoming charged with something that feels bigger than the room can contain. "Tell me," I whisper.
"You're mine now," he says, and the words carry weight that has nothing to do with the restraints. "Not just for tonight. Not just until your family decides I've done my duty." His thumbs stroke over my cheekbones. "Mine in every way that matters. In ways that can't be undone."
"You're very emphatic about the whole 'mine' thing," I observe, even as my body responds to his dominance. "Should I be expecting a label maker for Christmas? 'Property of Van Reyes, Please Return if Found'?"
"Now, that's a good idea," he replies, his surgeon's hands steady even as his voice roughens. "And I know what it means to claim a Rosetti daughter." His eyes search mine. "The question is whether you understand what you're giving me."
I stare up at him, seeing past the careful control to the man who just shared his deepest trauma while buried inside me. The man who's promising me something that goes far beyond protection, beyond duty, beyond anything I've ever been offered.
"I understand," I whisper, and I do. What we just shared changed something fundamental between us. The restraints weren't just silk ties—they were a declaration.
