A low chuckle tears out of me, dark and appreciative.
The motion shifts my hips and sinks me another inch deeper. Her walls flutter wildly around the intrusion, pulling me in, trying to swallow more.
“I know how to take care of my valuables, Vex. But I also know how to fuck them into oblivion. Pick your poison.”
“Obviously be fucked into obli—” The rest of the word fractures into a broken moan as I drive forward, seating myself to the hilt in one ruthless stroke.
No gentleness. I can’t. Not when I’ve spent every night since the co-mingling hall jerking myself raw to the memory of her skipping across an empty quarter like she owned the air itself. Not when her scent has lived in my nose like a drug for days, turning every cold punishment cell into a fever dream.
The bed creaks beneath us, sturdy enough to take the punishment I’m about to deliver. Four walls. A real door. No cameras in the corners that I’ve found yet—though I’m sure Doc has eyes somewhere. Let him watch. Let Silas listen from whatever shadowed corner of this ridiculous valley house he’s haunting.
They knew I’d get first blood. It was never a question. The need clawing at my spine since the moment she pressed broken glass to my throat would have dragged the whole asylum down with me if I didn’t bury it inside her soon.
I pull back and slam in again, hard, deep, the wet sound of it obscene in the sun-drenched quiet. She arches off the silk, nails raking down my back hard enough to leave marks I’ll wear like medals. Her moan vibrates against my mouth as I kiss her again, swallowing every broken sound like it’s payment for the weeks of torment.
“Riot—fuck—yes?—”
“That’s right,” I grunt, setting a brutal rhythm. The headboard knocks against the wall in steady, punishing beats. “Let them hear how a real Alpha handles what’s his.”
Her laugh is breathless, edged with that manic delight that makes my blood run hotter.
“Possessive already? We’ve been naked for what, thirty seconds?”
“Thirty seconds too long.” I hook one of her legs higher, opening her wider, and the new angle lets me grind against that spot inside her that makes her eyes roll back. Her scent explodes—cake left too long in the oven, strawberries bruised and bleeding sugar, dark chocolate melting into sin. It coats my tongue, sinks into my pores, rewires whatever was left of my higher reasoning.
She claws at my shoulders, hips rising to meet every thrust like she’s trying to wrestle control even while I’m splitting her open.
“Cocky bastard. What makes you think I’m yours?”
I nip her jaw, then soothe the sting with my tongue.
“Because you climbed me like a tree the second the door closed. Because your cunt is trying to milk my soul out through my dick. Because you smell like dessert and violence and every filthy thing I’ve wanted since you stole my beer.” Another punishing thrust. “And because if any other Alpha even thinks about touching you, I’ll paint these pretty arches with his insides and make you watch.”
She whimpers, the sound so sweet and broken it nearly undoes me. But then the lunatic in her resurfaces.
“Big talk for a man who’s been jerking off in a cold cell to the memory of my voice.”
I laugh against her throat, the sound rough and ragged.
“Guilty. Every fucking night. You gonna complain about the results?”
Her answer is to clench around me deliberately, rippling muscles that drag a groan from deep in my chest. The friction is liquid fire. Perfect. Devastating. I’ve had women. Plenty.
But none of them ever felt like coming home and walking into a trap at the same time.
I peel the ridiculous white dress up and off her in one rough motion—fabric tearing slightly at the seams—and toss itsomewhere behind me. The sight of her bare beneath me steals what little breath I had left.
Scars and ink and smooth, flushed skin.
The velvet ribbon still at her throat like a claim she chose for herself long before I arrived. I latch onto one pert nipple, sucking hard while I drive into her, and her back bows off the bed with a cry that rings through the house.
Somewhere downstairs a door closes. Footsteps.
Doc or Silas pretending they aren’t listening. Good. Let them stew in it.
This moment is mine.
Her hands fist in my hair, tugging me back up to her mouth.
