77. Surrender’s Edge

CHAPTER 77

Surrender’s Edge

ILEANA

His grip tightens in my hair, pulling me closer, angling my head, until he can push his dick back into my mouth. I can barely breathe through the weight of him, the heat of him. This angle lets him go deeper down my throat, and I love every second of it. My lips stretch wider, and I let my tongue glide over him, tracing every line, every vein. The low groan that escapes him sends a shiver through me, making my pussy throb, drawing me deeper into the moment.

I close my lips around him, taking him in further, my cheeks hollowing as I suck harder. The taste of him on my tongue is salt and musk, potent and intoxicating. My hands grip his thighs, my nails digging into the hard muscle beneath, trying to steady myself as his hips push forward, his composure finally faltering as he loses himself to the sensation.

“Fuck,” he growls, his voice rough, vibrating through me. One hand fists in my hair, holding me in place as he thrusts slowly at first, while the other covers my breast, pinching and twisting my nipple. The pleasure-pain of it combined with the way I can feel every inch of him sliding in and out of my mouth is incredible. His body tenses beneath my hands, tension rolling off him in waves as he takes what he wants.

When he pulls back, I glance up, meeting his eyes, and the intensity there nearly undoes me. He’s watching me like I’m his world, his possession, his everything. The hunger in his gaze makes my stomach tighten.

“Just like that, Ballerina. So fucking good. Take all of it.”

I try. He fills my mouth completely, stretching my jaw as much as I can. I choke slightly, my throat tightening when he hits the back, but I don’t pull away. I want this—his groans, his panting breaths, the way he murmurs my name like it’s a command and a prayer all at once.

My tongue flicks over the tip, swirling, and the sound that escapes him—a guttural growl that rumbles through his chest—sends a fresh wave of arousal through me.

“You look so fucking good like this.” His hips move faster. “Perfect.”

Tears well in my eyes as he thrusts deeper, his hand holding me steady as I take everything he gives me. My lips burn, stretched and swollen, and my jaw aches, but I don’t stop. I can’t . His pleasure is addictive, his groans like fire racing through my veins.

When I think I can’t take any more, he pulls back suddenly. I gasp, sucking in breath after ragged breath, my lips slick and trembling. My tongue flicks out instinctively, brushing over him again, teasing.

“Ready?” He waits for my nod, then uses his thumb to open my mouth again.

His dick presses against my lips, slower this time, letting me adjust. His hand tightens in my hair, his other hand brushing over my cheek as he thrusts deeper. His breathing comes in ragged gasps, uneven and desperate, and when he groans my name, thick with need, it sends a shiver racing through me.

The tension in his body coils tighter, and I can sense the effort it takes for him to hold back, to not let go completely. Just when I think he’ll snap, he pulls me off him, tilting my chin up so I have no choice but to meet his gaze.

“Enough,” he growls, his eyes burning into mine. “Up.”

He pulls me to my feet, his hands rough as he spins to sit on the bed and drags me onto his lap. My knees press into the mattress, bracketing his hips, and the heat of him presses against me, slick and hard. His hands grip my waist, pulling me closer, grinding me against him in a way that leaves me gasping, trembling .

The kiss he claims isn’t gentle. It’s fire and teeth, all-consuming, leaving no room for anything but him. My hands move over his chest, my nails dragging over his skin as I move against him, desperate to feel more.

His hands tighten on my hips, reclaiming control as he guides me, forcing me to move the way he wants. The friction is electric, each grind sending sparks of pleasure racing through me. I gasp, my head falling back as his mouth moves to my throat.

“You like this, don’t you?” His lips close over the bruise he left earlier. “The marks. The bruises. What they mean.”

“Yes,” I gasp, my voice trembling as his hands dig into my hips, holding me steady as he presses harder against me.

His eyes meet mine, dark and burning. “What do they mean, Ileana?”

“That I’m yours,” I whisper. “And you’re mine.”

His answer is a low growl. He pulls me closer, his hand tangling in my hair, the other sliding down to grip my thigh. His mouth trails fire over my skin, his teeth grazing, biting, leaving fresh marks that make me shudder.

“You’re not scared of me anymore,” he murmurs against my skin.

“No.” The word escapes on a breath, steady and certain. “You make me feel alive.”

His grip tightens for a moment, his breath hot against my throat. When he pulls back, his eyes meet mine, and I see something heated there, something deeper than possession.

“You’d let me do anything to you?”

“Yes.”