Something fierce and hungry lives in her eyes. It matches the pulse I can feel beating against my thumb where I hold her.
I lean in, my breath mingling with hers. “And problems need to be handled.”
She doesn’t flinch. Instead, her other hand comes up, fingers tracing the line of my jaw, then sliding down to the collar of my shirt. “Show me.”
It’s not a plea. It’s a command. From her. To me.
A sharp, hot rush floods my veins, overriding the dull ache in my side. Control isn’t about distance now. It’s aboutpossession. I release her wrist only to grab her by the shoulders, turning her, guiding her back toward the pallet of clothes by the low fire. She moves with me, step for step, a dance of resistance and compliance.
When we reach the edge, I push her down. Not roughly, but decisively. She lands sitting, looking up at me, her breath coming faster now. I stand over her, my shadow falling across her face.
“You’re hurt,” she says, her gaze flicking to my bandaged side.
“I’ll decide what I can do,” I reply again, kneeling before her, my knees bracketing her hips. The movement sends a warning throb through my ribs, but I ignore it. The focus is her. Only her.
My hands go to the fastenings of her leather vest. I work them open, one by one, the methodical clicks loud in the cavern’s stillness. She watches me, her chest rising and falling under my fingers. When the last clasp gives, I pull the vest open, then off, tossing it aside. Her undershirt is thin, worn linen. I don’t bother with patience. I grab the hem and pull it up, over her head, exposing her to the cool air.
She’s bare to the waist now. Her skin is pale, marked with old scars and new tension. Her breasts are full, nipples already peaked and hard. I let my gaze drink her in, a silent, deliberate claim.
“Cold?” I ask, my voice rough.
“No,” she breathes.
My hand reaches out, palming one breast, feeling the weight, the heat. Her breath catches. I squeeze, not gently. She arches into it, a sharp gasp leaving her lips.
“You like that,” I murmur, watching her face.
“I likeyou,” she counters, her hands coming up to claw at my own shirt. I try not to react to her saying this for the very first time.“Take it off.”
I let her. I lean back just enough for her to pull the fabric up, over my shoulders. The cool air hits my skin, and the fabric wrapped around my torso is stark against it. Her eyes linger on the wound, but then they drift lower, to the waist of my trousers, to the clear evidence of my need for her straining against the cloth.
Her fingers go there. She traces the outline, her touch bold, unashamed. “This is what your control looks like?” she whispers, a taunt in her tone.
“This is whatyoudo to it,” I say, grabbing her hands and placing them on my shoulders. “Now. Get on top.”
It’s an order. One that accounts for my injury, but doesn’t relinquish command. She understands. Her eyes darken with recognition, with a thrill of the power I’m granting and the submission I’m demanding.
She rises, shifting her body, moving over me as I settle back onto the stack of clothes. She straddles my hips, her knees pressing into the floor beside my thighs. Her nakedness above me is a breathtaking sight. The firelight plays over her skin, highlighting curves and shadows. She’s all fierce grace and willing surrender.
I reach up, my hands gripping her waist, fingers digging into her flesh. “You move when I tell you,” I order.
She nods, a sharp, quick jerk of her head.
My other hand goes to the fastening of my trousers. I work them open, pushing them down to free myself. The ache in my side is a distant echo now. All my focus is here, on the heat of her skin under my hands, on the swollen, aching need between us.
She watches me, her lips parted. Then she lowers herself, one hand guiding me, the other braced on my chest. The first touchis electric. The head of my cock presses against her entrance, hot and desperate. She’s slick. I can feel it. Ready.
“Now,” I say, my hands on her hips pulling her down.
She sinks onto me.
The fit is perfect, tight,consuming. A deep, ragged groan tears from my throat as she takes me fully inside, her body stretching to accommodate me, her warmth enveloping me in a velvet vise. She gasps, her head falling back, a shudder running through her entire frame.
“Fuck,” she breathes, the word a prayer and a curse.
I hold her there, buried deep, letting her feel the full, unmoving claim. “This is where you belong,” I grind out, my thumbs pressing into the soft flesh of her hips. “On me. Taking me.Beggingfor me.”
She doesn’t beg. Not yet. She starts to move.