Page 196 of Primal

“Relax.” His teeth graze my shoulder blade. “Just me.”

One thick finger presses in—claiming space, millimeter by millimeter, until the resistance gives.

My spine arches. My lungs forget how air works.

“Breathe,” he murmurs against my nape. “I’ve got you.”

He works deeper. Through the burn. Until his knuckles nest against me and I’m full in a way that claws past physical.

Another finger—rougher this time. My thighs spread wider.

He nips my nape. Licks away the sting. His thumb glides over my clit in a lazy, too-soft stroke.

Fuck. I ride his hand.

“Look at you. Taking me like you fucking missed this.”

I whimper. Because I did.

He’s not just opening my body—he’s proving I can still feel after everything.

His fingers slip free with a wet sound, leaving me aching. Empty.

His cock slides up the cleft of my ass.

The tip presses in—blunt, insistent. My mouth goes dry.

He groans into the curve of my spine.

I clench on instinct. His weight keeps me from bucking him off.

“Relax,” he coos. “Let me in.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting the pull—trying not to return to that altar, the cameras, the stains—

“It’s just me, Payton.” A low, soothing rumble in his throat. “Just us.”

He works past the resistance and finally stops moving—the thick head of his cock lodged inside my ass.

His body covers mine, one hand locked around my wrist, the other teasing my clit.

“Ready?”

I nod frantically, the mattress biting into my cheek.

One long, hard thrust and he’s in.

The stretch steals the air from my lungs. All at once, he’s everywhere—above me, inside me, around me.

It burns. It hurts, but hell, I’d take this fire a thousand times over waking up alone.

“Okay?” he rasps.

I nod, unable to speak, too full. Of him. Of everything we’ve held back.

He moves—quick, hot thrusts at first, then deeper, harder—the rhythm somehow new and familiar at once. My nipples rub against the mattress with each stroke.

The burn’s gone, replaced by white-hot need. I bite down on a curse. Grind back against him.