Page 18 of Stalked By Raiden

“On the bed,” he says. “Lie back.”

I obey, the cotton cool against my heated skin. I watch as he drags his shirt over his head, revealing the full canvas of his chest—ink everywhere, intricate designs that draw my eye and make my fingers itch to trace them. He’s magnificent, powerful, and he’s looking at me like I’m the only thing that matters in the world.

“Open your legs,” he commands, and I do, spreading myself for him, feeling the air against my wetness, the vulnerability of the position. “Keep them there. Don’t move.”

He climbs onto the bed, kneeling between my thighs, and starts at my ankle. His mouth is hot, wet, tracing a path up my calf, my knee, and the inside of my thigh. The barbell on his tongue creates delicious sensations as he explores.

He takes his time, licking, sucking, and marking my skin with his teeth. By the time he reaches my hip, I’m writhing, desperate, my hands clutching the sheets to keep from reaching for him.

“Please,” I gasp, and I don’t even know what I’m asking for.

He doesn’t answer. He simply moves higher, his tongue tracing the curve of my waist, the underside of my breast, the hollow of my throat. Everywhere he touches burns, and I’m so wet I can feel it slick against my thighs. So aroused I think I might shatter from the tension alone.

When he finally reaches my pussy, I cry out, my hips lifting off the bed. He doesn’t tease, doesn’t hesitate. He buries his face in me, his tongue finding my clit with devastating accuracy. I scream, the sound torn from my throat, the piercing heightening my pleasure.

He eats me like he’s starving, like he could survive on the taste of me alone. He doesn’t put his fingers in me. He doesn’t give me anything to hold on to or clench around. There’s nothing to do but lie there with my legs open where he told me to keep them and let him take it out of me.

“Raiden, please, I-I can’t…”

“You don’t get to decide that,” he growls against me, the vibration making me gasp. “You told me you were mine. I’m collecting.”

He sucks my clit between his lips, working it with his tongue, one forearm braced across my hips to hold me down, and I shatter. The orgasm crashes over me like a tidal wave, surging through me violently.

But he doesn’t stop. He works one finger into me while I’m still coming, slow and steady, keeping me on the edge even as I try to squirm away from the intensity.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, kissing my thigh, my hip. “I need you open for me. Need you ready to take all of me.”

He adds another finger in, stretching me, and the burn is a little uncomfortable but delicious. I’m so wet I can hear it, the obscene sound of his fingers moving inside me, and it makes me blush even as it makes me hotter.

“Look at you,” he says, his voice thick with wonder and lust. “So wet for me. So desperate. Tell me who you belong to.”

“You,” I gasp, pressing into his touch. “Raiden, please, I need…”

“What do you need?” He withdraws his fingers, and I whimper at the loss, at the empty ache he leaves behind. “Tell me exactly.”

“I need you inside me,” I manage, my face burning with the words, with the need. “Please, Raiden, I want you to fuck me.”

He groans, the sound torn from his chest, and then he’s stripping off his jeans and his boxer briefs. His cock juts out, hard and thick, and already wet at the tip. I stare, fascinated, aroused beyond belief, and he smirks as he catches me looking.

“Like what you see, Freckles?”

I nod, unable to speak.

Something moves behind his eyes, dark and satisfied, and he doesn’t say a word about it.

He positions himself at my entrance, the head of his cock pressing against me, stretching me already. “This is going to hurt,” he warns, his voice strained with control. “But I’ll make it good for you. I’ll make you forget everything but me.”

He pushes in, slow and steady, and I cry out at the intrusion, at the burn of being stretched around him. He’s big, bigger than I expected. I feel every inch of him claiming me, filling me, until he’s seated to the hilt and I’m panting, adjusting, my nails digging into his shoulders.

“Fuck,” he grits out, his forehead pressed against mine. “You’re so tight. So perfect. You feel like you were made for me.”

He starts to move, slow thrusts that gradually build in speed and intensity. The pain fades into something else. It’s electric and overwhelming, building with every stroke. He shifts his angle, and suddenly he’s hitting some place that makes my vision go white at the edges.

I moan aloud, my legs wrapping around his waist to pull him deeper.

“That’s it,” he praises, his voice rough. “Take me. Take all of me. You’re mine, Freckles. Say it.”

“Yours,” I gasp, arching to meet his thrusts. “R-Rraiden, I’m yours, please…”