Wrecked by His Touch

Yagrov’s POV

“Forty and still single. That’s gotta be a record, right?” Dren, my cousin mocked, leaning back in his seat, swirling the amber liquid in his glass as he smirked at me. “Come on, Yagrov. What the hell are you waiting for? Retirement?”

The rest of my cousins roared with laughter. I exhaled slowly, shaking my head with a slow, amused tilt of my lips. I had expected this, hell, I knew the moment they dragged me here tonight that it wasn’t just about celebrating my birthday. These bastards had been waiting for the chance to roast me alive, and now that they had me cornered with a whiskey in my hand and nowhere else to be, they were going to take every shot they could.

“You know, Yagrov, there’s only so long you can use the whole ‘dedicated soldier’excuse,” one of my cousins, Ryker, added. “You’re not exactly out there on the frontlines anymore. So what’s the deal, man? You seriously not getting any action?”

The laughter doubled, and I could already feel the incoming onslaught of more relentless teasing.

“Maybe he’s just picky,” Lucio chimed in. “Or maybe… our dear Yagrov here is still hung up on a certain someone.”

And just like that, the air shifted.

The name hadn’t even been spoken yet, but the moment the insinuation hung in the air, I knew what was coming. My fingers curled slightly around my glass, the ice inside clinking softly against the crystal, but I said nothing.

“Ah, shit,” Dren grinned, his voice full of exaggerated realization. “It’s Alandra, isn’t it?”

My jaw clenched.

I forced myself to take another slow sip of my drink, letting the whiskey burn its way down my throat, but I knew they all saw the slight tension in my posture, the way my shoulders stiffened just barely, the way my expression, though carefully controlled, grew just a little sharper around the edges.

“Oh, fuck,” Ryker snorted, slamming a hand against the table. “Look at him, he’s actually pissed!”

“Aw, come on, Yagrov,” Dren drawled, tilting his head at me. “Still not over her after all these years? Damn. That’s rough.”

“Man, let him be,” someone else added, though their voice was laced with clear amusement. “Maybe she was just the one that got away, huh?”

I exhaled through my nose, my grip tightening subtly around my drink, but I didn’t rise to the bait. I had been through this before, so many times, the same questions, the same damn jokes, the same tired attempts to get me to talk about something I had long since buried.

Alandra.

The name was a ghost, an echo of a past that still clung to me in ways I wished it wouldn’t. I never spoke about her. Not anymore. Not to these guys, not to anyone. What was the point? It wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t rewrite history. It wouldn’t bring back what was lost.

But still, they never let it go.

“You know,” Ryker mused, tapping a finger against his glass, “it’s kinda sad, if you think about it. Yagrov, the unshakable, unkillable, badass soldier who’s faced war, blood, death, all of it, and yet one woman managed to ruin him for everyone else.”

More laughter.

More clinking glasses.

More playful jabs thrown across the table.

I forced a smirk, shaking my head slowly, feigning amusement even as something deep in my chest twisted.

“You’re all idiots,” I muttered, finishing my drink in one slow, measured gulp before setting the glass down with a dull thunk.

“Maybe,” Dren admitted, his grin widening. “But at least we’re not forty and still single because of some chick from the past.”

“Maybe I just have standards,” I replied smoothly, reaching for the bottle to pour myself another drink.

“Yeah? Or maybe you just haven’t moved the fuck on,” Ryker shot back.

“Yagrov, I swear, did you even get laid once in the army?” Dren jeered, elbowing me with a smirk.

I rolled my eyes and took another slow sip of my drink. “I was busy, you know, serving the country,” I replied, my tone dry but amused.

Ryker chimed in, shaking his head as he downed his brandy. “Damn shame. All those muscles, all that danger, and not a single war story that ends with you tangled up with some sultry foreign beauty? What a waste.”

I only laughed, shaking my head at their antics. They’d been my friends for years, the kind that knew exactly which buttons to push, but I wasn’t easily rattled. Still, tonight was my birthday, and from the looks on their faces, I knew they had something planned, something outrageous, no doubt.

The night stretched on, the whiskey flowing as easily as the laughter, and despite their relentless teasing, I let the warmth of the moment settle over me.

Dren smirked, swirling the last of his whiskey before leaning in, his voice dropping just enough to make it sound conspiratorial. “Alright. I think it’s time we make sure our dear Yagrov finally has some fun.”

There was a collective shift at the table. Drinks were raised, grins stretched wider, and an unmistakable energy coursed through the group like an unspoken agreement had just been made.

“Oh, here we go,” I muttered, already knowing where this was heading.

Ryker laughed, slapping a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Come on, man. Forty. Single. Deprived. It’s almost tragic.”

“It’s a fucking crime,” Dren added. “A man like you, going without for this long? Unacceptable.”

“I’ve been fine,” I said, dryly, finishing off my drink, but my words only made them howl louder.

“Fine?” Ryker scoffed. “Bullshit. You’ve been locked up in the army, too busy playing soldier while the rest of us were actually living.”

“Time to loosen the hell up,” Dren declared, snapping his fingers toward the VIP staff.

I sighed, shaking my head as they all erupted into cheers, already celebrating whatever disaster they were about to throw me into.

“I swear to God—”

“Relax,” Dren cut in, laughing. “We’re just making sure you have a proper birthday experience.”

Then, right on cue, the double doors of the lounge swung open with an air of deliberate spectacle. A pair of suited men, likely club staff, wheeled in something enormous, wrapped in glossy red paper and adorned with a luxurious golden ribbon. The size alone was ridiculous, it stood nearly as tall as I was, the kind of thing you’d expect to see in a magic show rather than a high-end VIP lounge.

My cousins erupted in laughter and whistles, clapping and jostling my shoulder. “Oh, this is going to be good,” one of them grinned.

I arched a brow, skeptical but intrigued. “What the hell is this?”

“Your gift, obviously,” Lucio smirked. “You know, since you’ve been so… deprived in the army.”

More laughter followed, and I exhaled slowly, leaning forward as I watched. The anticipation in the room crackled like static, eyes drawn to the extravagant package as one of the club’s staff members stepped forward, theatrically grabbing the ribbon.

With one swift pull, the golden bow unraveled. The glossy red wrapping crinkled as the massive box flaps fell open, and then, out stepped something, or rather, someone, that made the entire room momentarily forget how to breathe.

She was a vision of sin, stepping out onto sleek, toned legs, draped in a scandalously red ensemble that left very, very little to the imagination. A tight corset hugged her curves in all the right ways, the deep plunging neckline accentuating the swell of her chest, held together by delicate laces that looked like they could snap if one even breathed too hard. Long, silky gloves ran up the length of her arms, disappearing beneath the waves of her dark, cascading hair. A leather eye mask, sleek and black, concealed her gaze just enough to make her presence all the more tantalizing, a woman wrapped in mystery and temptation, standing there like she had been sculpted solely for desire.

The moment she stepped forward, the atmosphere changed. The easy laughter and crude jokes faded into something heavier, something charged. Even my friends, who moments ago had been nudging and teasing, had fallen into a stunned silence, their eyes wide, their throats bobbing as they swallowed thickly.

But she wasn’t looking at them.

She was looking at me.

Even with the mask obscuring her eyes, I could feel her gaze. It was an undeniable pull, a silent yet unmistakable recognition of who, exactly, this moment was meant for.

“Happy birthday, sexy,” she murmured, her voice smooth as velvet, threaded with something dangerously sultry.

The corner of my lips twitched, amusement flickering through me as I slowly leaned back in my chair, observing her with measured interest. “Well,” I drawled, my voice low. “I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Good,” she purred, taking another step forward, the sharp click of her heels against the polished floor ringing clear even through the lounge’s luxurious ambiance. “That’s the whole point.”

I let out a slow exhale, my fingers tapping against the side of my glass. My cousins were still dumbstruck, eyes flitting between me and the woman standing before me, some of them grinning, others trying and failing to mask their blatant interest.

“Shit, Yagrov,” one of them finally breathed, shaking his head with something between awe and sheer envy. “You’re so damn lucky.”

The heat was unbearable now, searing through my skin, scorching through my veins like a slow-burning fire that refused to be contained. As she settled fully onto my lap, her thighs bracketing mine, the plushness of her body molding against my form, I knew… I fucking knew… I want her… so fucking much.

A deep, guttural hunger tore through me, raw and primal, demanding that I take what was so blatantly offered.

My hands, which I had kept clenched against the arms of the chair, found their way to her waist without thought, without hesitation.

Fuck.

She was tiny under my grip, so goddamn delicate, her frame small compared to mine, her waist impossibly narrow beneath my fingers. And yet, soft, so devastatingly soft that my palms burned just from touching her, from feeling the give of her flesh beneath the pressure of my grip.

The control I had been clinging to all night snapped.

My fingers tightened around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer, pressing her flush against me until there was nothing but heat between us, nothing but the scent of her invading every last part of my sanity.

She was warm, so warm, her breath hitching as she felt the shift in my demeanor, her gloved hands resting lightly on my shoulders, her fingers curling just slightly, as if testing, as if anticipating what was about to happen.

I exhaled sharply, nostrils flaring, my pulse pounding in my ears.

Then, before I could stop myself, I dipped my head, pressing my nose against the curve of her neck, breathing her in like a dying man desperate for air.

Fuck.

She smelled like sin, like something meant to ruin, to unravel, to torment.

Something expensive, something warm, floral and dark, with a hint of spice that made my mouth water, made my stomach coil so fucking tight that it hurt.

I inhaled again, dragging my nose along the curve of her throat, my hands flexing against her waist, relishing the way she tensed just slightly, the way her thighs squeezed around mine as if she couldn’t help but react.

“You smell like trouble,” I rasped against her skin, my voice low, rough, barely recognizable to my own ears.

She let out a soft sound, one that was not quite a laugh, not quite a gasp, something in between, something that made my already thudding pulse rage.

“You have no idea,” she whispered.

My lips parted, my breath ghosting over the delicate skin of her neck before my teeth sank in.

The reaction was instantaneous.

She arched, a sharp, breathy moan slipping past her lips, high, sweet, fuck, like a cat, the kind of sound that sent lightning straight through my spine, the kind of sound that had me gritting my teeth, my fingers digging into her waist, trying… failing… to restrain the way my body responded to her.

I didn’t stop.

I couldn’t.

My mouth moved against her neck, dragging, nipping, sucking, my tongue swiping over the spot where my teeth had just been, tasting the warmth of her, branding her with every press of my lips.

She was shaking in my lap now, her hands clenching against my shoulders, her nails digging just enough to send a delicious sting rippling down my spine.

“Sir,” she breathed, and fuck, the way it sounded from her lips nearly broke me right then and there.

I hissed under my breath, barely restraining the violent urge to flip her over, to take her right here, right now, on this chair, in front of everyone, consequences be damned.

But I didn’t want anyone else to see this.

Didn’t want anyone else to see her like this.

This was mine.

She was mine.

I exhaled sharply, my grip shifting, my arms locking around her before she could even register what was happening.

A gasp tore from her throat as I lifted her, one arm bracing against the backs of her thighs, the other wrapped firmly around her lower back as I hauled her up, pressing her tight against my chest.

Her breath hitched, her arms instinctively wrapping around my neck, her legs tightening around my waist as if by reflex.

I could feel her heartbeat, wild, erratic, frantic.

I could feel mine, too.

Pounding.

Out of control.

I stalked toward the door with purpose, ignoring the jeering from my friends, ignoring the knowing laughs and the whistles and the smug “Finally” that Dren called after me.

None of it mattered.

The only thing that mattered was her, the way she fit in my arms, the way she felt so fucking perfect pressed against me, the way my body had already decided long before my mind had caught up that I was never letting her go.

I reached the door, kicking it open with force, stepping through before slamming it shut behind me.

The lock clicked.

I let myself breathe. I let myself want. I let myself give in.

Yagrov’s POV

The door clicked shut with finality. My breathing was heavy, controlled but strained, the weight of her still wrapped around me like a brand I couldn’t shake, her arms clinging tightly to my neck, her legs still locked around my waist as if she refused to be parted from me.

The scent of her, intoxicating and rich, filled every breath I took, her warmth pressed against me in ways that made my body hum with a hunger I hadn’t felt in years or maybe ever. I moved toward the bed, my grip firm, unrelenting, determined as I lowered her onto the mattress, the silk sheets shifting beneath her tiny frame.

But she didn’t let go.

Her arms remained around my neck, her fingers tangling into the strands of my hair as she pulled me closer, her breath hot against my ear, a whisper tumbling from her lips, breathless and teasing.

“Just make out,” she murmured.

I stilled, my breath catching in my throat, something sharp curling inside my chest, something offended.

A slow, dark chuckle rumbled from deep in my throat as I pulled back just enough to look at her, my eyes meeting hers, burning, heated, searing into her with the kind of need I wasn’t even sure I could temper anymore.

I hissed, my fingers tightening where they rested at her waist.

“I can’t,” I ground out. “I can’t just fucking make out with you.”

Her lips parted slightly, eyes widening just the slightest fraction, but she didn’t move away, my body caging hers beneath me, the air between us growing dangerously thin.

“You don’t get it, do you?” I murmured, my head dipping lower. “I want to fuck you. I want to ruin you.”

And before she could respond, before she could whisper anything else that would test the last remnants of my restraint, I kissed her.

I devoured her.

The moment our lips met, it was fire, hot and consuming, burning away whatever was left of my reason.

She gasped softly against my mouth. I deepened the kiss instantly, my tongue sliding against hers, my hands gripping at her waist, pulling her closer.

She moaned, the sound melting into my mouth, her body completely giving in, pliant beneath my touch, and fuck, that did something to me.

My hand slipped beneath the fabric of that sinfully tiny corset, my fingers splaying against her soft, bare skin, branding her, owning her. I could feel her heartbeat beneath my palm, erratic, unsteady, matching the wild rhythm of my own pulse as I drank from her lips, as if I could live off the taste of her alone.

I growled against her mouth, my frustration, my need, my fucking hunger boiling over as I grabbed the delicate lace clinging to her skin, my fingers curling into the fabric and ripped it.

She gasped, a small, breathy sound, her nails digging into my shoulders, her body jolting as the fabric gave way beneath my hands, tearing apart like it was made of nothing, like it was never meant to exist between us in the first place.

“Sir—” she whispered, but I didn’t let her finish.

I moved. Fast.

I spread her thighs, pushing them apart without hesitation, without mercy, until she was laid out before me, vulnerable and exposed, her tiny, delicate body trembling beneath me as I dragged my mouth away from hers, my lips trailing lower until I was right there.

I buried my face between her thighs without a second of hesitation, my tongue pressing against the damp heat of her, and I swore… I nearly lost my goddamn mind.

She was soaked. Drenched. And fuck, she tasted like everything I didn’t know I needed.

Her thighs shook, her breath hitching sharply, a moan breaking from her lips as her back arched off the bed, her fingers reaching for my hair, as if desperate for something to ground her.

I smirked against her, dragging my tongue over her slowly, deliberately, savoring the way she twisted beneath me, the way she whimpered, the way she couldn’t fucking hide how much she wanted this.

Wanted me.

And I couldn’t help but tease, couldn’t help but lift my head just enough to murmur against her, my voice thick with amusement, with hunger, with everything I was feeling.

“Thought you just wanted to make out,” I drawled, pressing a lazy, open-mouthed kiss against the soft skin of her inner thigh. “Yet here you are, so fucking wet for me.”

She made a high, needy sound, her body shuddering, her hips shifting, as if searching for my mouth again, as if she couldn’t bear the loss of my tongue against her heat.

She didn’t argue. She didn’t deny it. She only moaned, her fingers tightening in my hair, her breath ragged and pleading.

“Sir,” she whimpered.

I groaned, low and deep, my restraint barely hanging on, my hands gripping her thighs tighter, rougher, pinning her open for me.

“Beg me,” I muttered, pressing a slow, teasing lick against her again, feeling the way she jerked, feeling the way her body responded to me so perfectly, so desperately.

“Please, eat my pussy, please, sir,” she gasped, her voice thin, breathless, ruined.

And fuck, that was all I needed.

I went feral.

I growled against her, my tongue dragging through her slick folds, lapping her up, tasting every bit of her, reveling in the way she was already soaking the sheets beneath her, already a ruined mess for me.

She was sweet, addictive, hot and wet, her thighs clenching around my head as if she didn’t know whether to pull me closer or push me away.

“Fuck,” I muttered against her, my fingers digging into the soft flesh of her thighs as I devoured her, savoring her, owning her.

She whimpered, her breath hitching, her legs twitching as I flattened my tongue, dragging it up and down her soaked cunt, feeling the way she shivered with every movement, every flick of my tongue, every teasing swipe against her already throbbing clit.

“You taste so fucking good,” I murmured against her, my voice rough, thick with hunger.

She whimpered again, her nails scraping against my scalp as she tried to move, tried to shift away, tried to handle what I was doing to her.

But I wasn’t going to let her go anywhere.

I tightened my grip, holding her still, locking my arms around her trembling thighs as I pinned her down to the bed, spreading her wide for me, forcing her to take everything I was giving her.

“Sir, oh my god…” she gasped, her entire body trembling, her thighs shaking, her back arching off the bed, her breath coming in short, desperate little moans.

She was close already. I could feel it. I could hear it in her voice, the way it shook, the way her breath hitched unevenly, the way her fingers clung to me so tightly, like she was trying to hold onto something real while I wrecked her completely.

“Please,” she whimpered, begging, her thighs trembling harder now, her body so fucking close to falling apart.

I smirked against her, my tongue flicking mercilessly over her clit, pressing, circling, sucking, driving her higher. Until she gasped loudly, her body seizing up, her legs tensing around me, locking me in place as she finally broke.

A sharp, wrecked moan ripped from her lips, her fingers yanking at my hair, her thighs shuddering uncontrollably as she came hard, her body writhing, her pretty little pussy throbbing against my tongue.

The heat, the hunger, the sheer, devouring need that had been coursing through me like an unquenchable fire had reached its breaking point. My jaw was clenched so tightly it hurt, my breath ragged as I pulled away from between her thighs, my hands sliding up her quivering form, gripping her small waist like it was the only thing tethering me to reality. My lips were damp from her, my tongue still heavy with the taste of her, and yet it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

My patience, what little of it remained, snapped.

With a low, guttural groan, I shifted over her, my knees pressing into the mattress, my hands spreading her thighs wider as I towered over her, watching the way she looked up at me with dark, hazy eyes, her lips still swollen from my kisses, her body trembling beneath me.

I reached for my belt with one hand, the other still gripping her thigh, holding her in place, my fingers curling into her soft skin as I unfastened the buckle with a quick, rough pull. My breathing was harsh, my chest rising and falling with something too deep, too primal, as I yanked down the zipper, just enough, only to my thighs, just enough to free myself, just enough to sink into the warmth of her.

I pressed myself against her, the tip of me sliding through her soaked heat, my entire body tightening as the sensation nearly sent me over the edge before I even had a chance to push inside.

She gasped sharply, her hands flying to my shoulders, her nails digging in. The moment I thrust forward, the moment I pushed into her, she cried out, her body tensing beneath me, her arms wrapping around my back, her fingers clenching into my skin so tightly that her nails nearly broke through.

Tight.

Too tight.

Too goddamn tight.

A sharp, high-pitched hiss slipped from her lips, and then, her teeth sank into my shoulder.

“Fuck!” I gasped, my entire body freezing, a harsh shudder ripping through me at the unexpected, burning squeeze around me, at the sudden sting of pain where she had bitten me, at the soft, pained whimper that followed.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. She was a virgin.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

My heartbeat slammed in my ears, my brain short-circuiting, the realization hitting me like a freight train as her small frame trembled beneath me, her breath ragged, uneven, her face half-buried against my shoulder, her body so tense I could feel every single muscle in her quivering under me.

I had been so lost, so goddamn consumed by the heat of it all, by the need, the hunger, the taste of her, the scent of her, the way she moaned for me so sweetly… I hadn’t even considered…

“Shit,” I muttered, my voice strained, a low, frustrated growl tearing through my chest as I forced myself to stay still, to ignore the goddamn unbearable tightness wrapped around me, to breathe.

She was still biting me, her teeth clenched around my shoulder as if she were trying to ground herself through the pain, and fuck, it did something to me sent something dark and possessive and guilty spiraling through me all at once.

My hands, which had been gripping her thighs, her waist, her hips with nothing but pure hunger before immediately softened, loosening, sliding over her sides, up her back, holding her with care, my fingers pressing gentle circles into her skin as I exhaled heavily, trying to calm the fuck down.

“Breathe,” I whispered, my voice lower now, rough but softer, controlled. “I’ve got you. Breathe, baby.”

She whimpered, the smallest, softest noise, muffled against my skin, and fuck, it killed me.

“I-I didn’t think it would hurt this much,” she finally whispered, her voice strained, her fingers twitching against my back.

I squeezed my eyes shut, hating myself.

Of course, she was hurting. I had been so goddamn desperate, so rough, and so unrelenting.

“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath, pressing my forehead against hers, my jaw clenching so tightly my teeth ached. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She swallowed, her breath shaky, her arms still clinging to me. “I-I forgot to tell you,” she breathed weakly.

I exhaled sharply through my nose, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice, but it was impossible, not when I was still inside her, not when she was still trembling beneath me, not when my body was screaming at me to move.

I forced myself to still, to ignore the unbearable, suffocating tightness wrapped around me, the way she was so warm, so wet, so fucking perfect, but I couldn’t… I wouldn’t move until I knew she could take me properly.

I cupped her face, tilting it up slightly, making her look at me.

“Are you okay?” I asked, my voice low, rough, but serious.

She bit her lip, her breath still uneven, but after a moment, she nodded slowly. “It still hurts,” she murmured, her eyes searching mine.

I let out a slow breath, nodding. “I know,” I muttered, my thumb tracing lightly over her cheek, my other hand sliding lower, soothing, comforting.

It took everything in me to hold back, to fight against the pure, unbearable need clawing at my insides, but I would not fuck this up for her.

So I didn’t move. I just held her. I just let her adjust. I just waited.

And fuck, I had never been so goddamn patient in my life.

Her legs were still trembling, her hands weakly gripping at my shoulders, her eyes hazy and unfocused, lips parted, swollen and red from biting down on them to suppress her moans. She was wrecked already. And I had barely even begun.

“Should I stop?” I rasped, my jaw clenching painfully as I forced the words out.

Because I couldn’t stop. Not now. Not after feeling her, tasting her, hearing the way she moaned, the way she begged, the way she gasped my name like she belonged to me.

She swallowed hard, blinking slowly as if she were trying to process the question, as if she were trying to find her own voice. Her breath was shaky, uneven, her body still trembling from the overstimulation, from the way I had pushed her past her limit just moments ago.

Then, softly, so softly that it made my entire body tighten in anticipation, she whispered, “No.”

I felt something inside me snap.

I cursed, low and deep, my hands clenching against the mattress, my restraint hanging by a goddamn thread as I let my forehead drop against hers, my breath ragged and heavy as I whispered, “Fuck, baby, I won’t stop.”

Her fingers tugged at me, her arms wrapping around my neck, pulling me closer, tighter, as if she needed me inside her again, as if she were just as desperate, just as completely undone by this as I was.

And then she murmured, breathless, wrecked, “You’re already inside me.”

I groaned loudly, the sound raw, unfiltered, my entire body shaking with need.

I felt wild, reckless, out of control. I couldn’t hold back anymore.

I grabbed her thighs, pulling them apart again, forcing her wide open for me, my cock still aching, throbbing, pressed against the unbearable heat of her soaked pussy.

I let out another low, filthy curse, lining myself up, my tip already coated in her slick, teasing at her entrance, feeling the way she twitched beneath me, the way she held her breath, the way her nails dug into my back, clinging to me like I was the only thing keeping her grounded.

And then, slowly, mercilessly, I thrust back inside her.

She gasped loudly, her back arching, her nails raking down my skin, her mouth falling open in a sharp cry of pleasure.

And fuck, she was so tight.

So hot. So goddamn perfect.

I felt her stretch around me, her body adjusting, taking me so deep that I had to grit my teeth to keep myself from losing it right then and there.

“Shit,” I groaned, my fingers digging into her hips, barely able to hold myself back, barely able to process just how good she felt.

Her breath hitched, her legs tightening around me as she whimpered, her voice thin, needy. “Sir…”

I growled, gripping her waist tighter, pinning her beneath me, holding her right where I wanted her.

And I started moving.

The room was filled with nothing but the sound of her.

Loud. Unfiltered. Ruined.

Her cries, her moans, her breathless gasps, the way she yelled my name like she was breaking apart, like I was the only thing holding her together, sent something dark and wild coursing through my veins, making me lose my fucking mind.

I had tried to be slow at first, tried to let her adjust, but fuck, she took me so perfectly, so tightly, so completely, that all my restraint had vanished within minutes.

She had said just make out.

But now?

Now she was clawing at me, her nails raking down my back, her body arching, trembling, shaking as she wrapped herself around me, as she took every inch of me, her legs tightening, locking me inside her like she never wanted me to stop.

I had lost track of how many times I had taken her, how many times I had made her scream for me, how many times I had torn her apart and put her back together.

All I knew was that I wasn’t done. Not yet. Not even close.