Page 94 of A Secret In The Garden

I nodded frantically, tears slipping from the corners of my eyes. He moved, licking one off my skin. Just enough to break me open a little more.

“I want to see you fall apart,” he said roughly. “Right fucking now.”

Then he shifted, hooked both my legs over his shoulders and snapped his hips forward—harder, deeper. Every thrust a perfect, punishing drag along my most sensitive spot.

A scream tore out of my throat.

“That’s it,” he snarled. “Come on my cock. Let me feel it.”

I shattered into a million pieces. My orgasm ripped through me like a live wire, and Jasper didn’t stop. He fucked me through it—kept pounding into me, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing in the room, my cunt clenching so hard around him, I could tell he was about to lose it.

He yanked out suddenly and flipped me over. Pressed my face into the sheets, dragged my hips up, and slammed back in.

“Stay right there,” he growled, his hand fisting my hair. “I want to watch your back arch when I come inside you.”

I was a mess. Trembling and wrecked, panting his name. He thrust twice more, hard and deep, and then he groaned my name like it gutted him. His hips stuttered as he spilled inside me, his cock twitching with every pulse.

We stayed like that, both of us shaking, his chest pressed to my back, his breath hot against my shoulder. Still joined. Still one.

Jasper kissed the dip of my spine, then the back of my neck.

He whispered possessively, “You’ll never belong to anyone else.” His voice was low and destroyed, like it came from the deepest part of him.

I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. I just lay there—ruined and trembling, my thighs sticky, my breath still catching in little, helpless stutters.

Jasper pulled out, slow and thick, and watched the way his cum spilled from me, wet and glistening as it trailed down my thighs in lazy rivulets. A muscle in his jaw ticked.

“Fuck,” he growled. “Look at that. Still gaping. Still dripping for me.” He pressed his palm to the curve of my ass, spreading me wider, watching me pulse around nothing. “That pretty little cunt’s trying to find me.” Then—without warning—he shoved two fingers back inside of me.

My whole body jolted with pleasure.

I whined, high and overstimulated, but he didn’t stop, just held my hips steady, grinding his fingers deep like he could brand me from the inside.

“Breathe,” he commanded.

His fingers slid back between my thighs, dragging through the slick mess he’d left inside of me, then pushed deep again, two fingers sinking in slow. My hips twitched, still trembling from the aftershocks.

“You’re still open for me,” he said, his tone wrecked but controlled. “Still warm. Still mine.”

I gasped, arching as his fingers curled, working his release back into me with dark precision. It was obscene with quiet, focused intensity that made it feel like worship.

“Let me stay in you,” he whispered, dragging his mouth along my neck. “You let me in. Now you keep me there.”

My whole body clenched around his fingers, and he groaned softly, slowly fucking it deeper into me. When he finally pulled out, slick and shining, he lifted me effortlessly into his arms.

I didn’t protest, just curled into him, limp and spent as my cheek pressed to his chest and he settled us back against the pillows. He tucked one hand beneath my thighs, the other cradling my head, his grip possessive even in rest. His lips found my hair.

Just before my breath evened out, before my lashes fluttered shut, I felt the word against my skin.

“Mine.”

Soft. Final.

And this time, it didn’t feel like a threat.

It felt like home.

Chapter 29