Seraphina’s POV
Fire flooded my cheeks, scorching down my neck. The sheer, raw audacity of it vibrated in my own throat.
Damien froze. The air turned thick, viscous, saturated with the scent of salt still clinging to our skin, the fading sweetness of my child on Damien’s shoulder, and the overwhelming, heady musk of him – sandalwood, and the undeniable spice of male arousal. I felt it shatter through the heat of his palm against my skin, vibrating in the coiled tension radiating from his utterly immobile fra.
He didn’t repeat his question about leaving. He simply leaned in.
His other hand lifted, fingers plunging into the hair at my nape, tangling possessively, tilting my head back just enough to expose the vulnerable column of my throat. My breath seized, trapped sowhere near my pounding heart.
The first touch of his lips was deceptive – devastatingly soft. A sigh tore from . It felt like my first true breath since the world had shattered. Everything narrowed to the burning point of contact: the firm warmth of his mouth moving over mine, the intoxicating heat of his skin inches away, the slightly rough texture of his palm cradling my jaw.
His kiss deepened, turned possessive, stealing my breath while lting the strength from my very bones. A low moan ripped from my throat as my tongue tangled desperately with his.
My hands, paralyzed before, found life. They slid up the hard planes of his chest under the thin cotton of his t-shirt, feeling the frantic thunder of his heart beneath my palms, the powerful muscles flexing as his breathing grew ragged, matching my own frantic gasps. I fisted the fabric at his shoulders, pulling him against with a strength I didn’t know I had. One thick arm locked like an iron band around my waist, hauling flush against the rock-hard heat of his body. There was no mistaking the thick, rigid evidence of his desire pressed insistently against my belly, a searing brand. His other hand swept down my spine, tracing the indentation until his fingers splayed wide over the curve of my ass, grasping possessively, pulling my hips tighter against that demanding ridge.
He propelled us blindly backwards through the open apartnt door. I stumbled, breaking the kiss on a sharp gasp. He steadied instantly. We moved through the shadows of the living room, past the mundane debris of our separate lives, down the short hall to my bedroom. His lips abandoned mine to blaze a trail downwards. He found the exquisitely sensitive spot beneath my ear, teeth scraping lightly before his tongue soothed it. He nipped the curve of my shoulder through the sweater, sending shockwaves of pure electricity straight to the molten core between my thighs.
“Yes,” I breathed, the word raw and dripping with desire. “Damien, *fuck*, yes.”
He yanked the sweater off in one swift, powerful movent, sending it flying. Moonlight bathed my skin. His gaze dropped, a visceral sweep from my throat down over my lace-covered breasts, down my trembling belly, to where my jeans clung.
His fingers traced the swell of my breasts above the lace, brushing deliberately across the stiff peaks. Shivers of electric pleasure chased his touch. He dipped his head, his breath scalding hot against my skin. His mouth closed over the lace-covered peak of one breast, sucking hard, the wet heat seeping through the fabric, the pressure sending jagged spears of pleasure-pain straight to my core. My head slamd back against the fra with a thud, my fingers knotting in his thick, dark hair, holding him fiercely against . I gasped out his na, a desperate plea for more.
He pushed jeans and panties down my hips in one urgent motion, peeling them away. He sank to his knees montarily, his strong hands guiding my legs as I stepped out of them, the rough denim catching slightly against my ankles. They pooled at my feet.
He crushed his mouth to mine again, his scent drowning , his powerful arms supporting . The rough texture of his erection pressed insistently at my softness, spreading my slickness against it. My inner muscles clenched instinctively, trying to draw him in.
He adjusted his grip, holding securely against the fra with one arm banded around my back. His other hand slid between us, his fingers finding the slick, swollen heat of . A thick finger dipped inside, testing my readiness, making cry out into his mouth, my hips bucking against his hand. He growled, a sound of pure satisfaction. He withdrew his finger and positioned himself.
He pressed forward, his cockhead pushing past the tight ring of muscle guarding my entrance. There was resistance, then an exquisitely slow yielding as the broad crown speared . My head thrashed back against the wood, a raw gasp tearing from my throat. He pushed deeper, inch by agonizing, ecstatic inch, filling with a slow, relentless force that burned and stretched beyond anything I could have imagined. He breached fully, driving deep until his hips slamd flush against mine, his balls tight against my ass. He was buried to the hilt, impossibly deep, wedged within my clutching heat, claiming every inch of space. A deep, primal roar ripped from his chest, raw and triumphant, as his forehead pressed hard against mine, our harsh breaths mingling.
“Seraphina...” he gasped, his voice shredded, guttural. “Made. For. .”
“I am,” I sobbed, my nails biting deep into the muscles of his shoulders, my body stretching to accommodate his brutal thickness, my inner muscles spasming around the intrusion. “And you... fuck... you are mine!”
He pulled back, almost entirely withdrawing, the friction excruciating, leaving feeling hollow, bereft. Then he slamd back into , hard, deep, hitting the very depths of my womb with shocking precision. The sound that tore from my throat was wild, feral.
He began to move in earnest.
Deep, powerful strokes that forced my body up the fra, his hips pistoning against mine with controlled violence. My arms locked around his neck, my legs clamped around his waist, riding him, taking the force of his claiming. His thickness stretched wide, the ridge of his cockhead scraping blissfully inside with every surge. My inner muscles squeezed him convulsively, trying to hold him, milk him deeper. His groans turned to savage grunts.
“Yes!” he snarled, his breath hot and ragged against my ear. “Squeeze my cock... Take it... Take it all!” He punctuated the command with a brutal snap of his hips, grinding his pelvis against my clit as he buried himself to the root. Sparks exploded behind my eyes. Intense pleasure, sharp and almost painful, radiated out from where we were joined.
The pressure built, a relentless coil tightening in my lower belly, radiating up into my chest, down my thighs. He shifted his angle infinitesimally, grinding the base of his shaft against my swollen clit as he thrust, brushing a spot deep inside that detonated sensation. An involuntary scream ripped from my mouth, echoing off the walls.
“Right there, Seraphina?” His voice was pure command, rough with animal triumph. He adjusted again, anchoring his thrusts to hamr that spot relentlessly, ruthlessly, with devastating accuracy.
The sounds were obscene: the sharp smack of flesh against flesh, the wet, sucking sounds of my body gripping his cock, the desperate cries he ripped from my throat, the guttural rasp of his breathing. Sweat drenched him, catching moonlight as it ran down his powerful neck, his straining chest. His face was etched with fierce concentration and ecstasy, the cords in his neck standing out like cables.
A broken, ragged scream tore from my throat, raw and primal, the sound swallowed by his mouth crashing down on mine again.
He drove into , once, twice, deep, hard, slamming strokes that forced my wracked body higher against the fra. His hips jerked violently as his cock swelled impossibly thicker inside my still-pulsing sheath. Hot jets of release exploded within , a scalding pulse of his essence that seed to burn its way into my womb. He shuddered against , a full-body convulsion, burying his face in my neck, teeth scraping hard over the tender flesh where his mating mark would soday reside.
“Seraphina... *Mine*... Fucking... *mine*!”
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