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Claiming Her Over and Over Again

Author: Nyxenite
last update Last Updated: 2025-07-14 08:00:42

CATALINA'S PERSPECTIVE

The bed dipped under his weight.

He didn’t say a word.

Just shoved my knees apart with a force that bordered on reverence, and rage.

His mouth was on my cunt, no warning, no build-up, just his tongue, hot and unrelenting, lapping at me like he needed to erase something he didn’t understand.

My breath hitched, hips twitching, but he pinned them down with both hands, fingers digging into the bruises he left earlier. He sucked hard, tongue flattening, then curling with purpose. The ache was instant, sharp, spreading through my thighs like wildfire.

“Nnnh-” I whimpered, soft, too soft, like my throat forgot how to scream.

He didn’t stop.

Not even when my legs shook.

Not even when I bit down hard on my lip just to keep the sound in.

He pulled back only when he felt me clench around nothing, when the tension curled and snapped behind my navel. And when he did, his mouth glistened.

He stared at me.

And in that stare, something dark twisted. Something too sharp to name.

Without a word, he dragged my dress higher, bunching it around my ribs until it trapped my arms. Then, he leaned in. His hands slid beneath my thighs, lifting me slightly, positioning me exactly where he wanted.

His cock rubbed against my entrance once, twice, before he slammed into me in one harsh, full-bodied thrust.

“Ah-!” The sound tore from my lips before I could silence it.

He groaned, low and guttural, like something broke loose inside him the moment he filled me.

“Mine,” he growled. Not for me. Not even really to me. It sounded like something he was reminding himself.

He moved with brutal rhythm, no seduction, no pace, just pure, male obsession. Every thrust was heavy, punishing, hitting deep like he wanted to press himself into my spine.

His mouth was everywhere.

On my neck, biting over bruises. On my chest, licking between my breasts. On my stomach, sucking until I flinched. He left no inch untouched, no skin unmarked.

He wasn’t trying to make love.

He was trying to carve his name.

“You don’t laugh for me like that,” he hissed into my ear, breath hot, teeth grazing my lobe.

I didn’t answer.

Because I couldn’t.

My fingers clutched the sheets like anchors.

My body moved with his, not in resistance, but in ritual, like I was built to receive him this way.

“Say something,” he snapped, dragging my face to meet his, his hand in my hair, fisting it tight.

But I didn’t.

I just stared back. Soft. Quiet. Lips parted, breath catching.

That silence?

It undid him.

His thrusts turned savage. One after another. Like he was chasing something he didn’t have a name for.

The bed slammed against the wall. My head tipped back. The air left my lungs in short, strangled bursts.

And still, I took it.

All of him.

Until the pace cracked, his grip faltered, and the growl in his throat turned to a hiss, sharp, broken.

He came with a curse, deep, hoarse, spilling inside me like he needed to mark even the places no one else could see.

He didn’t pull out.

He didn’t stop at one.

Not even close.

He took me again. And again.

Each time more brutal than the last, like the bed was his altar and I was the only thing worthy of sacrifice.

He changed positions with a kind of hunger that bordered on rage, flipping me over, dragging me down, pulling my legs around his waist only to shove them aside again.

His hands never left my skin. His mouth, never quiet.

He groaned into my ear, bit down on my shoulder, hissed curses between clenched teeth.

His cock filled me like he needed to remind my body who it belonged to.

Over. And over.

My cries echoed into the sheets. Muffled. Shaking.

I didn’t fight him.

I never did.

I let him use me. Fill me. Bury himself so deep I could barely breathe.

And still, he wasn’t done.

The sunlight shifted across the walls by the time he finally slowed, sweat-drenched and breathless, hovering over me like a storm that hadn’t finished raining.

His thrusts stilled.

But his gaze didn’t move.

He stared down at me, eyes unreadable, chest heaving.

There was no tenderness in him. Not even now.

Only obsession.

Possession.

And something far worse, something he couldn’t name.

He pulled out with a sharp hiss, his release still thick between my thighs.

My body trembled, limp and used, painted in the scent of him.

I stayed where he left me.

Still.

Exposed.

My dress torn at the seams. Bruises newly bloomed along my hips and inner thighs.

He stood at the edge of the bed, silent. Watching.

Then without a word, turned toward the bathroom, grabbing the towel I had brought him earlier.

The door clicked shut behind him.

And I was alone again.

A moment passed.

Two.

Then slowly, deliberately, I sat up.

My hair clung to my back, my lips parted in a breath I hadn’t noticed holding.

My fingers slid down between my legs, tracing the slick heat he left behind.

I winced. But I didn’t stop.

I brought my hand to my lips and stared at it.

Wet. Bruised. Marked.

His.

And then…

I smiled.

Small. Soft. Barely there.

But it wasn’t the smile of a broken woman.

It wasn’t innocent.

It was… amused.

Like something inside me stirred.

And liked it.

Just a flicker.

A crack.

I caught my own reflection in the mirror across the room.

My lips still curved.

But when I heard the bathroom door creak open again,

I wiped the smirk away, slow and careful, and laid back down.

Breathing steady.

Eyes soft.

As if nothing happened.

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