Page 67 of A Secret In The Garden

“No, Eliza. Not that sound.” Another thrust. Controlled. Brutal. “I want the one you make when you forget your own name.”

“Jasper…” I moaned against his ear as I held him tighter. I tried to grab something but there was nothing. No edge. No wall. No thought. Just him.

“You’ll cry so sweet,” he murmured. “I’ll keep you right here—legs wide, voice shaking—and I’ll fuck you through every second of it.”

I bit his lip. “Jasper⁠—”

“You don’t need to speak,” he growled. “Just keep taking it.”

My body jolted as he shifted his angle. His hand slid up my stomach, slow and possessive.

“You feel that?” he whispered. “That’s me.” He pressed his palm flat beneath my ribs. “I’m so deep in you right now, your heartbeat’s trying to sync to mine.”

I broke. Soft and high, the sound ripped out of my throat like a prayer and a surrender.

“There you are,” he said, breath hot against my neck. “That’s what I wanted.”

I was trembling. Completely wrecked, gone.

“Fuck, Eliza,” he moaned, and his chest rumbled. He leaned back as he slid his cock all the way back inside of me until he lifted me up slightly, then pulled halfway out, repeating the action.

We were both open mouthed and panting as we clung desperately to one another.

The cold stone bit into my ass as our pace grew frantic, my moans growing louder the more pleasure my body felt.

“You’ll still feel me tomorrow,” he whispered. “Between your legs. In your bones. In your fucking spine.”

“Jasper…oh, god, Jasper.”

“And you’ll want it again,” he said, slow and cruel and tender. “You’ll hate how much.” Another thrust.

My back hit the stone again. I gasped, eyes wide, lips parted, completely lost in the sensation of him. Of this. Of the way he refused to let me drift anywhere but under him.

“You think I’m done?” Jasper growled.

“I—no—” I choked out.

“Good.”

His hand came to my throat—not squeezing, just resting. Claiming. I knew he could feel my pulse flutter beneath his fingers when he smiled.

“You’re not even close.”

He dragged himself out slowly, then slammed back in, hard enough to steal my breath. Again. And again. Until my legs trembled and my hips tilted toward him, desperate.

“Look at you,” he said. “Fucking begging without a word.”

I whimpered and clung to his arms for fear they wouldn’t hold me and I would fall.

He kissed me, opened mouthed, hungry, mean. He bit my lower lip, pulled and kissed me again like he hated how good I tasted.

“I’d keep you up here all night,” he muttered. “Use you until you forget what it feels like to be empty.”

I moaned—sharp and aching.

“You’d cry,” he whispered, his lips dragging down my neck. “And I’d fuck you harder—just to see how long you could take it.”

Another thrust. My head dropped back. His hand caught it, held me steady.