The sky had bled out completely.
Only a bruised violet seam remained on the horizon, and the villa's flood-lights hadn't come on yet.
In that half-dark, the pool glowed like liquid obsidian, lit from beneath by submerged lamps that turned every ripple into molten gold.
Minato carried her out of the water without breaking the kiss.
Robin's legs were still locked around his waist, her ruined bikini top long gone, bottoms askew and clinging by one stubborn knot. Water streamed off them in sheets, slapping the marble as he walked.
She felt it running down the cleft of her ass, down his forearms, dripping from his hair onto her bruised breasts. Every step ground the rigid length of his cock against her bare, oversensitive cunt; each impact tore a broken little sob from her throat.
He didn't go far.
Ten strides and her back met the wide, padded daybed beneath the pergola. The cushions were already warm from the day's sun. He dropped her onto them like a conquest, following her down before she could draw breath.
The weight of him pinned her, chest to chest, hips to hips, one thick forearm braced beside her head, the other sliding between their bodies to fist himself again.
Robin watched, transfixed, as he dragged the flushed, swollen head of his cock through her folds. Once. Twice. Coating himself in the mess she'd made in the pool. The wet sound it made was obscene in the sudden quiet.
"Look at you," he rasped, voice scraped raw. "Still leaking for me. Still shaking."
She was. Her thighs trembled uncontrollably, inner muscles fluttering around nothing, desperate to be filled. Every breath tasted of him (sweat, chlorine, the faint copper of blood where she'd bitten his lip). Her nipples were so hard they throbbed in time with her clit.
Minato leaned down, mouth brushing the shell of her ear. "I'm going to ruin you tonight, Robin. Slowly. Until the only thing left in that brilliant head is me."
He didn't thrust in.
He dragged the blunt crown up and down her slit, pressing just enough to part her, never enough to breach.
Over and over, until she was writhing beneath him, hips chasing, tears of frustration sliding into her hair.
"Please," she whispered, the word cracking. "Please, Minato, I can't—"
"You can," he growled, teeth closing on the tendon where neck met shoulder, biting down until she arched off the cushions with a strangled scream. "And you will. You'll take everything I give you and beg for more."
His free hand found her breast, kneading roughly, pinching the nipple hard enough to make her vision white out. Then lower, over the trembling plane of her stomach, fingers splaying possessively across the soft skin just above where she needed him most.
He stopped.
Pulled back just enough to look at her (really look). Robin spread out beneath him like an offering: lips swollen and bleeding, throat and breasts painted in bruises shaped like his mouth, thighs slick and shaking, cunt flushed dark and glistening.
"Beautiful," he said, reverent and filthy all at once. "My beautiful, perfect thing."
Then he slid down her body in one fluid motion, shoulders forcing her legs wider, hands hooking under her knees and spreading her open until the tendons in her hips burned.
The first slow lick of his tongue was devastating.
He didn't tease. He devoured.
Mouth sealing over her clit, sucking hard, tongue flicking fast and merciless. Two thick fingers pushed into her without warning, curling, scissoring, stretching her open while he growled against her flesh like a starving animal finally allowed its meal.
Robin's back bowed off the daybed. A raw, guttural cry tore from her throat as her hands flew to his hair, yanking hard, trying to pull him closer, deeper, anywhere. He didn't let her control the pace.
He pinned her hips down with one forearm across her pelvis and fucked her with his fingers in long, punishing strokes while his mouth worked her clit until she was sobbing.
The second orgasm hit harder than the first.
It ripped through her like a blade, sharp and blinding. Her cunt clamped down on his fingers so violently he snarled in approval, riding her through it, licking her clean even as she tried to twist away from the overstimulation.
When he finally pulled his mouth off her, his lips were swollen, chin dripping, eyes feral.
He crawled back up her body, dragging his cock through the mess he'd made of her, coating himself again.
Robin was beyond words. Only broken sounds, soft, wet pleas, and his name over and over like a prayer.
Minato braced himself above her, one hand tangled in her hair, the other guiding himself to her entrance. The head nudged inside—just the head—and stopped.
"Look at me," he ordered, voice shaking with the effort of holding still.
She forced her eyes open. Tears streaked her temples, lashes wet and clumped. His face was flushed, jaw clenched so tight the muscle jumped, pupils blown wide until only a thin ring of blue remained.
"Tell me," he said, low and lethal.
"Tell me who this belongs to."
Robin's answer was immediate, shattered, perfect.
"You," she sobbed. "Only you. Always you. Please—"
He pushed in another inch, stretching her open, letting her feel every thick, burning inch of the claim.
"Again."
"It's yours," she cried, nails clawing at his back, trying to drag him deeper. "My body, my cunt, my soul; all of it, Minato, please—"
Another inch. She was shaking so hard the daybed creaked beneath them.
"Say it like you mean it."
"I was born for this," she gasped, voice breaking on the edge of hysteria. "Born to be fucked by you, ruined by you, owned by you. Take it. Take me. I'm begging you—"
Minato's control snapped.
He slammed home in one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt.
Robin screamed. The sound was raw, animal, echoing into the night as her body stretched around him, clenching, fluttering, trying to adjust to the sheer size of him splitting her open.
He didn't give her time. He pulled back and drove in again, harder, setting a punishing rhythm that rocked the daybed, cushions sliding, her breasts bouncing with every thrust.
His mouth found hers, swallowing her cries, kissing her through the pain and the pleasure until she was kissing him back just as savagely, teeth clashing, tongues fighting, tasting blood and salt and each other.
He fucked her like the world was ending.
Like she was the last thing he'd ever have.
Like she was the only thing he'd ever wanted.
And when she came again (shattering around him, milking him with rhythmic, desperate pulses), he finally let himself follow.
Minato buried his face in her neck, teeth sinking deep into the mark he'd already left, and spilled inside her with a guttural roar that vibrated through her bones. Heat flooded her in thick, endless pulses, marking her from the inside out.
They stayed locked together, trembling, slick with sweat and each other, hearts hammering in tandem.
After a long, long moment, he lifted his head. His thumb brushed the tears from her cheek with surprising tenderness.
"Mine," he whispered against her swollen lips.
Robin smiled, wrecked and radiant.
"Always," she answered.
Above them, the first stars appeared.
The night had only just begun.
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