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Finally, Isaiah came to stand before her once more. His arresting gaze held hers as he deftly undid the fly of his slacks and backed her toward the bed. He lowered his face closer to hers, pausing with his mouth mere inches from her own. “Get me wet.”
She looked down to see his cock was now free, jutting upward. It was long and full. Thicker than she was used to.
Quinley sat on the bed and curled her fingers around the base of his cock. Warm and hard, it pulsed in her grip. She took him into her mouth and licked around his shaft.
“Eyes up, Quinley.”
She lifted her gaze just as he flicked open the top button of his shirt. He didn’t once break eye-contact as he tackled the buttons, and she never once stopped sucking him in and out of her mouth. She kept the suction tight, took him deep, and—noting he liked it—deliberately let the head bump the back of her throat again and again.
Finally, Isaiah shed his shirt and dumped it on her pile of clothes. Damn, his body was just sheer male strength. Flat abs, defined muscle, impressive ink.
His fingers burrowed into her hair gently. So gently. And then they grabbed a tight fistful of it and tugged. “Up.”
Inwardly wincing at the sting to her scalp, she rose to her feet.
His eyes moved over her face, pure male greed simmering there. “Another time, I’m going to fuck this face.” He let go of her hair. “And that pretty throat.” He slowly twirled his finger, his expression one of expectation.
She turned to face the bed. He gripped her hips and—with an easy strength that made her toes curl—propped her onto her knees on the mattress. A hand landed between her shoulder blades and pressed down, bending her over.
And then two fingers plunged deep.
She sucked in a breath as he scissored them. He muttered what sounded like “Tight” and then began pumping his fingers, his mouth trailing suckling kisses up and down her spine. His fingers abruptly thrusted faster, deeper, harder.
And then disappeared.
“First time I clocked your ass,” he began, wedging the fat tip of his cock inside her, “I imagined holding it tight while I fucked in and out of you.” He grabbed two fistfuls of her ass, his fingertips digging in hard. “So that’s what I’m gonna do.” His hips sharply lurched forward, ramming his dick balls-deep.
She didn’t have time to really feel the sharp burn that streaked up her inner walls, or to process how uncomfortably full she felt. Because then he was moving. Thrusting. All that power he kept contained quite simply spilled out.
Clenching his jaw, Isaiah kept punching his cock deep at an insanely savage pace. She was almost unbearably tight, and so fucking hot it near scalded him; made him need more.
So he took more. Rammed into her rougher and faster, filling the room with the sound of flesh slapping flesh.
She was small and slight with perfect curves. Like a living, breathing sex doll. Easy to lift and position her exactly as he wanted her. There was something intoxicating about that.
Power sang in his veins. She’d done that. Given him that. Gifted it to him.
Quinley didn’t fully trust him yet—he saw that, wouldn’t expect anything different. But she’d still surrendered control to him; had still agreed for them to brand each other here and now.
Even though she’d suffered a terrible betrayal, she wasn’t holding back from him, she had the guts to put herself out there. Isaiah admired and respected the hell out of it. Out of her.
Looking at the faint score marks he’d put on her back earlier, he felt his balls tingle. Upping his pace a notch, he dug his fingers harder into the globes of her ass. His grip was going to leave bruises and they both knew it. But she didn’t ask him to ease up, didn’t complain, let him use her as he pleased.
He was fucking high on the thrill of it. So high that his release was almost on him.
Curling over her, he planted one fist on the bed beside her head and clamped his other hand on her nape. “Who’s in you? My name. Say it.” He needed to feel that she knew exactly who was about to claim her.
“Isaiah.” It was a trembly rasp that licked up his shaft.
A growl rumbling in his chest, he sank his teeth deep into the crook of her neck. Skin broke, blood pooled—the taste tore a feral snarl out of him. He licked and sucked at the brand. “You’re mine now.”
A gasp flew out of Quinley as he pulled out, flipped her over, and slammed back inside. Jesus Christ.
An intemperate need thrashed in his eyes. “Bite,” he said, the sound so guttural it was barely human.
He began frantically drilling his cock into her yet again, no restraint, no mercy. The pleasure was spiced by the rhythmic sting of the throbbing mark on her neck.
Clinging tight to his back, she reared up and clamped her teeth around his shoulder, driving them down deep until she tasted blood.
