Page 130 of Freed By the Witchbone Knife

Slow. Stretching me. Filling me inch by impossible inch. I gasped at the burn, the fullness.

“Breathe.” He pressed kisses to my jaw. My neck. “Relax. Let me in.”

I tried.

He worked himself deeper, shallow thrusts that gradually went further.

“So tight.” His voice was strained. “Squeezing me so fucking—good⁠—“

The burn intensified and he was only halfway there. A wave of panic washed over me. “I don’t know if...” My nails dug into his shoulders. “I can feel—everywhere⁠—“

“Good.” He pulled back out, just to the tip, then worked himself a little further. His expression was serious, every bit the alpha as he said, “Because I’ll fit, Rebecca. You were made for me, remember?” Then he pulled out once more and this time, thrust himself in with a victorious roar as he bottomed out. I cried out, my eyes going wide.

He stilled.

For a moment, the pain was so intense I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.

Then he pressed his forehead against mine, squeezed my ass, and said, “Want you to feel me for days.”

I huffed out a laugh. My voice was a little high-pitched as I said, “I think you accomplished that.”

“Good.”

“Just breathe,” he instructed.

So I took a deep inhale, then let it out slowly.

The pain receded. He held still, letting me adjust to the feel of him. I knew enough about knotting to know that when the time came, when the base of his cock swelled, it would be an even tighter fit. And now that my body began to calm, I knew I wanted it—needed it. Needed to feel all of him.

“Ready?” His gruff voice, the promise of what came next, had goosebumps prickling my skin.

“Yes—please. I need you to move.”

He grunted, then pulled back and thrust in again. Harder. I cried out, pleasure sharp and overwhelming. The angle was perfect, the counter giving him leverage.

He started slow, pulling out to the tip, then pushing back in. His eyes didn’t leave mine, searching for any indication of pain. Gauging my every emotion. When he was certain I was okay, his movements picked up and his mouth found mine, one hand holding the back of my head captive as he captured me in a crushing kiss that embodied everything we felt as he pumped into me.

I moaned into his mouth.

“Harder,” I begged, desperate.

“That’s my girl.” He picked up the pace, setting a relentless rhythm, hips snapping against mine. The slap of skin on skin filled the kitchen, mixing with my breathless cries and his guttural groans. “Taking me so well.”

Every thrust hit something deep inside me, some perfect spot that made my toes curl. Made pressure build low in my belly. I was already climbing again, that coil winding tight.

“Brace your hands behind you,” he instructed, changing our position. I immediately did as he commanded. Mindless. Simply desperate for more pleasure.

He unwrapped my legs, briefly slowing his pace, and threaded his arms behind my knees so they were cradled above his forearms. The position spread me wider. Allowed him a front row seat to the sight of his cock disappearing into my sex. My head fell back and I moaned.

His movements picked up. I couldn’t stop staring at him. At the look of pure fascination laced with desperation as he watched himself disappear inside me over and over. His rhythm increased again, growing more wild as his control slipped.

“Look at you,” he growled. “This beautiful cunt. Taking your mate’s cock like a good girl.”

“Axel,” I cried. I was close. Already clenching and desperate as the pressure built in my core.

“Not yet.” He slowed his thrusts to a torturous grind, making me whimper. “Need ye in the bed. Gonna knot ye proper.”

“Axel—please⁠—“