Page 68 of Pretty Savage: Defy

He waits until I nod, the strands of hair pulling in his hand until they hurt, and then he says a soft, “I’m yours, too.”

His grip in my hair eases just enough for his lips to brush my shoulder.

“This body is mine because you gave it to me.” His hand moves from my stomach, then lower. “This beautiful mind is mine because you let me inside it.” His fingers find my clit, circling with slow pressure that makes my legs shake. “No one, not my father, not the Council, not the Brothers, not anyone, will ever take you from me.”

“Carrson.”

“Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

His cock pushes into me in one hard thrust.

I cry out. Carrson goes frozen behind me, buried deep, both hands locked on my hips as if he has to hold himself there or he’ll lose control.

“Still with me?” he asks, voice strained.

“Yes.” I press back against him. “Please.”

He moves then, not gentle like he can be. He’s rough and possessive, probably driven by the leftover adrenaline from his mission, by the fear of what happened yesterday and the greater fear of what waits for us with the bonding and the sealing. I understand it because I feel it too, this need to claim the love and lust between us as ours before anyone else tries to make it theirs.

There’s nothing graceful or polished about the way he fucks me. My palms slide over the piano’s surface, searching for something to hold. Carrson bends me farther forward, one hand on the back of my neck, the other holding my shoulder hard enough that I know I’ll feel him there later.

I want to. I want proof. I want some mark that belongs to us and no one else.

“Fuck,” he pants. “So fucking good.” He slaps my ass again, harder this time, and it sends a bright buzz through the rest of my body. “Do you like that?” he asks, slowing so he can hear me.

“Yes,” I pant, so close I can barely speak.

“Tell me.” His fingers stroke the heated skin.

“I like it,” I gasp. “Do it again. Harder.”

“How are you so perfect?” he says as he smacks my ass again, then wraps his hand around my front to run his fingers over my clit.

That’s all it takes.

I come screaming his name as the plants listen and the piano crashes under me, my body locking around his while the climax rolls through me in violent waves. Carrson keeps moving through it, fucking me deeper, his hand firm between my legs, his mouth at my shoulder, telling me I’m his, that I’m beautiful, that no one gets this but him.

I’m still shaking when he buries himself deep and holds there, his cock spasming inside me until his warmth overflows and spills down my thighs.

He pulls out of me then, and I hiss at the sting of him leaving along with the burn on my backside.

He rubs me there. “Sorry. Made you a little pink.”

I stand and turn to him, throwing my arms over his neck. “It’s okay. I liked it.”

“You did?” he asks, not bothering to hide his delight.

My cheeks warm. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself.”

“I’m extremely pleased with myself.”

I laugh despite the way that makes me blush. I hide my face in his chest. “I want you to do it again.”

Carrson kisses my hair. “You’re perfect, Laurel.” He lets out a contented sigh. “Perfect for me.”

I wrap my arms around his neck and hold him there, naked in the ruined conservatory, with the piano behind us and the fake passport waiting beside the brass key.