“Fuck me, then,” I hiss between my teeth. “If you want me so much.”
“No.” Connor holds himself still, an inch of his cock in my pussy, and I can feel him trembling from the effort it takes not to thrust the rest of the way inside of me. “You’re not hearing me, Saoirse. I wantyou. No one else. You’remine.”
I barely have a chance to register what he’s saying before his mouth comes crashing down on mine, his cock thrusting into me with a force that takes my breath away and rips a cry from my lips that’s swallowed by his kiss, my thighs splaying wide for him as I arch up against him and dig my fingernails into his flesh from the mingled sensations of pain and pleasure all at once. His tongue tangles with mine, rough and possessive, his hand that held my wrist plunging into my hair, fisting into it almost too tightly. I let out another muffled cry, and he pulls his hips back, sliding out so that only his swollen tip is still inside of me before thrusting back in, hard, as deeply as he can go.
“Mine,” he growls against my lips. “My wife, Saoirse. You’remine.”
His hand drags from my hair down to my breasts, yanking the cups of my bra down so that he can tease one nipple with his fingers and then the other, stroking and pinching as he kisses me hotly before filling his palm with my breast and squeezing.
“Come for me, Saoirse,” he groans. “Come as many times as you can.”
He thrusts into me, hard, his pelvis grinding against my clit, and I can’t breathe. I can’t think. It’s nothing but pleasure, erupting between us, hot and devastating, and I’ve forgotten everything but him. “Say you’re mine,” he pants against my mouth, biting at my lower lip. “Say it, Saoirse.”
But I can’t. I arch my neck, looking up into his glassy, lust-filled eyes. “You say it first.”
“What?” he blinks at me, and I push my palms against his chest as he rocks his hips against me, my nails scratching against his already-scored flesh.
“Say you’re mine.” I look at him challengingly. “If you don’t want anyone else. Say you’remyhusband. Mine and only mine.”
It’s a gauntlet thrown down that I don’t think he’ll pick up. Our twin pride and stubbornness has always been the greatest barrier between us, and I don’t know why that would change now. But as I shudder with pleasure beneath him, my body hovering on the edge of the release I desperately crave, his piercing blue eyes fix on mine. He nods as he thrusts into me again, long and slow this time so that I feel every inch.
“I’m yours, Saoirse,” he grinds out, the words half-groan, half-speech. “Yours, now and always. I have been since that first night you walked into my warehouse. I just couldn’t fucking admit it.”
I stare at him, shocked and breathless, as the hand on my breast slides upwards, his broad palm against my throat, his fingers pressing into the sides as hot, thrilling adrenaline slides wickedly through my veins. “And you’re mine,” Connor growls. “Whether you say it or not. If you ever let another man touch you, ever again, I’ll kill him with my bare hands and bring you his head as a gift.”
His hand tightens, and I lose all control.
My entire body ripples with a pleasure stronger than anything I’ve felt before, rippling through me in waves as I arch into his grip, against his cock, crying out his name as I thrash and writhe beneath his heavy, muscled body. “Yes,” I cry out, tears of pleasure and emotion brimming in my eyes as I wrap my legs around his hips, clinging to him, coming hard on his cock. “I’m yours, Connor. All yours. I don’t want anyone else. I don’t—”
I can’t say another word because his mouth is on mine, his hand leaving my throat and grabbing both of my hands before I can scratch him deeper in the throes of pleasure, pinning them above my head. He fucks me hard and fast, his cock sinking into me in rough, quick strokes that leave me breathless and writhing, grinding against my oversensitive clit until I’m nearly sobbing against his lips with pleasure, every inch of me shuddering.
“Do you want my cum, princess?” Connor bites my lower lip, sinking into me again and rocking his hips, the fullness nearly unbearable. “Do you want me to fill you up?”
“Yes.” I moan the word against his mouth, straining against his grip on me, caught between his hands and his cock. “I’m so close—give me your cum, please, fuck me, come in me—”
“Since you begged so prettily—” Connor’s mouth claims mine again, his hands squeezing my wrists as he surges into me again. I can feel him throbbing, the jerk of his hips as he throws his head back with a guttural groan, and his pleasure triggers mine.
I lose track of his hands, his mouth, the sounds we’re making colliding and twining together as he comes inside of me, the throbbing heat of him filling me as I come too, clenching around him until we’re locked so tightly I don’t know if it’s possible for him to get free. He grinds into me, groaning as he kisses me again, still thrusting even as the last drops of his cum spill into me. His forehead presses into mine as his hands loosen around my wrists.
As my senses return, so does the deep, sick feeling in my stomach that this was a trap, a game, something to trick me into admitting my feelings so that he could hold it over my head. I try to wriggle out from underneath him, feeling humiliated. Tears burn behind my lids, but he won’t let me go.
He keeps me pinned to the floor, one hand grasping my chin and turning my face back to his. “What’s wrong?” Connor asks, his blue gaze holding mine, and I could swear from the look on his face that he actually cares.
“Stop,” I hiss, fighting back the tears.
“What?” He narrows his eyes. “What are you talking about? If you mean stop fucking you, I promise you that I can convince you otherwise in a matter of seconds—”
“No. Stop playing with me.” I press my lips tightly together. “That fucking—game, while you were inside of me, saying those things after you’ve been with someone else.” I try to jerk my chin out of his grasp, but he won’t let go.
“Saoirse, it wasn’t a game.” He looks deeply into my eyes and then lets out a sigh. “I’m not going to have this conversation with you while I’m literally still inside of you.”
Connor pulls back, and I bite back a whimper at the sudden loss of him inside of me, the way it makes me feel hollow. Every time, I wonder how many more times we’ll get to do this before I get pregnant, and we have to stop, and I think some part of him knows that. It makes it crueler that he would toy with me like this.
He lets me fix my clothing, tugging my panties and jeans back up and my bra, even handing me his shirt with half the buttons torn off so I can shrug it on, partially covering myself. When his pants are zipped up, and we’re both sitting on the couch—albeit with Connor still distractingly shirtless—he turns to face me.
“I know you don’t trust me, Saoirse,” he says quietly, his voice rough and low. “I’ve given you plenty of reasons not to. I’ve been withdrawn and cruel. I justified it by telling myself that you manipulated me, dragged me back here against my will, and that I had every right to resent and mistrust you for it.”
I open my mouth to speak, but he holds up a hand. “Let me finish, please.”