Page 42 of Trade It All

"I'm never letting you go, Baby," I whisper against her temple as I lay her down on the silk of my sheets. "You're mine now. You just haven't realized it's permanent yet."

I lay her back against my pillows, and for a heartbeat, I just stand there, taking her in. The light from the hallway catches the curves I’ve spent three years trying not to look at, and the sight of her—messy-haired, flushed, and looking at me like I’m her entire world—nearly brings me to my knees.

"Dean?" she whispers, her voice a soft, shaky question.

"I'm here, Baby." I reach for my belt, the leather creaking in the quiet room. "And I’m not going anywhere. But like I told you on the couch... tonight, you do exactly what I say."

I don't just take the belt off; I wrap it once around my palm, letting her hear the snap of the leather. Her eyes widen, her breath hitching in a way that tells me she’s not scared—she’sexcited.

"Hands above your head," I command, my voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that brook no argument. "Both of them. Now."

She obeys instantly, her arms stretching up, exposing the vulnerable line of her ribs and the frantic beat of her heart. I move onto the bed, looming over her, and use the soft leather of the belt to loosely secure her wrists to the headboard. I’m not hurting her—I’m just taking away her ability to hide from how much I’m about to make her feel.

"There," I murmur, my thumb dragging over her bottom lip. "Now you’re right where I want you."

I lean down, my hand sliding around the back of her neck, my thumb and forefinger applying a gentle, steady pressure. Not enough to hurt, just enough to remind her who’s in charge—to make the world narrow down to the air we’re sharing.

"Breathe for me, Maddie," I rasp against her lips. "Deep breaths, Baby. I want you to feel every second of this."

I move down her body, my mouth following the path I’ve been mapping out in my head for three years. When I get to her thighs, I don't just move them; I manhandle them, forcing them wide so she’s completely open to me.

"You're so beautiful like this," I praise, my voice thick with heat as I look at her. "So open. So mine."

I don't go slow this time. I want her to know the weight of the man she’s been circling. I move back up, my hand flat against her stomach, and then—with a sudden, sharpcrack—I let my palm meet the soft skin of her outer thigh.

She gasps, a high, shocked sound that turns into a long, low moan as the sting turns to heat.

"That's it," I growl, watching the way her hips stutter against the mattress. "Give me those sounds, Baby. I want to hear how much you like being handled. I want to hear you admit that you’ve wanted me to take control since the day you walked into my office."

"I have," she sobs, her head thrashing against the pillows, her wrists straining against the leather. "Dean... please. I want you inside. I need to feel you."

"Not yet," I murmur, my hand sliding back to her throat, my thumb resting over her pulse. I watch her eyes go glassy as I hold her there, right on the edge of the abyss. "We’re going to take our time. I’ve waited three years for this, Maddie. I’m going to makesure you remember the first time I claimed you for the rest of your life."

I look down at her, my heart hammering a territorial rhythm. She thinks this is just a night of finally crossing the line. She doesn't see the way I’m looking at her—like she’s the only trophy I’ve ever cared about winning.

"You're mine, Baby. Every moan, every tear, every inch of this skin. It all belongs to me now."

"Dean..." she gasps, her voice breaking as I trail my teeth along the sensitive line where her shoulder meets her neck. "Please... I’m going to lose it."

"Then lose it, Baby," I mutter, my hand tightening just a fraction on her throat, my thumb feeling the frantic, erratic skip of her pulse. "I’ve got you. I’m the only one who's ever going to have you like this. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she whimpers, her body arching off the silk sheets, her wrists still anchored by my belt.

I shift, the weight of my frame settling between her legs. I’m a big man—built for a sport that rewards grit and power—and I want her to feel every bit of it. I guide myself to her, the friction of her heat nearly snapping the last of my coaching restraint. I don't just slide in. I press—slow, heavy, and deliberate—watching her face as I stretch her, inch by agonizing inch.

"Look at me, Maddie. Open those eyes."

She does, and they’re glassy, blown wide with the shock of finally being filled.

"That's it," I growl, my breath hitching as I finally bottom out, burying myself to the hilt. The air leaves her in a beautiful, broken sob, and I stay there for a heartbeat, just feeling the way her body clamps down on me like she’s trying to memorize the shape of me. "You’re so tight, Baby. Like you were built just to hold me. Tell me how that feels. Tell me you’ve been waiting for this as much as I have."

"I have," she cries out, her hips stuttering upward, trying to find a rhythm. "It’s... it’s everything. You're everything, Dean."

I start to move—a deep, punishing rhythm that echoes the way I used to hit the boards. Unforgiving. Relentless. But my voice is all worship.

"Good girl," I praise, my hand leaving her neck to cup her jaw, my thumb dragging hard over her lower lip. "Take all of it. Show me how well you can handle me. Because I’m not stopping until I’ve marked every part of you."

I pick up the pace, the bed creaking under the force of my drive. I’m not being gentle anymore. I’m being possessive. Every thrust is me telling her that she’s staying. That there is no world where she goes back to being just the social media manager who works for my team.