I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him closer. I felt the hard length of his cock press against my entrance. I was dripping wet, and physically aching for him. A soft click echoed in the charged silence as he slid my panties aside and thrust himself into me, deep and hard. My legs tensed, my toes curled, the exquisite stretch making me gasp. My fingers danced across his chest, tracing the ridges of his muscles before finding his nipples. I flicked them, teasing, delighting in the way his breath hitched, the way his muscles tensed beneath my touch. His control wavered for a fraction of a second.
A wicked smile tugged at my lips—I had him. And I played with him, again and again, until his restraint began to slip, his thrusts growing deeper, rougher.
He filled me with every inch of him that banished every other thought from my mind. I felt him, deep inside, warm and tight. I arched, my back bowing, my fingers digging into his shoulders, clinging to him as if he were my only anchor in the storm. I pulled him closer, desperate for more, craving the friction, the heat, the sheer intensity of his presence.
My breath faltered as I watched our reflection— the ripple of his back with every thrust, the way his strong arms braced against the dressing table, muscles taut with effort. His knuckles were white against the dark wood, and his jaws were clenched.
God, he's such a magnificent beast.
The way his body moved, the control he exuded… it was intoxicating. The sight alone sent a new rush of arousal flooding through me. The tension inside me coiled impossibly tighter, my body responding to every relentless drive of his hips. I was close, so close that my body trembled on the edge. I knew he was right there with me.
One final, brutal thrust sent us both spiralling into oblivion. I screamed, my body seizing around him as blinding pleasure tore through me. He shuddered, his grip on my hips bruisingly tight as he buried himself even deeper, his release left us both trembling, breathless, and utterly spent.
We lay tangled, slick with sweat, our chests heaving in ragged unison. The only sounds were our gasps. Every muscle in my body was liquid, boneless. He eased away, his touch surprisingly gentle as he scooped me up into his arms. I didn’t protest, just let myself be carried, savouring the warmth of his skin and the steady thump of his heart against mine.
He lay me on the bed, sliding beside me, pulling me close. His strong arms wrapped around me, grounding me. I had never allowed myself these moments. But with him… it felt right. I didn’t pull away.
I tilted my head, meeting his eyes in the dim light. I kissed him. Slow, lingering, and tasting of exhaustion. His hand slid up my spine, pressing me closer as if he could absorb me into him.
Then, against his lips, I whispered, “I’m an assassin.”
His body went rigid, muscles locking beneath my touch. But he didn’t pull away. Instead, his grip tightened.
I pulled back slightly, watching his expression shift – shock, understanding, and something else… something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.
And then, finally, he exhaled.
“…Shit.”
A slow, dangerous smirk curled on my lips. “Yeah. Shit.”
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