4

She collapsed into the mattress, chest heaving, skin slick with sweat and moonlight. Her limbs didn’t feel like her own anymore—boneless, trembling, soaked in the aftershock of something far bigger than a climax.

Something eternal.

And still… he didn’t move.

He remained buried inside her, deep and thick, a weight she never wanted to lose. His body—warm, solid, and unnervingly still—hovered above her, framed by the flickering shadows that curled like smoke around the room.

In the mirror, his eyes burned brighter.

And his smile… gods, that smile. It wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t kind either. It was knowing. Possessive. Like he’d found something sacred—and claimed it with no intention of ever giving it back.

She tried to speak, but her lips barely formed a sound. All she could manage was a breathless whisper: “What are you?”

He leaned in close, brushing his lips against hers, not kissing—branding. A trace of heat lingered where his mouth touched her, as though his touch was sinking deeper than skin.

“I am what your soul called,” he murmured.

One hand slid up her thigh, not to tease, not to arouse—just to remind her he was still there. Inside her. Holding her open. Keeping her full.

“You’ve dreamed of me since you learned what need was,” he continued, voice like velvet laced with ash. “You’ve whispered my name in the dark, even if you didn’t know it. You’ve begged for something more—something that could reach into your chest and stay there.”

His fingers found her jaw, tilting it up. Her eyes met his, and the shadows rippling beneath his skin stirred.

“I am the answer,” he said, matter-of-fact. “And now I’m in you.”

A tremor rolled through her, and not just from the words. His cock twitched inside her—slowly thickening again, responding to her heartbeat, her breath, her want. Her body ached for more, even as her muscles trembled from what he’d already given.

And he knew it.

He felt it.

“You’re still open for me,” he whispered, rocking his hips just a little. Just enough to drag another breathless moan from her lips. “Still hungry. Good.”

She shuddered. “It’s too much…”

He smiled again, this time with something gentler beneath the hunger. “Then I’ll give you more.”

His hips moved—slower now, deep and deliberate. Not pounding. Folding into her like he belonged there. Like he was curling around her very soul.

With each movement, her breath hitched. Her fingers tangled in the sheets. The space between pain and pleasure blurred again, like her body wasn’t sure if it could survive what it craved.

“You were never meant for soft men,” he murmured. “Never meant for empty touches or half-hearted hands.”

His palm dragged down her side, across her waist, to her belly—pressing just above where his cock filled her, like he wanted her to feel him from the inside out.

“You were meant for something that could take you.”

He emphasized the word with another slow thrust, and the pressure built again—low, coiled, breathless.

“For shadow,” he whispered.

Another thrust.

“For heat.”

Another.

“For me.”

Her nails scraped down his back. She was already shaking again. He hadn’t needed to fuck her hard—just right. Deep. Steady. Ruthless in how well he knew her now.

The rhythm wasn’t about getting off anymore. It was about melding. It was about imprinting himself on her body until she forgot what it felt like to be untouched.

And gods… it was working.

She wasn’t even sure where her body ended and his began anymore. The room pulsed with his presence, thick with shadows that felt like breath on her skin. Every moan echoed back at her from the mirror, distorted, haunted. Holy.

“I can feel it,” he said, teeth grazing her neck. “You’re close again. But you’re not just coming, are you?”

He kissed her throat, just beneath the jaw.

“You’re offering.”

And she was.

Her legs wrapped around him tighter. Her walls fluttered. Her body strained toward the edge again—not just chasing pleasure, but giving in to something that went deeper than flesh.

He groaned into her skin, like the surrender itself fed him.

“That’s it,” he growled. “Let go. Let me keep you.”

And she did.

The orgasm built again, but it was slower this time. Not violent. Not sudden. Just inevitable. Like a tide rising until it washed away the line between girl and goddess, between pleasure and worship.

She arched, gasped, begged—and this time, he didn’t stop her.

He followed her.

He came with a sound like a growl and a prayer, pouring into her like heat and possession, like a brand that settled deep inside her womb. The weight of him, the depth of him, the raw claiming of it all left her shaking with something that felt like both bliss and binding.

And when the shuddering stopped, when the final moans faded into silence…

He stayed.

Not just in her body.

In the air. In her chest. In her soul.

The mirror flickered.

The shadows curled around her skin like a second lover.

And from inside her, from deep in the echoing corners of her mind, came a voice as familiar as her own breath:

“Mine.”

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