Kacy eased her down onto the wide, scarred top of an antique trunk, his grip firm and unhurried.
The wood was cool against her bare thighs where the torn satin had ridden up.
He hooked one finger under the pink silk blindfold and pulled it free in a single, deliberate slide.
Dim moonlight sliced through the high window, painting faint silver stripes across dust motes and shadowed furniture. It illuminated him first, tall, broad, predatory, then the rest of the attic around them.
He stepped between her spread legs, thighs bracketing hers, forcing them wider until the ruined gown split further. His body loomed, shielding her smaller frame completely.
The thick ridge of his cock pressed hot and insistent against her core through his baggy pants, grinding once, slow, teasing, until she sucked in a sharp breath.
He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of her ear, voice low and velvet wrapped steel.
"I'm going to teach you how to suck my cock properly tonight, little moonlight."
He paused, letting the words sink in, watching shock and hunger war across her face.
"How to take every inch of my cock down that sweet, tight throat of yours. How to swallow every last drop of my cum like the filthy good girl you pretend you're not."
His teeth grazed her earlobe, hard enough to sting, drawing a soft, broken gasp from her lips before he pulled back.
"You'd better be ready,"
He murmured, voice darkening, edged with cruel satisfaction.
"Because tonight I'm your personal teacher. And I punish slow learners."
Another slow, sensual laugh rumbled from his chest.
"And I'm very… thorough with my punishments."
She stared up at him, breath trapped, emerald eyes blinking rapidly, wide and glassy.
Shock. Fear. And beneath it all, raw, shameful excitement that made her thighs tremble and her cunt clench around nothing.
He stepped back half a pace, giving her just enough space to breathe and to watch.
He was wearing a complete black hoodie set.
His black hoodie was cashmere-soft yet impeccably structured, with a high collar and a deep hood gathered at the nape, the front secured by a matte black zipper running from throat to hem.
The fabric hugged his broad shoulders and chest like a second skin, the sleeves pushed to mid-forearm already, revealing corded muscle and faint veins that disappeared beneath the cuffs.
Paired with tailored black baggy pants that draped low on his hips, hinting at the solid strength beneath and the pronounced bulge between them, the whole look was effortlessly lethal, dark, expensive and quietly devastating.
He rolled the sleeves higher now, slow, deliberate, dark curls falling forward into those calm intense blue eyes as he towered over her again.
The space between them vanished.
She gasped hard, lungs fighting for air. Her palms flew to his chest, pushing weakly for room.
Her gaze dropped to the floor, too overwhelmed to hold his.
That wicked smirk curled slowly across his lips—lust, possession, dark delight flickering in his eyes.
He caught her wrists and slammed them back against his chest, harder this time, trapping her hands between them.
"Eyes. On. Me. Little moonlight."
The command was soft. Lethal. Dripping seduction.
Her gaze snapped up instantly, emerald locked to intense blue. Her heart hammered so violently. she felt it in her throat, in her clit, everywhere.
The tiny rose pendant on her gold necklace dangled restlessly, grazing the soft cashmere over his sternum with every shaky breath.
His free hand slid behind her, fingers tracing the length of her injured back with deceptive gentleness. He found the raw, bloody scratches and rubbed slow circles over them.
She hissed, then moaned, tearful, needy.
Pain and pleasure twisting together.
"We'll take care of this later,"
He whispered against her neck, lips brushing skin.
"Right now, I'm far more interested in teaching my good girl a lesson."
The word goodgirl, landed like a spark on dry tinder.
Her face flamed scarlet.
Eyes popped wide.
A fresh rush of wetness soaked her already ruined panties.
God, her husband was filthy. Spoiled. Dangerous.
He rubbed the injured spot once more, gentle, possessive, then slid both hands to her waist.
His thumbs stroked the gentle swell of her belly in lazy circles.
He pulled back just enough to study her face, as if memorizing every frightened, excited, flushed, trembling detail.
If only his little moonlight knew what he truly planned tonight.
If only she understood how thoroughly he intended to shatter her, crack her open, break every wall, leave her sobbing and boneless and utterly his, then rebuild her around his cock, his voice, his rules.
Her soft, angelic voice slipped out, wrapping around him like smoke and fire.
"What's… my first lesson?"
He hummed low in his throat, thoughtful, dangerous.
A devastating, mischievous smirk spread across his lips.
"Lesson one," he said quietly.
"Take off my hoodie."
She gasped.
Her hands slid from his chest toward the zipper, hesitant, trembling.
His glare stopped her cold.
"Not with your hands, little moonlight."
He leaned closer, voice dropping to a guttural command.
"With that pretty fucking mouth. Teeth on the zipper. Now."
Shivers raced down her spine. Her whole body shook with want, fear and desperation.
Slowly, she bent forward.
Her necklace scraped along his throat as she moved. The tiny rose pendant dragged over his Adam's apple.
He groaned, low, tortured.
She looked up through her lashes, saw his Adam's apple bob hard. Once. Twice.
The telltale sign was his struggle, fighting not to lose control and simply fuck her senseless.
She bit down, sharp, deliberate, right over that bobbing knot.
A harsh, guttural groan tore from his throat.
His hands clamped on her waist, bruising tight.
She pulled back just enough to drag her teeth along the top of his zipper.
His hold tightened further, stealing her breath.
A soft, choking moan spilled from her lips in perfect, filthy sync with his.
It felt like the opening notes of a slow, brutal, lust drenched dance one they both knew would end with her screaming his name and him spilling deep inside her.
Her cheeks burned hotter at the low, guttural moan that escaped him.
God.
Her panties were already a ruined, clinging mess, slickness seeping through lace, coating her inner thighs in slow, obscene trails.
His voice alone was pure sin disguised as velvet: lust, possession, dark love, all wrapped in that deceptive calm that turned her cunt into a throbbing, dripping furnace.
One seductive sound from him and fire licked through her veins, unquenchable, merciless, the kind of heat that promised to consume her long after death.
He was her heaven, he'd once whispered.
He had no idea he was her hell.
Her forbidden devil. The flame she shouldn't touch.
The one she craved for anyway, because burning for him felt like the only thing that made sense anymore.
She held his gaze for a long, trembling beat, her emerald eyes locked to his intense blue eyes, then broke it deliberately.
She bent lower, lips parting as she closed the distance to his zipper.
She was 5'6".
He towered at 6'4", broad, unyielding, a wall of heat and muscle she could never outrun.
Her mouth closed around the metal tab.
She lifted her eyes again, slow, defiant, dripping with want.
And she pulled.
Inch by torturous inch.
The zipper parted with a soft, obscene rasp.
Black cashmere parted down the center, revealing the carved planes of his chest, smooth golden skin stretched tight over hard pectorals, faint scars telling stories she still hadn't learned.
The hoodie hung open like an invitation she was too wrecked to refuse.
Their eyes never left each other.
Raw hunger.
Naked possession.
Everything screaming between them without a single word.
She rose from the trunk in one fluid motion.
Bare feet met bare feet, skin on skin, toes brushing his. No slippers. No barriers.
His hands stayed locked around her waist, possessive, bruising, as she reached up and gently, deliberately pried his arms away. She let them fall to his sides.
He watched, silent, curious, dangerously still.
She circled behind him.
Her chipped, blood-streaked red manicure, red and slightly bloody from her failed escape, though it wasn't serious enough to cause her pain, dragged down the length of his back, slow, teasing trails over muscles that jumped under her touch.
She reached his shoulders, hooked her fingers under the cashmere, and pushed.
The hoodie slid off broad shoulders, down powerful arms, pooling forgotten on the dusty floorboards.
She pressed herself to his bare back.
Hardened nipples, peaked and aching, scraped against his skin through the thin satin of her ruined gown.
She traced his ribs, his carved abs, fingers greedy and reverent.
A low, shuddering gasp tore from his throat.
She smiled against his shoulder blade, small, wicked, triumphant.
Her lips found the tattoo at the base of his throat.
A red rose.
She licked it.
Slow.
Rubbing erotic, wet circles over it.
Then dragged her tongue down to his collarbone, up again to the delicate crescent moon inked above the rose.
She sucked lightly. Bit. Tasted salt and skin and him.
Soft filthy moans spilled from his lips.
Erotic.
Helpless.
She flushed harder, thrilled, drunk on the power of making this unbreakable man unravel with just her mouth.
Still behind him, her gaze dropped lower.
A faint birthmark, perfectly rose shaped, hid at the nape of his neck, just below his hairline.
Her breath caught.
She brushed her lips over it, barely a touch.
Her gold necklace swung forward; the tiny rose pendant grazed his spine.
He sucked in a sharp breath.
Then he spun.
Fast.
Lethal.
Facing her in one fluid motion.
Shock painted her features.
He leaned in close, too close, tapping her forehead lightly with one finger before her wide eyes could focus.
She poked his chest with trembling fingers, pouting, flushed crimson, baby like indignation warring with raw lust.
He chuckled.
Slow.
Sensual.
The sound stroking between her legs like a caress.
"Something to say, little moonlight?"
His voice was calm again. Intense. But strained, his control fraying from every lick, every stroke, every teasing kiss she'd given him.
She huffed, her pout deepening, emerald eyes flicking greedily over his bare chest.
"Why are you so perfectly toned? Why is your chest this obscene? And why the hell am I only noticing now, after eight fucking months, that you have a rose shaped birthmark on the back of your neck?"
She sounded like a petulant child staking claim.
And fuck if it wasn't intoxicating.
Her gaze devoured him, possessive, territorial. The thought of anyone else touching that chest, tracing those lines, made something dark and violent coil in her gut. She wanted to ruin anyone who dared.
She had fallen. Deep. Irrevocably.
Not just craving only his attention, his care, his cock. But wanting to own him the way he owned her.
"Really, Ivy?"
His voice was slow, mocking, dripping seduction.
"Like… really?"
He tilted his head.
"Tell me which question to answer first. Hmm?"
She crossed her arms, scoffing, rolling her perfect emerald eyes.
"Pick one. But I'd prefer the last."
He laughed, dark, low, amused.
"Of course you would."
Then he leaned closer, lips brushing her ear.
"What can I say, little moonlight?"
A pause.
"You're blind."
The words landed like a slap.
Shock. Then anger, hot, curling through her veins.
Did he just....
Before she could snap back, he dropped the next bomb.
"I'm going to give you five seconds to run to the end of that wall, little moonlight."
His voice cut through the attic like a blade wrapped in silk.
"One… two… three… four…"
She bolted.
Bare feet slapped against dusty floorboards. Her back slammed into the far wall, breath knocked out, palms flat against cool plaster. She froze there, chest heaving, eyes wide.
He never moved.
Just leaned one hip against the antique trunk, arms crossed over his bare chest, watching her with that slow predatory hunger.
His smirk was lazy. Lethal.
Then he whispered, low, dangerous, loud enough for the words to curl around her throat.
"On your knees, little moonlight. Crawl to me. Now. Position yourself right between my legs."
Fuck.
Her mind stuttered.
No. He didn't just....
But the look in his eyes said otherwise.
Pure command. Dark promise. A dare wrapped in velvet threat: Test me. And see if I'm bluffing.
Her knees hit the floor before her brain caught up.
Embarrassment burned through her, hot, humiliating, intoxicating.
She dropped to all fours, manicured pink nails scraping against the floor. She cursed him silently.
Million-dollar set.
Dusty.
Filthy.
Ruined.
But he didn't care.
Not really.
He knew it wasn't serious.
He knew her hands would heal.
He knew she would survive.
That was why he'd given her the command to crawl, to submit, to offer herself so completely. If he'd thought her nails or anything else were truly at risk, he wouldn't have dared.
He wouldn't have teased her into motion or forced her closer to him.
He only ever handled her like fragile glass, delicate as an egg she couldn't drop, couldn't shatter, couldn't let anyone else touch.
He was the only one allowed to break her, and only so he could piece her back together afterward.
She crawled.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Hips swaying with every movement, seductive even in surrender. Fear and pleasure twisted low in her belly, making her thighs slicker, her clit throb harder with each inch closer.
When she reached him, she circled once, still on hands and knees, then settled between his spread legs.
He stared down at her, calm, unhurried, eyes devouring every tremble.
The sight of her crawling to him had his cock straining painfully against his pants, thick, heavy, leaking at the tip.
No other woman had ever done this to him.
One look, one crawl, one soft gasp, and he was wrecked. Hard. Aching. Hers.
His lips parted on a slow exhale.
She coughed. soft. embarrassed. then sneezed, trying to play it off.
Rolling her eyes at him in annoyed defiance.
His brow lifted.
She understood instantly.
On your knees.
She rose to kneel properly, thighs spread, back straight, hands resting on her own thighs like an offering.
His gaze lingered, possessive, approving, then his hand shot out.
Fingers twisted brutally into her hair.
She gasped, sharp, startled.
He yanked back, hard.
Her scalp screamed. A tearful, broken moan spilled from her lips.
If there'd been a mirror, she'd have seen the wreckage: hair wild, strands sticking to sweat-damp skin, once-perfect style destroyed in his fist.
She didn't care.
Not when her cunt was pulsing, dripping down her thighs, begging for whatever came next.
He jerked her head back further, exposing the long column of her throat.
Then his mouth was there.
Teeth sank into soft skin, hard enough to bruise.
He sucked. Bit. Marked her over and over.
She moaned, shattered, needy, tears slipping down her cheeks.
Between each brutal pull of his mouth, his voice slithered out.
Low.
Intense.
Laced with danger.
"Lesson two,"
He murmured against her pulse.
"Part those pretty lips wide, little moonlight, and suck my cock."
Her eyes rolled back.
Shock slammed through her, sharp, electric.
They'd never done this.
He'd always chased her pleasure, tongue between her thighs, fingers curling inside her, cock pounding her until she screamed his name.
He'd never asked her to take him like this. Never demanded her mouth on him.
Silence stretched, thick, heavy.
This was new.
Terrifying.
Exhilarating.
Was she scared? No.
Did she want to taste him? Fuck yes.
More than anything.
Even with her mind splintered, thoughts flying in every direction, she didn't care.
He could always drag her back.
Pull her under.
Drown her in want until she forgot everything except the salt of his skin, the weight of him on her tongue, the way he'd groan her name when he finally spilled down her throat.
Only him.
Only Kacy could unravel her like this, scatter her, then gather every broken piece and fuck her back together.
A voice whispered inside her head, dark, possessive, certain.
He's mine.
Fucking mine.