Elijah palms my ass, squeezing it before giving it a light smack as he runs his cock along the seam of my pussy, letting the tip barely sink in before pulling it away. The constant backand forth of his teasing has me angling my hips to draw him closer.
“Slowly, baby girl.” He says, running his hand down my back as he slides in a few inches before drawing back, “This pussy was made for me, but it doesn’t mean that it can take all of me just yet.”
The position has every thrust lighting me up from the inside, his hips pinning me to the couch so I can’t tease him. Elijah grabs my thigh, squeezing as he slides deeper with the unmistakable pressure of his knot nudging me with every stroke.
“So fucking tight.”He picks up speed, every praise spoken directly into my thoughts. “Come for me. Come all over your mate’s cock.”
I yelp as he pulls my hips back against his, a hand snaking between us to rub my clit. My orgasm overtakes me, the pinch of his knot drawing it out as it finally slides in, rubbing along my sensitive spot with every thrust.
“Fuck.” Elijah groans out, and I can feel his knot pulsing inside of me as he folds his body over me. One arm wraps around my middle while the other cradles my throat, “You haveno fucking idea how much I want to mark you. To make you mine.”
“Do it.” I whimper.
He kisses my shoulder, scraping his teeth along my skin.
Do it. Mark me. Let everyone know I’m yours.
With that command, he bites down, sinking his teeth into my shoulder, his short punctuated thrusts growing more erratic as he finds his release. He continues rocking into me, the pressure from his knot filling me completely. The slow drag against my g-spot has me coming again, limiting his thrusts and keeping us tethered.
We stay tied together, Elijah kissing along my neck and my shoulders, whispering how much he loves me until we’re able to separate. Then we shower and finish off the leftover pastries from Grim’s Bakery in his kitchen. Because, you know, carbs.
“Hey, quick question.” I say, picking apart the raspberry tart, sighing as the mix of sour and sweet hit my tongue.
“What is it?” He asks, leaning against the countertop across from me, looking just as delicious as the chocolate croissant in his hand.
“Am I ever going to get my car back?”
