Page 38 of Thunder

"That's what I'm for."

He kisses me, deep and unhurried, and then he settles his weight over me and I feel exactly how much better the hip is this week.

How much more of him there is when he's not fighting his own body.

God help me I've missed this, the sheer size of him, the way he cages me in and takes his time.

He works me over slowly.

That's the cruelty of the forced quietness—he knows I have to stay silent, so he makes it as hard as he possibly can, drags it out, his mouth on my throat and my breasts and lower, his beard rough on the inside of my thigh, and every time a sound tries to climb out of me he stops and waits until I swallow it back down.

"Quiet," he breathes against me. "You wake my kid, this ends. You want it to end?"

I shake my head frantically, wrists pulling against the belt. "Then keep it in."

And then his mouth is on me and I have to.

I have to keep it in, biting down on my own lip, turning my face into my bound arm, while he takes me apart with his tongue slow and merciless, praising me the whole time in that low filthy voice, “good girl, that's it, look at you holding it in for me, so pretty when you're trying not to scream,” until I'm shaking and soundless and right at the edge.

And he stops.

Pulls back.

Leaves me hanging there, wrecked and silent and furious, and I could cry with how bad I need it.

"Not yet," he says, and there's the dominance, all the way back now, no wound in it, just a man who's decided he owns every second of this. "You come when I say. That's how tonight works."

When he finally pushes into me I have to bite the meat of my own arm to keep from crying out.

He feels it, feels me clamp down, and he groans low against my ear and goes still a second to get himself under control.

Then he sets a pace that's nothing like the tub—this is him healed enough to take what he wants, deep and hard and deliberate, one hand coming up to close around my throat, thumb and fingers at the sides, that familiar grounding pressure that pulls me down to nothing but him and this.

"Feel that?" His voice is wrecked and quiet at my ear. "That's me. That's us. No rules on it this time, nothin' in the way, only you and me and the truth of it. You're mine, Presley. Say it."

"I'm yours."

A breath, barely sound at all.

"Again."

"I'm yours, I'm yours⁠—"

His hand tightens just so, and his hips drive into me.

He keeps me pinned and bound and full of him.

I’ve never in my life felt so completely held and so completely undone at the same time.

The belt bites my wrists.

His weight crushes me down.

And under all the filth and the force there's something so tender running through it that my eyes sting even as my body climbs.

"You can let go now." His thumb strokes my jaw. "Quiet as you can. Come on my cock, rattlesnake, let me feel it. I've got you."

I break apart without making a sound.