Then his hand comes up to wrap around my throat, squeezing just enough to make my pulse race under his palm.
He starts fucking me hard. Deep, brutal thrusts that make the bed creak and my breasts bounce with every slam. He’s not holding back anymore. This is the real Maxim. Raw, dominant, almost feral.
“Fuck, this tight little cunt feels so good,” he growls, slamming into me harder. “So wet. So fucking perfect. You’re taking every inch like you were made for my cock. Such a good girl for me.”
I moan loudly, my hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging in. The pressure on my throat, the way he’s pounding into me, the filthy words, it’s all too much. Pleasure coils tight in my belly.
He squeezes my throat a little tighter, eyes locked on mine. “Come for me baby.”
I shatter with a broken cry, my orgasm crashing over me so hard my vision whites out. My walls clamp down around him, pulsing, drawing him deeper.
He doesn’t stop. He keeps fucking me through it, harder, deeper.
“You’re going to come again,” he demands, voice strained. “Give me another one. I want to feel you fall apart on my cock one more time.”
I shake my head, oversensitive, but he doesn’t relent. His hand stays on my throat, his hips slamming into me, his thumb finding my clit and rubbing in tight circles. The pleasure builds again, impossibly fast.
“Come,” he growls. “Now.”
I come again with a shattered sob, my body shaking violently beneath him. Only then does he let go, burying himself deep as he comes hard with a guttural groan, filling me with pulse after pulse of his hot release.
We stay locked together, breathing hard, bodies slick with sweat. He kisses me softly, almost tenderly, as we come down.
I’m completely his now.
And I don’t want it any other way.
We’re both breathing hard, chests heaving, bodies slick with sweat. Then he gently pulls out and collapses beside me, pulling me into his arms.
After a few minutes, he gets up and disappears into the bathroom. I hear water running. He returns with a warm, wet towel and carefully cleans between my thighs, his touch tender.
“Are you sore?” he asks softly, concern in his voice. “Was I too rough?”
I shake my head, smiling sleepily. “No… I liked it. A lot.”
He finishes cleaning me, then scoops me up and carries me to the bathroom. He’s already run a bath with lavender oil.
The scent is soothing. He lowers us both into the warm water, holding me against his chest as he gently washes my body and then my hair.
I drift in and out of sleep in his arms, hearing him murmur sweet nothings, telling me that this is the best part of the wedding night for him.
When he’s done, he dries me off, carries me back to the bed, and pulls me into his arms. I fall asleep curled against his chest, his heartbeat steady under my ear.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Maxim
I stand beside the bed, watching my wife sleep.
My wife.
The words still feel new, powerful, and deeply satisfying.
Calina is curled up on her side, golden hair spilled across the pillow, lips slightly parted. The sheet has slipped down to her waist, exposing the smooth curve of her back and the soft swell of her breast.
I don’t want to wake her. I hate that I have to. But she needs this.
I lean down and gently nudge her shoulder. “Calina.”
