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“Mine,” he said almost to himself, and then he started to push in. He did this several times, shallowly thrusting into me, breaking my hymen as easily as he was claiming me as his right now.
A low pleasure-filled moan mixed with my pained gasp. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling that thickness stretching me, opening me up.
He started to slide into my body. There was resistance as he pushed through the tight virginal muscle, and then he was fully in me, his balls pressed right to my bottom. He didn’t wait to give me time to adjust to his massive size. No, Butcher just started pulling out and pushing back in, over and over again. Everything around me faded, the world leaving me, the past and future vanishing.
There was only here and now.
“Christ.”
The way he moved in and out of me demolished my sanity.
And when I moaned, he started fucking me harder and faster, making me take all his dick until I felt my eyes water and my orgasm crash through me.
“Give it to me. Yes.” He hissed out that one word.
He was crazed in his movements, pounding into my body like he owned it.
He does own it. He does own me.
He snaked his hand behind my back and grabbed my hair, gently tugging at the strands, tipping my head back.
The look on his face was feral as he pumped into me, filled me up. His gaze was heavy-lidded as he looked down between our bodies, right where he was buried in me. He watched as his cock disappeared into me. Sweat glistened on his body, and I wanted to lick it all off, to see how salty it was. He lifted his gaze to my face and started really pounding into me, his mouth open as he silently showed me his pleasure.
“I’m coming, Poppy girl. I’m fucking coming.”
The roar of completion that filled the room sounded like a feral animal. He tightened his hand in my hair and I opened my mouth, a silent moan leaving me.
“Christ.” That word spilled from him in a rush. He braced himself on his hands on either side of my head and stayed there, buried in me and breathing hard. “You’re mine, Poppy.” The way he said that, so low, so deep—so completely possessive—I knew it was the absolute truth.
He pulled out of me and we both made a disappointed sound.
For several long moments, we didn’t say anything. Hell, I couldn’t say anything after what I’d just felt and experienced.
My virginity was gone, given to Butcher, because he’d been the one to steal my heart. Our breathing was identical, fast and labored, the aftereffects of what we’d shared and done filling the room and consuming every single inch of me.
I glanced over at him, watching as he lay on his back, his arm slung over his eyes, his stomach hollowing in and out, his muscles contracting and relaxing. I didn’t stop myself from enjoying the view, knowing I was the reason he was so spent. Sweat coated his chest, and as I let my gaze travel down his body, my eyes widening as I took in the sight of his cock, I felt that fire inside me reignite. He was still hard, thick and long, his cock resting on his belly. The length was monstrous, reaching to his navel, his girth intimidating.
That had been inside me.
His shaft was glossy from my pussy, and I didn’t miss the streak of blood covering his dick from when he broke through my hymen.
God, why did that turn me on so much?
“You keep looking at me like that and I’m liable to fuck you again, baby.” He looked over at me and cracked an eye open, grinning, the flash of his straight white teeth coming through the dimness of the room.
My heart skipped a beat at those words and that smile. “I mean, I’m not saying not to.” I squealed when he rolled me onto my back and spread my legs with his body. The feel of his hard cock nestled right against my pussy had that squeal turning into a moan.
“God, I love you,” he said against my throat.
I gasped at the feel of his stubble moving along my neck. He pulled back and looked at me, and I lifted my hand and cupped his cheek. “I love you, too.”
And I did. I really did.
Chapter Fifteen
Butcher
The scent of blood was so strong it felt like it coated you, like you’d just bathed in the red shit.
I stood off to the side, trying to catch my breath, sweat covering my forehead as I stared at a half-dead Henry. My knuckles were bloody and battered, my arms aching from the hits upon hits I’d delivered to the prick.
Shyne had found the motherfucker in no time at all. The bastard hadn’t even been trying to hide, probably because he didn’t know what he was up against. But it wouldn’t have made a difference anyway. We would have found him no matter where he’d been.
