Her drenched core seized up in protest. It spasd relentlessly, swallowing, milking, attempting to siphon even more of his essence, as if her very anatomy refused to let him slip away.
Cruxius froze. He couldn’t force himself to retreat.
The agonizing warmth of her, the tight, velvet texture of her slick walls hugging his shrinking flesh like a tailored glove—it anchored him in place.
He remained fully sheathed, his chest heaving with shallow breaths as his hips gave one last, involuntary twitch.
The subtle flex of his muscle coaxed a final, lazy squirt from his drained sack. Her greedy body drank it up, savoring the intrusion. The overflow of thick cream and her own natural nectar created soft, bubbling squelches whenever she clenched around him, a shaless display of her body attempting to swallow him whole.
Another sweet, jagged moan tumbled from her lips.
"Mmh~ a-ahh... it’s still... inside..."
With monuntal effort, Cruxius eased his hips back an inch. The wet seal popped, and a heavy, decadent glob of pearlescent white cream imdiately oozed from her well-used entrance.
It painted a slow path down her slick pink folds, gathering at the bottom before falling—a thick, unbroken strand of his seed cascading past her thighs and washing away into the steaming drain.
He lowered his gaze.
Watched the ss he’d made of her.
And then, the corner of his mouth curved up. It wasn’t the arrogant, dominant smirk he wore in the training yards, nor the wicked grin he usually brought to her bed.
No. This smile was small. Guarded.
Warm.
"I hope I lose myself in you, Ytrisia," he murmured, his dark eyes slowly rising from her slick thighs to et her gaze. "I really do."
That’s when she truly looked at him.
She could still feel the blunt head of his cock resting heavy between her bruised lips. She could feel the steady, humiliating drip of his climax leaking out of her core—but her mind wasn’t clouded by the lingering haze of lust anymore. She wasn’t focused on the pleasant, throbbing stretch or the dull ache of her own sensitivity.
Her vision locked entirely onto the man holding her up.
His chiseled face was beautifully flushed, his broad chest rising and falling in erratic, ragged pulls of air. The dense muscles of his arms still carried the faint tremor of his release. But his eyes—those intense, overwhelming eyes—were stripped bare. Completely unguarded.
There was no predatory hunger. No lethal pride.
Just raw, bleeding honesty.
And deep beneath her ribs, sothing fragile finally cracked wide open.
Her breath caught sharply in her throat.
Her dark eyes widened, initially stunned by the profound weight of being truly seen—not just groped, not just fucked and devoured, but laid entirely bare before him. Then, the sudden, sharp sting behind her lashes caught her completely off guard.
Wet. Hot.
Tears.
She blinked rapidly, desperate to push the rising emotion down, but it was a losing battle. The tears slipped free anyway, mixing with the shower water and trailing down her flushed cheeks before she could even process the surrender.
Because for all his shaless filth, for all his beautiful, degrading perversion, and for all the glorious ways he had utterly ruined her body tonight...
"I love you, Cruxius."
Cruxius stepped out of the humid shower stall, still carrying her.
Her thick, glistening body was wrapped around his lean, muscle-corded fra as though she had been explicitly designed to hang there. His broad hands gripped just beneath the plush swell of her ass, rough fingertips digging firm indents into her soft flesh, hoisting her up as if her weight ant nothing at all.
Her wet breasts pressed flush against his chest. With every step he took, her chilled, pebble-hard nipples brushed the rigid plains of his pectorals—a slow, agonizing friction.
The cool air of the bedroom swept over their sweat-slick, steaming skin, making her shiver. Every ti his hips rocked with his stride, her core twitched. She was agonizingly oversensitive, her inner walls still fluttering and squeezing around him from the lingering aftershocks of the orgasm he’d forced from her.
She nuzzled her damp face into the crook of his neck, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his collarbone.
And then—he spoke.
"How can I believe you?"
His tone wasn’t cold. It wasn’t mocking. It was just quiet. Too quiet. The kind of unnerving calm that made her stomach twist into a knot.
She blinked, water clinging to her dark lashes. "What...?"
He didn’t stop walking. He didn’t pull out of her, either. His shaft had softened only a fraction, still buried deep inside her canal. Her slick, lted warmth clung to his girth like hot glue, unwilling to let him slip free.
Ytrisia leaned back, parting from his neck to et his gaze. The question echoed in her head, confusing and sharp. What else could he possibly need? She had surrendered everything tonight. Her guarded heart. Her untouched body. Her absolute submission.
The salty taste of her own tears still lingered on her flushed cheeks.
"I gave you everything," she answered softly, her voice carrying a fragile tremble. "Isn’t that enough?"
He paused.
His dark eyes offered no imdiate answer.
Instead, he said:
"I have so conditions."
Ytrisia’s pulse thudded hard behind her ribs. Her plush lips parted, a flash of genuine confusion crossing her features, but she offered a hesitant nod.
Whatever it was... she was ready to hear it.
He turned, resuming his slow, deliberate pace toward the edge of the mattress. The dim bedroom lighting caught the faint tendrils of steam rising off their entangled bodies.
She remained quiet in his arms, studying the sharp lines of his face, waiting.
"I want a promise from you," he said. His breath was steady, though a much darker, ravenous hunger trembled just beneath the surface. "That you’ll prove your love every ti I ask."
She blinked again, a droplet of water rolling down her temple. "I don’t understand..."
He stopped at the edge of the bed.
"I want you," he stated, his voice a low, gravelly hum, "to give a blowjob... whenever I ask."
Her spine went entirely rigid. A sharp, audible gasp slipped past her lips.
Her wet calves tightened instinctively around his waist. Her bare ass, still cradled firmly in his broad palms, tensed with the shock of his blunt demand.
"What...?"
Cruxius’s intense gaze didn’t waver for a second. "In return, I promise... I’ll never touch another woman without asking you first."
Ytrisia flinched.
Not because the demand was unusually cruel. But because it wasn’t.
It was an offer. A calculated trade.
Not forced domination.
Inford, willing submission.
And she knew him. She knew exactly what he was and what he would always be. Unapologetic. Perverse. Insatiable. His sprawling lust was never going to just vanish.
But this—
This was the closest this man had ever co to offering restraint.
Her throat tightened painfully.
She should have protested. A woman of her standing should have scread, slapped him, called him a selfish, twisted bastard.
But instead...
She slowly laid her head back down against his shoulder.
Quiet.
Still.
Agreeing.
Her helpless silence was all the answer he needed.
Cruxius didn’t smile.
His hardened expression didn’t soften.
His fingers sank even deeper into the plush curves of her bottom, prying her soft cheeks apart with deliberate, humiliating cruelty as he took a half-step back from the mattress—not to lay her down. Not yet.
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