I let out a low, rough breath, my fingers tangling in the sheets as the friction of his movements sent a familiar, electric sensation through my nerves.
He was trying so hard to be the one to master me, to be the one who satisfied the 'hunger' he sensed, but he was merely stoking a fire he wasn't equipped to extinguish.
"You're so tight," he groaned, his forehead resting against my shoulder as his rhythm quickened. "Tell me you're mine, Lyssa. Tell me, even if you don't mean it, Lyssa."
His voice was pleading, if anything, like he was about to shed tears for the sake of being owned by me.
I arched my back, my skin slicking with a light sweat as the pleasure began to coil tightly in my gut. I didn't give him the lie he wanted. I didn't need to.
The way I leaned into his touch, the way my breath hitched—that was enough of a drug for a man as starved as he was.
