Caine chuckled, and the sound vibrated between them. Her laugh, warmth, and the way she met his every movement like a rhythm she knew felt too good to question.
Whatever she was, whoever she was—he could forget that for tonight.
So he kissed her again.
The kiss deepened — heat blooming between them like a flame to kindling. Her body responded before her mind could catch up, arching into him, a quiet sound slipping from her throat that she hadn't meant to make.
Caine's mouth was deliberate. No fumbling, no doubt. Every movement had a purpose — a slow drag of his lips, the tease of his tongue, then the firm claim of another kiss that pulled a gasp from her chest. It was intoxicating — not just how he kissed her, but how he read her. It was Like he knew what she needed before she did.
She shouldn't have let him keep control.
But it felt too good to stop.
His hands traced her curves — not possessive, not greedy, but sure. One slid down her side, fingers brushing old wounds she was used to hiding. The scars were scattered — over her ribs, her hipbone, along the inside of her thigh. They were the quiet marks of a life spent surviving things most people couldn't imagine.
Caine didn't pause.
Didn't stiffen.
Didn't ask.
He noticed — she felt it in the subtle shift of his fingers, in how his thumb lingered at the edge of one — but he didn't treat her like glass. Or something broken.
He just touched her like she was his.
Verity let out a shaky breath. "You're awfully confident," she murmured against his mouth, her voice soft and teasing as if playing her part.
Caine pulled back just enough to look at her. His eyes, dark and unreadable, searched hers — but not for answers. For feeling. "Only when I know what I want," he said, kissing her again before she could parry.
She felt the weight of him — solid, grounding — as he shifted his grip and pressed more fully between her legs. His body covered hers, but not with brute strength. It was more like a seal, a claim, the kind of dominance that didn't need violence to be absolute. He didn't pin her to trap her — he pinned her to know her. Every reaction, every breath, every slight tremble beneath his hands.
His hips moved — slow, just once — a single motion meant to test her, measure her response. Her breath hitched. Her thighs gripped tighter around him on instinct. Her hands — traitorous, wanting — slid up his back, feeling the hard line of muscle beneath his skin.
He adjusted, lowering his lips to kiss the underside of her jaw, brushing the rapid beat of her pulse. His breath was hot, his voice a murmur.
"Tell me if I go too far."
It was said gently, not because he feared her breaking — but because he respected it.
She hated that.
And somehow… melted into it.
"I'll bite you," she said, voice barely above a whisper, feigning sass through her breathlessness.
He smirked against her neck. "Good."
Then his mouth moved lower — down the curve of her throat, to the hollow of her collarbone, and lower still. Her robe had long since slipped from her shoulders, leaving her bared to him, the soft candlelight playing over skin and scar. He didn't flinch from any of it. His mouth found a place just beneath her ribs — where a long, pale scar cut across her skin — and kissed it with the same care he had kissed her lips.
Verity's hands curled into the sheets.
No one had ever done that.
No one had ever seen that part of her and treated it like anything other than a reminder of violence.
But Caine — damn him — didn't seem to care who she was or what those scars meant.
Only that she felt good under him.
Only that she wanted him.
And she did.
Gods, she did.
He lifted his head, lips swollen from kissing her, breathing unsteadily. His gaze met hers again — intense, unreadable — and then he shifted, drawing her legs higher until her lips were matching his…and he started eating her pussy—slow, deliberate, cruel in how perfectly restrained it was.
Caine's tongue was velvet and heat, dragging in long, languid swipes through the slick folds of her sex. Still, every time Verity's hips rolled forward in search of more, every time her thighs trembled or her breath hitched with a whimpering "nnnh—please…", he pulled back. Just enough. Just barely. To keep her trembling at the edge.
Her hands fisted the sheets, muscles tight, spine arched as he flattened his tongue again, circling her clit with maddening care, just shy of the pressure she needed. Her hips jerked, and he held her down, one arm slung over her thigh like an anchor, his other hand slipping under to cup her ass and keep her tilted just how he wanted her.
"You motherfucker," she gasped, laughing through the frustration, voice cracking from how breathless she was.
He didn't answer. His mouth sealed to her clit again, suck—sharp and sudden—and she bucked hard, her voice breaking on a high, choked cry. "F-fuck, I—Caine, I need to—"
"Not yet," he murmured, his lips brushing her soaked folds. His breath was ragged too now, controlled but hungry. He flicked her clit once with the very tip of his tongue—flick, flick—then drew it into his mouth again and hummed low, the vibration making her seize.
She clawed at his shoulders, pulling at his hair. "You're fucking evil," she groaned.
Caine grinned into her, not relenting. If anything, the slow torment intensified. He kept her strung like a wire—back arched, mouth open, eyes glazed with pleasure and need and helpless fury. Her body trembled on the verge of release, cresting again and again, but every time she got close—
He'd stop.
Pull away.
Kissing her inner thigh like nothing had happened while she sobbed a needy whimper into the pillow, grinding down uselessly on the air.
"Caine—fuck—please, let me—let me come—please—"
Her voice was wrecked now. Desperate. Raw. She didn't beg. Ever.
But he'd made her.
He rose slowly, eyes dark and wild as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His lips were slick with her, his jaw tense like holding himself back was a war he was barely winning.
"You want to come?" he asked, voice low, gravel and smoke, dragging his cock from his pants in one brutal motion. He was hard—so hard—and flushed at the tip, the sight of her trembling beneath him enough to make his pulse thunder.
Verity stared up at him, wide-eyed, panting. "Yes," she whispered, breath hitching. "Fuck me. Now."
Caine didn't ask again. He lined himself up, then slammed into her with a single, deep thrust—thock—and she screamed. Loud, high, unguarded.
"FUCK—!"
Her legs wrapped around his waist as if they could stop him from ever pulling out again, and he fucked her hard—merciless now, pistoning into her with every ounce of tension he'd been holding back. Each thrust jolted her and drove the breath from her lungs. Skin slapped against the skin—wet, hot, the obscene sounds of their bodies colliding echoing through the loft as her cries came unfiltered.
"Caine—Caine—fuck—you're—ngh—too deep—!"
"Good," he growled into her ear, one hand gripping the headboard, the other tangled in her hair, pulling her back to expose her throat so he could bite it—not gently. "You take it."
"I'm gonna come—fuck—I'm gonna—"
"Now," he snarled, snapping his hips up in a brutal thrust that made her scream. "Now you can come."
And Verity did.
She came with a broken, gasping cry—"Ahh—haaah—Caine—oh fuck—!"—her whole body seizing under him, cunt pulsing tight around his cock, milking him, driving him over the edge with her.
He felt her come before she even cried out—her body tightening all at once around him, muscles clenching in hot, rhythmic waves that drew his cock deeper, squeezed like she was trying to keep him inside her forever. That gasp that wrecked little "Caine—oh fuck—!" hit him like a jolt, but he didn't follow her over the edge. Not yet.
He gritted his teeth, every nerve lit, fighting the pull of her cunt around him. It would've been so easy to let go, to spill into her then and there, but he didn't. Instead, he braced himself, hands digging into the mattress beside her head, jaw tight with restraint as he drove into her again—hard.
She whimpered, oversensitive, her body still twitching as her orgasm dragged on. "Caine—nngh\—I can't—too much—"
"Yes, you can." His voice was rough, almost ragged, but steady. "You're not done."
He shifted his angle, adjusting his grip on her thighs to pin them wider, deeper, his cock sliding back in slick and unrelenting. Her breath hitched, then caught in a moan as he bottomed out again—thock—and she bucked up against him, hips twitching, helpless.
"I feel—fuck—I feel everything," she gasped, nails clawing into his back. "You're so deep—"
"I know." He growled it against her throat, sweat dripping from his brow as he pushed harder, deeper, punishing. Not cruel. Just… possessive. Like she was his now, and his body was staking the claim.
Verity writhed beneath him, her second orgasm crashing down before she could even register it, a high broken wail tearing out of her throat as her cunt spasmed again—clenching, pulsing, soaking his cock in more heat.
This time, he nearly lost it. His hips stuttered once, a choked groan escaping from deep in his chest, but he grits his teeth and holds.
Still not yet.
He wanted to finish inside her. Deep.
He was deep—so deep she could feel the swollen pressure of his cock pressing against places no one else ever had, every thick inch driving her open and full and desperate.
Verity's head dropped back against the pillow, lips parted, flushed, and wrecked, her whole body trembling. She could feel it—Gods, she could feel him—the twitch, the involuntary pulse inside her, thick and urgent, as his cock jerked with the pressure building. He was close. So fucking close.
"Caine," she moaned, fingers weaving through the sweat-soaked strands of his hair, pulling him closer until their foreheads touched. Her breath ghosted over his mouth, her voice thick, wrecked, and pleading. "I can feel you—gods, you're pulsing—"
His eyes locked on hers, dark, wild, unblinking.
"Don't hold back," she whispered, mouth brushing his. "Come inside me."
And that was it.
He buried himself to the hilt, hips snapping forward one last time—hard, deep, final—as he came with a low, guttural growl, his entire body convulsing against hers. His cock throbbed inside her in hot, insistent pulses, each spasm pouring into her until she could feel the warmth flooding deep, spreading, filling her in thick, endless waves.
She gasped, clinging to him as his orgasm dragged on longer than she expected—every twitch of him inside her, igniting a new aftershock in her own body.
"Fuck—yes—yes—fill me, gods, Caine—" she cried, nails digging into his back as her cunt tightened all over again, a third orgasm overtaking her like a tidal wave.
He collapsed against her, breathing heavily, face buried in her neck, still twitching inside her even as he started to soften.
But he didn't pull out.
She didn't let him.
They lay like that momentarily, tangled and slick with sweat, bodies still trembling in the aftermath. Her thighs were still open, stretched wide around his hips, her core aching and full, his cum seeping slowly out around where he stayed buried in her.
But then—
She shifted.
Just a little roll of her hips. Just enough to feel him start to swell again.
Caine groaned into her neck. "You're insatiable."
Verity grinned wickedly, fingers dragging down his spine. "You're still hard."
"Because you keep squeezing me."
She clenched again—slow, deliberate.
He growled.
And within seconds, he was moving again, slower this time but no gentler—still deep, still thick, dragging another moan from her lips as his cock, slick with both of them, slid right back into place as he'd never left.
The second round was filthier.
Less control. More need.
He flipped her over, pressed her face to the sheets, drove into her from behind while she screamed into the pillow and pushed back, greedy for more. His cum spilled out between her thighs with every thrust, soaking the bed beneath them. Still, he just groaned and grabbed her hips tighter, watching himself disappear into her over and over again.
"Look at this mess," he snarled, one hand slipping down to rub her clit while he fucked into her raw. "You wanted this—you begged for this."
She tried to answer, but all that came out was a strangled sob of pleasure—"Nnnh—yes—gods, don't stop—"
He didn't.
Not for a long time.
They kept going. Again. And again.
Until her voice was gone, her legs trembling and useless, her cunt raw and fluttering around him with every aftershock.
His cum dripped between her cheeks, oozing from her little cunt while his fingers pressed there, slow and slick, spreading the mess deliberately. He didn't stop moving inside her—not even as she trembled, oversensitive and raw, her body twitching with every lazy thrust. His cock stayed buried deep, thick, and swollen, still twitching from the aftershocks of his release, while his hand moved lower.
Verity let out a strangled moan as one finger circled her rim—light at first, teasing, using the mess he'd made to ease the way. Her hips jerked involuntarily, but she didn't pull away. She arched instead, back curling like a bowstring, offering more.
"Fuck, you feel that?" he murmured into her ear, voice thick, spent but hungry. "All that mess I put in you… dripping everywhere."
"Mmh—gods—" she gasped, face buried in the sheets, fingers clutching at them as her body rocked between the slow grind of his cock and the slick pressure of his finger pressing inward. "Caine, that's—fuck—that's filthy…"
He smirked against her shoulder, biting it lightly. "Yeah," he growled, pushing the tip of his finger past the tight ring of muscle, slow and steady. "And I know you love it."
Until his cock gave one final shudder deep inside her, thick and swollen, spilling into her again.