His Little Storm
Her back hits the wall and I cage her there, breathing her in like she's the only oxygen left in this ruined world.
"Look at you, Manyata," I murmur against her lips. "Still pretending you're not shaking for me."
I press closer - not gentle, never gentle - just enough to make her feel the weight of me. The hunger of me.
"You're fierce," I growl softly. "But your body... it gives you away, my visious Angel."
"Don't flatter yourself, Michael," She whispers, even as her fingers curl into my shirt. "I don't tremble for men."
She challenges me with her words, but her pulse is racing under my thumb.
"I don't want to own you," I say darkly. "I want to ruin you for anyone else."
I lean down, lips brushing her ear.
"You think I can let you go?" My voice drops. "After the way you look at me? After the way you burn when I touch you?"
"You are mine to crave, Manyata."
"My brat ," I murmur, brushing my forehead against hers. "Beauty like yours shouldn't exist."
I thrust into her , deep and hard , voice roughening with every word.
"You"-thrust-"are"-thrust-"fucking"-thrust-"mine."