“Chain links, worn jeans,” I crooned there. “I could search ‘til I’m done, ‘til moon becomes sun.”

His hand slid up in my hair, bunching it at the back of my skull, his other arm banding across my back, the pads of his fingers digging into the sides of my ribs.

“Chain links, white tee. Wither to dust, crumble like rust, all I need is to be at your side.”

I stopped singing.

“You done?” he asked, his voice thick, his hold on me fierce, his eyes burning.

“Thank you for my house, honey.”

“You’re done,” he muttered.

I was done.

But we were not since he kissed me.

While he did, he pushed me so my back was to the counter, his tongue in my mouth a sensual assault, an intimate branding, more potent than his mark, the one he often found times to renew on my shoulder.

Through it, he yanked at my belt, jerked down my zipper, pulled at my jeans. As I felt wet flood between my legs, I also felt cold marble hit my ass. But even cold, it heated me as Deke angled away. He lifted one of my feet, yanking off my boot, my sock. To the other, they were gone. With a vicious sweep that pulled my ass to the edge of the counter, forcing a gust of electrified breath from my lips, my jeans were torn away.

I watched Deke straighten, his hands to his own jeans. He pulled them down over his hips, his hard cock springing free.

Then he surprised me.

He didn’t bend over me, take my mouth when he took my cunt.

He reached to me, wrapping his hand around my throat. Collaring me with his touch, scalding me with the look in his eyes, he caught the back of one of my knees in his hand, yanked up as his hips pressed in.

They rolled and his cock head slithered, fixed on its target, and then he drove in.

Taking him, feeling the exquisiteness of Deke filling me, my neck arched back, the weight and warmth of his large hand spanning my throat splitting my avid attention from that to the force of his thrusts pounding into me.

“Eyes on me, Justice,” he ground out.

I righted my head, looked into his eyes, watched the ferocity of feeling etch in his face.

That ferocity for me.

All for me.

I trembled on marble.

“Root myself in you,” he grunted, doing just that and grinding.

Oh God.

God.

I lifted the leg he didn’t have hold of and pressed the inside of my thigh to his side, everything quivering, legs, belly, lips, fingers, pussy.

“Deke.”

He pulled back, but not out, and again started thrusting.

His fingers tightened on my neck even as his thumb slid up, wedging against the hinge of my jaw. Trembling more violently, I felt the pad of it pressing there, searing, certain after we were through I’d look in the mirror and see the burn of his print there, scorched into me.

“Anyone but me ever gonna get in this cunt?” he asked.

I tensed around his driving cock.

Yes.

I was right.

He was searing himself into me. His. For his use. For him. No other.

I was Deke’s.

“No,” I whispered.

“Ever?” he clipped.

“Not ever, baby,” I promised breathlessly.

He pounded into me, my body wrenching with each thrust, held steady only by his hand at my throat, his other one gripping hard at my knee.

Suddenly he jerked up that knee, slamming my pussy into his driving cock, each lunge colliding with my clit, pulsing through me. I lifted one hand to wrap my fingers around his wrist at my neck, holding him there, keeping him there, submitting to all he was doing, communicating I was his to claim. The other hand I slid between my legs, fingers separating, feeling in another way the beauty of Deke claiming me, marking me as his inside, all his, a place no one else would ever be.

It started sweltering over me. I lifted my head, pressing into his collar at my throat, looking under my lashes right into his eyes, moaning raggedly, “Baby, fuck me. Keep fucking me, Deke. Don’t stop. Never stop.”

He’d been taking me roughly, but at my words, his growl drove up my cunt as it rolled out his mouth and he bent slightly into me, his eyes locked to mine, and the silken violence of his fucking turned to velvet savagery.

“Yes, baby,” I panted. Pulling my fingers from between my legs, I lifted that hand and caught it hard around the back of his neck. “That’s yours. Make it yours, all yours, Deke.”

“Come, Jussy,” he grunted.

I didn’t want to come. I wanted my grip on him, his grip on me, his eyes like that, his face like that, his cock marking me deep, and I wanted it for eternity.

“Goddamn it, come, Jussy,” he snarled.

I was panting, soft moans escaping each time he plunged deep, filling me, connecting with me, knitting himself stronger in everything that was me, my eyes pinned to his.

It was time.

“Love you,” I whispered.

“Love you too, gypsy, now fuckin’ come,” he growled back.

I came. My spine arching off the marble, my leg winding around the small of his back, my fingers curling, my nails sinking into flesh, I cried out, first his name then soft noises escaping me as I felt my pussy undulate around his still thrusting cock, my clit contracting, throbbing, my breath finally suspending.

“Fuck.”

That came from Deke and it was a muted roar as he continued to pound into me, the feral sound of his release scraping into my skin, driving up my cunt, prolonging my orgasm as I felt him shoot hot and wet and deep into me.

When he collapsed on me, forehead to my temple, forcing my head to the side to cushion him, he didn’t let go of my throat or my knee.