Possessive

Vionne 's Pov.

The elevator ride to his hotel room was quiet, filled with the kind of tension that pressed into my chest and made my heart beat faster. I could feel his eyes on me as we rose floor after floor. He didn’t touch me, but his presence filled the small space like smoke. Heavy. Warm. Dangerous.

His room was on the twelfth floor. Clean. Dimly lit. A big bed waiting in the center like a silent promise. He closed the door behind us, and the click of the lock sent a thrill down my spine.

I turned. He was already there. And I kissed him again.

It was desperate. Hot. Our mouths crashed together like we’d waited too long. His hands slid to my waist, pulling me closer, gripping like he didn’t want to let go. My fingers found the back of his neck, tangled in his short hair, anchoring myself to him.

We didn’t speak. We didn’t need to.

Clothes came off one by one, my dress slipping over my head, his shirt tugged free and tossed aside. His jeans hit the floor. My bra unhooked, falling somewhere between the hallway and the bed. His hands were all over me, rough palms trailing over my ribs, my stomach, my hips.

He kissed my neck, slow and firm, making my skin burn under his mouth. His lips moved lower, across my collarbone, down to the top of my chest. He kissed me like he wanted to learn me. Like he needed to taste every inch of me just to prove I was real.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I didn’t feel broken. I didn’t feel rejected. I felt wanted.

He laid me down on the bed like I was something precious, even though we both knew this wasn’t love. This wasn’t about forever. It was about now. About escaping. About feeling anything other than the pain I’d been carrying.

His hands slid down my sides, thumbs brushing over my thighs as he leaned over me. His body was solid, warm, strong. His mouth returned to mine, slower this time, deeper. Our tongues tangled, and I moaned softly into the kiss, my hands moving over his back, fingers dragging down his spine.

When he kissed down between my breasts, I arched toward him, breath catching in my throat. He took one of my nipples into his mouth, sucking gently, then harder, until I whimpered. His other hand cupped the other breast, fingers teasing, brushing, making my stomach tighten and my thighs press together.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmured, voice thick and low, vibrating against my skin.

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t need to. I just let myself feel it.

Then his hand moved between my legs. He touched me over my panties first—soft, slow strokes that made my breath hitch. When he finally slid them down, he paused, eyes locking with mine.

“Okay?” he asked, his voice rough.

I nodded. “Yes.”

His fingers dipped into me, and I gasped.

“You’re soaked,” he whispered, a wicked smile pulling at his lips. “God, Vionne …”

He kissed me again, slower now, as his fingers moved inside me. One at first. Then two. Curling, searching, finding just the right spot. I clung to him, moaning into his mouth, my hips rocking against his hand. My skin burned. My legs trembled. Everything inside me tightened, building fast, harder than I expected.

“Don’t fight it,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath. “Just let go.”

And I did.

My orgasm hit hard, tearing through me like a wave crashing against rocks. I cried out, clutching his shoulders, my body jerking against his hand as he held me through it. He kissed my face, my neck, my lips—never letting go.

When it passed, I lay back on the bed, dazed, breathless, my chest rising and falling fast. My skin was damp with sweat, but I felt lighter. Like something had broken loose inside me.

He leaned over me, brushing my hair out of my face. “You okay?”

I nodded, still catching my breath. “Yeah…”

His mouth curved into a small smile, and he kissed me again, this time soft, slow, patient.

“Your turn,” I whispered, sliding my hand down between us. I found him hard, thick, waiting for me. He groaned low when I wrapped my fingers around him and stroked, watching me with dark eyes as I moved slowly up and down his length.

I felt powerful.

Wanted.

He bit his bottom lip as I ran my thumb over the head, feeling the heat and wetness there. He was big, and he felt so good in my hand. His whole body tensed under my touch, his eyes burning into mine.

“Condom?” I asked, my voice still hoarse.

He reached into the drawer beside the bed and grabbed one. I watched him roll it on, my stomach fluttering with nerves and excitement.

Then he was back on top of me, kissing me deeply, lining himself up between my thighs.

He paused.

“You sure?” he asked, his voice low and careful.

“Yes,” I whispered. “Please.”

He pushed in slowly, stretching me inch by inch, and I gasped at the sensation. It had been so long. The pressure was thick, deep, and overwhelming, but in the best way. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

He filled me completely.

And for a moment, we didn’t move. We just breathed. His forehead pressed to mine. Our eyes locked. My hands found his face, tracing his jaw, the scar near his brow.

Then he began to move.

Slow strokes at first, steady and deep. Each thrust made my breath catch, made my back arch, made my fingers clutch at his shoulders. He moved like he was trying to memorize me from the inside out.

I matched his rhythm, our bodies rocking together in perfect sync. The tension built again, slow and steady, curling in my stomach like fire. His mouth found my neck, my shoulder, my jaw. He moaned my name, and the sound made me tighten around him.

“God, you feel so good,” he whispered, his voice raw.

The bed creaked beneath us, the headboard tapping lightly against the wall. My skin was slick with sweat. My hair clung to my face. But I didn’t care. I only cared about the way he made me feel—full, alive, wanted.

He shifted his angle slightly, and the next thrust made me cry out. He hit something deep, something that sent a jolt of pleasure through my whole body.

“Right there,” I gasped.

He kept going, over and over, hitting that same spot, driving me higher. My nails scraped down his back. His mouth found mine again. The kiss was messy now, hot and urgent, all tongue and teeth and breathless moans.

“I’m close,” I whispered.

“Me too,” he groaned, speeding up.

The tension inside me snapped, and I came again, harder this time, my body convulsing around him as I cried out, shaking in his arms. A second later, he followed, hips jerking, a deep groan tearing from his throat as he spilled into the condom.

He collapsed beside me, both of us gasping for air.