Page 34 of His Contract Queen

She cries out again, hips jerking up to meet my hand. Her nails rake over my scalp, pulling hard enough to burn. I don’t care. I curl my fingers inside her, stroking that spot inside her while my thumb finds her clit and grinds it in tight, merciless circles.

Her thighs tremble around my wrist, stomach quivering under mine where I’ve braced my body across her hers to hold her down. I don’t let her escape the sensation. I work her ruthlessly until her cries turn fractured and her whole body locks tight. She comes with a broken noise that echoes off the high ceiling.

Her walls pulse around my fingers in hard, rhythmic spasms. I keep stroking her through it, drawing it out while forcing every last little tremor from her until she’s whimpering and oversensitive against my palm.

“Please,” she begs, voice wrecked. “Aleks… please…”

Only then do I pull my hand free.

I lift my head from her breast. A red, wet ring marks the soft skin around her nipple where I’ve been sucking and claiming her. She watches me with glassy, dazed eyes as I bring my soaked fingers to my mouth and lick them clean, never breaking eye contact. Her pupils are blown so wide the color around them almost disappears completely.

I strip in seconds. Then I’m back on her, naked and hard, settling between her spread thighs like I belong there.

Because I do.

I notch myself at her entrance, the head of my cock resting there. I feel how slick and swollen she is from already coming. Her hole spasms, desperate to pull me in before I’ve even moved.

I thrust in with one brutal stroke.

Her nails score down my back, running over the fresh welts she left already. The sting only makes me harder, sending a hard pulse down the length of my cock. I don’t give her time to adjust to me and fuck her hard. My thrusts are deep, relentless as each one bottoms out. Our hips snap together with punishing force, both a reward and discipline for earlier.

Her legs wrap around my waist, her heels digging into the small of my back to urge me deeper even as she gasps and sobs beneath me.

“You belong to me, Katya,” I growl against the shell of her ear, my teeth grazing the sensitive lobe. “Say it.”

“I’m… I’m yours,” she gasps, voice fracturing on every brutal thrust.

“Louder.”

“Oh,fuck—yours!”

I shift my angle, grinding the base of my cock against her clit with every stroke, forcing her toward the edge again even as she’s still trembling from the first orgasm. “You can test and fight me all you want. But you will always end up right here, Katya. Under me. Full from my cock. Marked by me. Dripping with me. Because that’s exactly where you fucking belong.”

“Oh my god,” she chokes out, eyes rolling back in her head, her body starting to seize again.

I slam into her twice more, hard enough to bruise us both, and bury myself to the hilt as I come with a guttural groan that vibrates through both our bodies. Her walls clench tightly around me, pulsing as she comes again. Heat floods out of me in thick, endless spurts, filling her until I can feel it leaking out around my cock, slicking her thighs and the sheets beneath us.

I collapse on top of her, my strength momentarily gone. Only instinct and some shred of sanity keeps me from crushing her as I shift my weight onto one arm, bracing myself above her while my body still cages hers completely.

She breathes hard beneath me, chest rising against mine. She lifts a trembling hand, fingers tracing the line of my jaw with a softness I’m not prepared for. The touch trails upward, slipping into my hair, curling weakly around the strands like she isn’t ready to let me go yet.

We stay locked together like that for a long while. I don’t pull out yet—I can’t. Not when she’s still fluttering around me in soft, helpless little aftershocks that make my breath shudder. The instinct to stay inside her, to keep her close and anchor myself in the one place I shouldn’t but suddenly can’t leave is overwhelming.

I lower my head and rest my forehead against her shoulder, inhaling the faint scent of her skin, letting it soothe and unravel me in equal measure. She feels fragile under me in a way she never does when she’s standing across a room hurling insults or glowering at me.

Here, she feels… almost breakable.

Impossibly precious, even.

Neither of us speaks.

Realistically, there is nothing to say.

The cold war between us filled with barbed words, power struggles, and careful avoidance of what has simmered beneath the surface from the start has fallen into a temporary truce. A treaty sealed with a kind of surrender neither of us intended to give.

With the heat of her body pressed against me and my release still inside her, everything else feels… distant.

Irrelevant.