Page 89 of Trove’s Purpose

This was punishment.

This was his bid for control.

He was breaking her, owning her, devastating her.

She screamed.

Chapter 29

Trove

Trove’s head was spinning.

He’d spent years pleasuring females. He knew their bodies better than his own. He could make them dance and sing and bend them to his will. He’d done it so many times, it wasn’t even a challenge anymore.

It had never been like this.

He controlled his Chee absolutely and completely.

But he’d lost control of himself in the process.

He told himself that he needed to slow down, that he was pushing her too hard, that he was going to hurt her. She was going to hate him. She would never want him to touch her again.

But he couldn’t stop.

He didn’t want to.

He’d won. He had his control. But he didn’t have his satisfaction.

Because he had the taste of his mate on his tongue. Sweet juices that filled his mouth, his throat, his belly. He drank from her eagerly, thrilled when more of that wetness seeped from her and fed this hunger he had for her.

Her shaking muscles around his head were driving him forward. Making him do more. Reach for more. Demand more from her. Her skin, just rubbing against his, was a caress he’d never get enough of. Her thighs, so warm and soft and plush, pressed against his skull.

And her screams…

She panted and moaned and begged his name so prettily. It stoked a fire in his belly that he didn’t even know could burn. It put a heat in his blood that ruthlessly razed to ash any lingering fear he might have that she’d touch him again.

Because this was his mate. She wouldn’t do something he didn’t want her to. She wouldn’t use him like a toy. She wouldn’t see him as a faceless customer just there to give her a fun night she could brag about to her colleagues.

This was Chee. And she’d never moved like this for another. She never screamed like this for another. And she never would. She was only his.

As he was only hers.

And really, would it be so bad if she touched him again?

It was an insane thought, quickly buried by the way she shrieked. Her voice, broken and warbling and punctuated with gasps and wordless vocalizations. Because that’s what he’d reduced her to. She wasn’t capable of anything else.

But though she was weak and thrashing, though she was mindless and wordless, her hands were still pressing hard into the bed over her head. Keeping herself from touching him. Keeping herself from violating that barrier he put on her.

He loved that. He adored her for the trust he knew he could place in her.

And he knew he had complete control over her, he knew she was at her limits, but he didn’t want to stop. He didn’t want this to end. He could live between these thighs, just watching her mind melt with pleasure and her body break from overstimulation.

But she was past her limit. And he knew she wasn’t accustomed to something like this. She wasn’t accustomed to being used and broken. He needed to let her have a chance to breathe before she really was shattered beyond repair.

Still, it was only with great reluctance that he parted his lips from hers. His face was slick, with his spit and her release. The scent of her was all over his skin, and he never wanted to wash it away. He would bathe in it, in her, exclusively if he could.

Maybe he would just bathe with her. Clean himself only with her in his arms so that he would always smell of her. So that she was seeped into his skin, and he was in hers, so deeply that they’d never get untangled.