“Breathe,” he said, just before he thrust into me, tearing through my hymen.
I clawed at the sheets, crying out as the sharp pinch of pain brought tears to my eyes. He lowered himself over me, his lips trailing along my jawline while I tried to steady my breath.
He didn’t move. He waited—letting me adjust to the stretch, to the weight, to him.
Then his mouth found mine, and I tasted myself on his lips—salty, sweet, his. The scent of me clung to him too, tangled with the sharp spice of his aftershave.
His kiss was gentle. Probing. Perfect.
And slowly, I began to relax.
I felt the blood drip out of me. He felt it too because his eyes met mine and he broke the kiss.
“You feel that blood?” he growled.
I nodded, breath catching.
“That means you’re mine. And if you ever cheat like your mother did, I won’t divorce you. I’ll keep you—and destroy you slowly.”
I nodded again, not about to remind him we weren’t married.
Instead, I placed my hands on his shoulders and rolled my hips.
“Good little toy,” he hissed, pressing forward—rewarding me.
He continued to move back and forth, inch by inch, consuming me.
“There we go. Let me fuck you wide open,” he said, burying his face in my hair.
I clung to his back, adjusting to the stretch, willing myself to breathe.
The pain dulled.
The tension shifted.
I exhaled slowly as the pressure began to build again.
My hands slid down his back, needing to touch, to anchor.
He groaned in my ear.
“Yes, this is all mine. Tight, fertile pussy. Mine to breed. Mine to use,” he rasped, thrusting harder, deeper.
I gripped his ass, lifting my hips in offering, giving him everything.
“Yeah, that's it, give me my tight little pussy,” he growled.
His skin was hot against mine, his chest firm and unrelenting as it pinned me down. I felt his breath on my cheek, the slow grind of his body against mine—chest to chest, stomach to stomach, pelvis to pelvis. Every inch of him demanded I feel him.
And I did. I felt nothing but him all around me.
“Silas,” I breathed his name like a prayer.
He lifted himself on his arms, glancing between us before he ground himself so deep that I cried in pleasure, arching my back. Nothing had felt so good.
“Now to train this perfect little hole,” he muttered like a vow.
He pulled back and thrust hard, slapping against me. I barely caught my breath when he did it again and again. Each thrust stole more of my breath. More of my mind. I clung to him, fingers digging in, crying out his name like it was the only word I knew.
