“Do it again,” he said with a gruff quality that was sexy as hell. “Howl for me. Come undone. I’ll put you back together.”

I screamed again, my face a mess of sweat and tears, and grasped his shoulders, my fingernails biting into hot, damp skin. “I fucking love you,” I choked as the last ounce of strength fled. I was gelatinous skin and bones in his embrace.

“No, stay with me.” He still moved inside me, and his lips mashed against his teeth as he neared orgasm. He dropped his head into the crook of my shoulder, smothered a deep groan, and emptied into me.

Time stilled, seconds ticking in an endless loop while we held each other, and eventually our breathing slowed. Twined together in sweat, twisted in each other and in the sheets, the charged air blanketed us. I didn’t know how much time had passed, but his face took up space only inches from mine. I breathed in when he exhaled, our chests dancing together to the same beat. My skin tingled and sparked from head to toe, and I shivered because he was still nestled inside me, his erection growing by the second.

“I’m still fucking hard. I can’t get enough of you.” He pressed me into the mattress and pinned my arms above my head. His need to control no longer scared me. If anything, it made me feel more connected to him, more alive. By giving him this, I felt I was giving him back a small piece of himself. I’d never be able to atone for my sins, for the years of torment I’d put him through, but I could do this, could give him every broken piece of me.

“I’ve never felt this way before,” I whispered.

“What way?”

“Like you. Like I can’t get enough.”

“My insatiable little slut.” His lips curved against mine, taking the sting out of the insult. Unlike when Zach said it, the word held different connotations when coming from Rafe’s lips. Pride, possessiveness. His fingers tightened around my wrists. “My sexy little slut. I’ve waited so fucking long to be inside you.” His free hand circled my jaw, and his lips and tongue battled with mine endlessly. We came up for air, and he bit into my shoulder.

I drew in a breath between clenched teeth.

“Does my need to hurt you scare you?” he asked.

“No.”

“This is nothing, Alex. I have some really fucked up fantasies, things I’ve never tried with anyone.”

I should have felt at least marginally afraid by his admission, but I could only grasp a single detail—he’d never done the things he wanted to do with me.

“Like what?”

“That’s a conversation for another day.”

“Rafe,” I groaned.

“I’ll need to make you cry. Often. I love the taste of your tears.”