My heart races, each beat a thunderous drum against my ribs, echoing the chaos I've let into my life. I want to resist this—God, I do. I want to cling to the fragile threads of denial, to the memory of David's warm hand in mine during that picnic he planned, the way his laugh cuts through the ordinary noise of a sunny afternoon. That's the life I crave: simple mornings with coffee and crosswords, evenings tangled in sheets without the sting of fangs or the pull of something darker.
But the ache... oh, the ache is a molten knot low in my belly, twisting with every shallow, ragged breath I take. It's Grayson who unravels me, who makes resistance feel like a lie I'm too tired to tell myself anymore.
"Get undressed," he commands, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through the air between us, wrapping around my throat like silk-wrapped steel.
My hands move before my mind can protest, traitorous and eager, peeling off my clothes with shaking fingers. The cool air of the room whispers over my skin as each piece falls away, leaving me naked and exposed before him.
His eyes darken as he takes me in, drinking in every curve and line of my body. I shiver under the weight of his gaze, feeling it like a brand on my skin.
"Good girl," he murmurs, and the praise sends a thrill through me, heating my blood, making my core throb.
His hand lifts, slow and deliberate, fingertips grazing the curve of my cheekbone with a touch that's light yet branded into my skin. Cool, always so cool against the feverish heat rising in me.
I lean into it before I can stop myself, my eyes fluttering shut as that invisible tether between us tightens, pulling me under. Why him? Why now, when David's texts are still lighting up my phone, promising normalcy I can almost taste? But resistance crumbles like ash under his gaze, hazel eyes stormy with hunger and something softer, something that whispers stay even as it terrifies me.
A dark smile curves his lips, slow and predatory, the kind that sends a shiver racing down my spine—not entirely from fear.
"Bend over the bed," he commands, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through the air between us, wrapping around my throat like silk-wrapped steel.
The words hit me like a shockwave, jolting every nerve alive, igniting sparks that dance along my skin. My body moves before my mind can protest, traitorous and eager, folding me over the high edge of the mattress. My hands grip the dark sheets, fingers twisting into the cool fabric as if it could anchor me against the storm he's about to unleash. The position leaves me utterly exposed, vulnerable in a way that makes my breath hitch—ass lifted high, thighs parting just enough to bare the slick heat of my pussy to the room's chill air.
I shiver, a full-body tremor that has nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the weight of his stare burning into me from behind. David's face flickers in my mind unbidden: his gentle smile, the way he'd never demand this, never push me to the edge like this. Safe, I think, even as my core clenches with desperate need. But God, safe feels so empty right now.
He steps up behind me, close enough that I feel the brush of his jeans against thighs, the hard line of his body a promise of what's coming. His hands find my hips, fingers digging in with just enough pressure to bruise the edges of my control, drawing a gasp from my lips that echoes in the quiet room.
I twist my head, looking back at him over my shoulder, and the sight steals what little breath I have left—the dark promise swirling in those hazel depths, fangs glinting faintly in the low light like a warning I can't heed. My thighs clench instinctively, anticipation coiling tight in my belly, wetness already slicking my inner thighs.
"You've been running for too long," he says, his voice low and gravel-rough, laced with a knowing edge that makes my cheeks burn. He knows—about David, about the texts I send in stolen moments, about the way I chase normalcy even as this bond drags me back to him every time. And he doesn't mind, not yet; there's no jealousy in his tone, only a quiet certainty, like he believes the fire between us will burn away everything else.
"But you're done running now. Aren't you?"
I nod slowly, the motion pulling at the sheets in my fists, my breath catching in my throat as he uses his knee to nudge my legs wider. The air kisses my exposed folds, cool and teasing, amplifying the throb of the ache between us. I feel it in him too—the way his eyes darken, pupils blowing wide with shared hunger, the bond humming like a live wire strung taut. David's warmth was a balm this afternoon, tender and reassuring, but this... this is a blaze, consuming and chaotic, the kind of thrill that makes my pulse roar in my ears.
His hands leave my hips, trailing a deliberate path up the curve of my spine, mapping every dip and swell until they tangle in my hair. He pulls back—not hard enough to hurt, but firm, insistent, arching my back into a bow that thrusts my ass higher, offering myself up like a surrender I didn't plan. The position steals my voice for a moment, leaves me panting, exposed to his mercy.
"Say it," he murmurs, his free hand sliding around my hip, fingers dipping between my legs with flawless accuracy. They find me drenched, swollen and ready, and he circles my clit once, twice, before thrusting two fingers deep into my dripping pussy. The intrusion is electric, stretching me just enough to make me eager, my walls clenching around him greedily.
"Tell me what you want."
I whimper, hips rocking back into his touch without shame, chasing the friction that sends sparks skittering up my spine. The bond pulses with every stroke of his fingers, demanding more, drowning out the whisper of guilt that tries to surface—David wouldn't do this, wouldn't make you beg like this. But that's the lie, isn't it? David's safe harbor can't touch this storm.
"You," I gasp, my voice breaking on the word, raw and pleading as his fingers curl inside me, hitting that spot that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. "I want you. Grayson, please—"
He gives a low, grim laugh that vibrates through his chest, pulling his fingers free with a wet sound that makes me whine at the sudden emptiness.
The sound of his zipper sliding down fills the room, loud in the charged silence. I barely have time to register it before I feel him—the hot, hard head of his cock pressing against my entrance, blunt and insistent, teasing the slick folds of my pussy.
But he doesn't give it to me fully, not yet. Instead, he slides the tip along my wetness, nudging against my clit with each shallow, torturous thrust, coating himself in my arousal. The friction is maddening, building the ache to a fever pitch without mercy, every glide sending jolts of pleasure-pain straight to my core.
I whimper louder, my hips rocking back desperately, seeking more, deeper, anything to quench the fire. But he holds me still, one hand iron on my hip, the other fisting my hair just tight enough to remind me who's in control.
"Please," I gasp again, the word fracturing into a sob as my body trembles, thighs quivering with the effort to stay still. "Grayson, please—I can't—"
He makes a low sound, almost a growl, primal and possessive, the vibration of it rumbling against my back where his chest brushes me. And then, finally, I feel him—the thick, hard length of him pressing into me, inch by agonizing inch, stretching my walls with a burn that's exquisite, overwhelming. He enters me slowly, deliberately, letting me feel every ridge, every vein, the way he fills me so completely it borders on too much. My head falls forward against the sheets, a moan tearing from my throat as my body yields to him, clenching around the invasion like it's been starving for this.
He moves in me with measured strokes at first, each one deep and unhurried, winding the tension tighter in my core like a spring pulled to breaking. The world narrows to this—to the bed creaking softly under us, to the slap of skin on skin, to the places where our bodies join in slick, heated rhythm.
I'm moaning now, high and desperate, every thrust pushing me higher, my pleas dissolving into wordless cries as the bond sings between us, alive and insatiable. David's face ghosts through my mind again—his gentle hands, the way he'd hold me after, whispering sweet nothings—but it's drowned out by the roar of this, by the way Grayson claims me without apology, body and soul.
But just as the coil in my belly tightens to the point of snapping, just as release shimmers within reach, he pulls back. His cock leaves me in one smooth, cruel motion, leaving me empty, clenching around nothing, the ache sharpening to a knife's edge. I sob outright, hips bucking back into the void, chasing the ghost of him.
"Please," I beg, voice raw and broken, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. "Don't—Grayson, I need—"
He gives a dark chuckle, low and wicked, the sound of it sending fresh shivers through me. His cock presses back against me, the tip breaching my entrance once more, but he keeps the strokes shallow this time—teasing, tormenting, dipping in just enough to let me feel the stretch before withdrawing again. Never quite enough to push me over, always pulling away at the last second, leaving me dangling on the edge. He does it again, and again, a rhythm of denial that turns my body into a live wire, every nerve screaming for release. Each withdrawal is agony, a hollow ache that borders on pain, my pussy fluttering desperately around the brief invasions. Each shallow thrust offers a cruel taste of relief, stoking the fire higher until I'm trembling, sweat-slicked and sobbing, my nails digging crescents into the sheets.
He keeps me there, teetering on that brutal edge, for what feels like an eternity—minutes stretching into forever as my world reduces to sensation, to the relentless build and deny, to the bond thrumming with our shared torment. I'm lost to it completely, lost to him. My body isn't mine anymore; it's his canvas, his instrument, played with expert cruelty by his touch, his will, his unyielding control. Thoughts of David flicker like dying embers—he'd never hurt me like this, never make me wait—but even that guilt twists into fuel for the fire, sharpening the need until it's all I am.
Only when I'm certain I can take no more, when my pleas devolve into wordless, desperate cries that rasp from a throat gone raw, does he finally relent. His grip on my hair tightens, arching my back impossibly further as his other hand digs into my hip, holding me pinned and open. His cock drives deep then—hard, branding, no more teasing, each thrust a punishing claim that slams into me with the force of pent-up hunger. The fullness is devastating, hitting that spot inside me over and over, the slap of his hips against my ass echoing like a heartbeat in the room.
"Come for me," he growls, the words a command laced with gravel and possession, his fangs grazing the shell of my ear without breaking skin—just enough to make me shatter.
I break with a scream, his name ripping from my lips like a prayer as the pleasure crashes over me, wave after blinding wave. My walls clench around him in rhythmic spasms, milking him as ecstasy rips through me, leaving me boneless, trembling, tears streaking my cheeks. He follows a heartbeat later, burying himself to the hilt with a guttural groan, spilling hot and deep inside me as his body shudders against mine. His whispers light against my skin—words of praise, of fierce possession, of a promise that this tether binds us deeper with every surrender: "Mine, Cassidy... just the beginning... let me keep you."
He pulls out slowly, the drag of him sending aftershocks rippling through me, and his hands turn gentle in an instant—steadying me as he helps me straighten, turning me to face him with a care that steals my breath all over again. His kiss is soft, almost sweet, a tender press of lips that contrasts sharply with the rough claiming of moments before, his tongue tracing mine like an apology wrapped in affection.
I melt into it, arms looping around his neck, the bond between us humming contentedly now—satisfied for the moment, a low, steady thrum like a lullaby after the storm.
But it's never truly quiet, that bond. It's a reminder, pulsing faintly under my skin—a promise of more chaos to come, a warning that my double life with David is a tightrope I'm walking blind. Grayson pulls back, eyes searching mine with that quiet intensity, and for a second, I wonder how long he can pretend not to mind before the fire demands everything. For now, though, I let myself lean into him, chasing the thrill even as normalcy tugs at the edges of my heart.