Possessive Sex Novels & Stories

Possessive. “You wore this for me?” he asks, voice low and rough. He steps closer, backing me against the wall before I can answer. One large hand grips my waist possessively while the other slides up to cup my breast through the thin fabric, thumb brushing over my hardened nipple. “Parading around my club like a little fucktoy, showing off what belongs to me tonight?” The words send a rush of heat straight between my legs. This version of him is more dominating, more possessive. It should scare me. Instead, it makes me wetter.

“I didn’t know that possessiveness could be that sexy.” I was a little distracted by that, not thinking when I babbled: “Well, now you know how it feels.” “Yeah?” he smirked. “Do you like when I get possessive with you? Do you like when my wolf practically tears through my chest to make sure every other wolf knows who you belong to?” “Shut up,” I whined, my lower abdomen still warm from their unfinished activities. Even the shower hadn’t helped, and it was something he gleefully pointed out.

Primal. I wasn’t sure what that said about me — that I found his violence and dominance and possessiveness sexy and protective. But I didn’t care. Perhaps it was because he still regarded me as a person, as my own being. It wasn’t a possessiveness that owned, that commanded, but a possessiveness that cherished and consumed. It was a possession of equality — he was mine as much as I was his. And it was a mutual possession. I wanted everyone to know he belonged to me. And I’d never wanted that with anyone else.

“You are all mine now.” I heard Hollis whisper in my ear as he wrapped his arms around me tightly. His possessiveness both scared and excited me, knowing that I was completely under his control. But never had I felt more alive and desired than in that moment, as if his declaration of ownership awakened a primal need within me to submit to him completely. Hollis is possessive, but never did I feel safer in anyone else’s arms. His possessiveness was a sign of his unwavering devotion and commitment to me, making me feel loved and protected in a way I had never experienced before.

“Because I knew it was you I wanted—the moment I had you. And I didn’t want to wait months to have you all to myself. I couldn’t stand knowing another male had touched you where only I’m allowed.” “That’s possessive male talk, you know?” He smiles, scooping me up and wrapping my legs around his waist. “When we find our mate, yes—we’re possessive. Only with her. Only with the female who’s ours.”

he replied to me while holding my hand tightly. I smiled. Rupert was extra careful, caring, and a bit possessive tonight. He barely disappeared beside me all night. I was not sure if being possessive was also part of sexual relationships like what we had. But to be honest, it feels good when you have someone who is being greedy of you. For others, possessiveness was irritating... I used to say that... But it's different when you're in a situation and you're already experiencing it. Don't get me wrong. I was talking about that kind of possessiveness that he wanted you to enjoy every moment with him only— not that kind of possessiveness that he's treating you like a mere 'possession'. Those tw

He was still holding me from my waist to keep me steady. He licked my cock slowly through long strides. "Tell me who you belong to? Who owns you?" I didn't say anything and he continued to tease me. I couldn't take it anymore. "Allen, please. Who owns you?" I looked at him and saw the vulnerability in his eyes. "You. Sebestian. You own me." He nearly sobbed and took me back into his mouth. Bobbing his head on me, fuck I was losing it. I couldn't let him stop. I needed to spill.

My hands moved with practiced, ruthless efficiency, tearing at her clothes until the cheap cotton gave way under my fingers. When she started to protest, I covered her mouth with my palm, smothering her words. "Quiet," I growled against her ear, the vibration of my voice dark and low. "I don't want to hear it." I didn't kiss her. I never kissed women during sex. This wasn't about love, it was about possession. It was about erasing that Adrian bastard's ghost from her mind and reminding her exactly who owned her body. My mouth found the sensitive cord of her neck instead, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, a brand that would last for days.

This isn't making love and it isn't even sex, really. This is claiming and possession. Months of obsessive watching, desperate wanting and carefully controlled need finally unleashed all at once. Harvey fucks me against the alley wall with primal intensity—hard thrusts that drive me into the brick, his hand in my hair, pulling my head back, exposing my throat. "Mine," he growls against my neck with each thrust. "You're mine, Isabel. Not theirs but MINE." His teeth sink into my shoulder, hard enough to break skin, marking me with the same brutal possession as his cock.

Marcel was sure he was over Clara, his mind wanted to believe it. Yet Clara kept on appearing on his mind that night as he was laying on his bed. The guilt he had tried to remove returned. On the other side of the bed, Giselle had been fast asleep, she laid beside him with other of her arms squeezing his left arm. Even when she was asleep, she was still as possessive toward him. What could he expect, he was her prized possession. But did he really wanted to be that to her? Marcel tried to close his eyes without imagining anything yet he failed miserably.