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Summary
“Your moans, your whimpered pleas, the scratches you leave down my back, they’re all fucking mine. You’re mine,” he says almost possessively, the blown out orbs of his irises gleaming as his breath hitches, watching his hands disappear under your dress, thumbs pressing into the demarcation of your hips.
“But I’m not yours, you made that really fucking clear,” you try to say defensively, but his hands are making it hard to speak. His hands slide further down your hips, fingers grazing the lace trim of your panties. You bite your lip almost painfully, eyes squeezing shut as breaths force out of your lips.
“Ja? You want to test that statement? Eyes open. You’re going to watch as I claim you, make you never want another man inside of you again.”