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Muted light filters through the gaps in the metal-sheet walls, casting fractured gold across the room, shimmering over the dust and catching faintly on the curves of your bare shoulder.
You’re already awake. But you don’t move.
Not with Enjin’s arm resting heavy over your waist, fingers splayed wide like he’s still bracing himself. His breath is warm against your neck, steady. Slow. You can feel the solid press of his chest behind you.
You shift just enough to look at him.
Blonde hair, tousled and half-covering his face, flutters slightly with every breath. A lock of it is tickling your cheek, but you don’t push it away. He looks peaceful like this, lashes resting against his cheekbones, his expression smoothed of tension.
You think about how rare it is to see him like this.
And you can’t help it, you reach out, running your fingertips down the inked lines on his forearm where it wraps around you. The tattoos are familiar now. You’ve traced them a hundred times before. But they still make your chest tighten.
His voice breaks the silence, quiet and hoarse.
“…You’re staring.”
You smile. “You’re awake.”
“Been awake,” he mutters, eyes still closed. “Didn’t wanna move. You were warm.”
You turn in his arms until you’re facing him, nose-to-nose. His golden eyes open slowly, pinning you with that unreadable gaze, the one that used to scare you a little. The one that now makes your heart stutter.
“I like when you stare,” he adds, softer now.
“Do you?”
He nods. “Means you still want me.”
You press your forehead to his. “I married you, didn’t I?”
He doesn’t smile, but his eyes go soft. His hand slides down your waist, slow and reverent, calloused fingers tracing the curve of your hip. He pulls you closer until your thighs brush, your chest flush against his.
“Let me show you,” you whisper, voice trembling just a little, “how much I do.”
He exhales a quiet sound, like smoke escaping a flame, and leans in to kiss you.
It’s slow at first. Lips brushing yours, tasting. Savoring. Then deeper. Hungrier. One hand cups the back of your head, the other sliding lower, pulling you gently on top of him.
Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging just enough to make him exhale through his nose. His hands find your hips, guiding you to straddle him, movements careful, patient. He always lets you lead when it’s like this, when it’s slow, and warm, and made of nothing but want.
Your fingers brush his chest as you move, inked skin beneath your palms, warmth seeping into your hands like he was lit from within. He watches you through lidded eyes, silent, waiting, the way he always does when he wants to see what you’ll do next.
And you decide to make him wait.
You roll your hips once, just enough to make him twitch beneath you, but then stop, hovering. His breath catches.
“Cruel,” he murmurs, voice low, hands still resting at your waist. He doesn’t grip tighter. Doesn’t force.
You tilt your head, playing innocent. “I wanna take my time.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Don’t torture me.”
You smile, that slow, wicked smile he only ever sees when the morning light is soft and your confidence is bolder than your clothes. Which, right now, don’t exist.
You lower your hips just enough to let him slide against your slick entrance, wet and warm, but don’t take him in. Just let him feel the heat. The promise. The denial.
His jaw flexes. “You’re gonna pay for that.”
You trace one of his tattoos with a lazy finger, down his chest to his stomach, feeling his abs tense beneath your touch. “Oh?” you murmur. “You gonna punish me, baby?”
Enjin groans, a real one this time, and you see his fingers twitch like they’re aching to grip your hips and flip you over. But he doesn’t. He waits. Endures. For you.
“I could,” he mutters, eyes darkening as you slowly shift again. “But I like watching you like this.”
You lean forward, chest brushing his, lips a whisper from his own. “Like what?”
“Greedy,” he says against your mouth. “Mine.”
The word lands in your stomach like a stone in still water.
You sink down on him slowly, both of you exhaling in tandem, breath catching, fingers clenching, his name half-formed on your lips. He fills you completely, the stretch slow and deliberate. You pause when your hips meet his, breathing him in, your forehead resting against his.
“Yours,” you echo, barely a whisper.
He groans low in his throat, the sound dragging out from deep in his chest as you clench around him, seated fully in his lap.
His hands slide up your sides, slow, warm, steadying you like you’re something precious and volatile all at once. His thumbs graze your ribs, then brush under the curve of your breasts, but he doesn’t rush you.
His eyes flicker over your face, like he wants to memorize the way you look when you take him like this. On your own terms. Like it’s a gift you’re giving.
“You’re doin’ so good, baby,” he murmurs, voice barely a breath.
His fingers tighten at your hips as you start to move, slow circles at first, grinding down into him, letting him feel the way you pulse around him with every pass. It’s languid. Loving.
You kiss the corner of his mouth. “You like that?”
His eyes flutter shut as he nods, lips parting with a quiet curse. “Fuck, yeah. Just like that.”
You rock your hips again, a little harder this time, your palms bracing against his chest for leverage. He lets you take control, always does when you want it, but the way his grip tightens tells you how close he is to unraveling.
His voice is rough when he speaks again. “Feels too good. You tryin’ to break me?”
You laugh softly, breathless as you ride him slow and deep. “You’d let me, wouldn’t you?”
His hand slides up your spine, resting at the back of your neck, drawing you down into a kiss.
“I already have,” he whispers against your lips.
You moan into him, letting your hips find a rhythm, one that makes his breath stutter and his eyes roll back. And he doesn’t stop praising you, even when it gets messy, even when you start to tremble from the pressure building inside you.
“I fucking love you,” he says, low and rough.
You freeze, not because it’s a surprise, but because it still hits you every time he says it like that. Like it aches. Like it lives in the marrow of him.
He groans when he feels you clench around him, like your body answered for you. His hand slides up your back, guiding you closer until your foreheads press, breath shared, skin sticky and glowing in the light.
“You hear me?” he murmurs.
“I know,” you whisper, eyes stinging.
He kisses you hard, then softer, slower, reverent. His fingers grip your jaw, tilting your face toward him like he needs to see you, every flicker of emotion written across your features.
“I love you,” he says again, quieter now.
He thrusts up into you again, deep and unhurried, voice cracking at the edges.
“I love you for staying. For choosing me. For not giving up.”
You moan, overwhelmed. “I never could.”
He grits his teeth, burying his face in the crook of your neck.
“I know,” he breathes. “That’s why I’ll never stop fuckin’ givin’ you everything I’ve got.”
And he means it. Every thrust after that is a promise, not lust, not power, but devotion. The kind that doesn’t fade after marriage, after time, after scars.
The kind that reminds you who you are.
His wife. His home. His reason.
Your fingers tighten in his hair.
“Enjin,” you breathe, voice shaking. “Please—”
He lifts his head slowly, eyes heavy and dark, reading you in that quiet way he always does, like nothing escapes him. His lips are parted, flushed from your kisses, and he’s still trying to hold on.
“I want you to be pleased.”
His jaw clenches.
“I am.”
“No,” you whisper, cupping his face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones. “I want you to feel it. I want to give it to you. Let go for me. Take it.”
You’ve never seen his expression like this, reverent, torn open. Like the weight of your words shattered something held too tightly in his chest.
“You sure?” he rasps. “If I start—”
“I’m yours,” you interrupt, breathless. “So take what’s yours.”
He doesn’t hesitate after that.
In one motion, his hands grip your thighs and he flips you beneath him, your back hitting the mattress with a thud softened by blankets and heat. You gasp, dizzy from the sudden change, and the way he looks at you now—
All restraint is gone.
“You want me pleased?” he says, voice low, molten. “Then keep your eyes on me.”
He thrusts back into you hard, deep, and it punches the air from your lungs.
Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, body arching up to meet him, and he groans at the way you open for him so easily. The pace is no longer soft, it’s controlled, precise, devastating. Every thrust angled just right.
His hand finds yours and laces your fingers together, pinning it beside your head as he leans in close, golden eyes locked on your flushed face.
“You think I don’t feel it?” he growls. “The way you give yourself to me like this? You think I don’t know what that means?”
You can’t answer, not in words. Your body gives him everything. The shiver in your spine. The trembling breath. The way you whimper his name like it’s the only word you’ve ever spoken.
“Look at me,” he orders, voice hushed but firm.
You meet his gaze, wide-eyed and wrecked and the tenderness in him almost undoes you more than the rhythm of his hips.
“I see you,” he murmurs, slowing just enough to kiss you once, twice, again. “All of you. You’re nothin’ short of a miracle to me.”
You blink hard against the tears threatening your lashes, voice cracking as you whisper, “Then have me.”
He does.
He takes everything you offer, your pleasure, your love, your surrender, and gives it back tenfold. He fucks you like he’s never letting anyone else lay a hand on you again. Like even now, he still can’t believe you’re real.
His mouth finds yours again, but this kiss is messy, open-mouthed, all teeth and breath and desperation.
“Harder,” you gasp into it. “Please, baby, harder.”
He pulls your hips up slightly, changes the angle, and slams into you and you cry out, barely able to breathe, your body melting under the intensity of it. His name falls from your lips like prayer, again and again, broken by sobs of pleasure.
“You’re mine,” he pants. “Say it.”
“Yours—fuck—Enjin, I’m yours.”
He growls at that, hips snapping forward with brutal precision, his hand sliding up to wrap around your throat just enough, not choking, just holding.
“You feel that?” he murmurs, voice trembling. “How deep I am? How perfect you take me?”
You nod wildly, unable to speak, eyes rolling, hands clawing at his back, anchoring yourself to the only thing that matters.
He groans when you tighten around him again, body shaking beneath him. “Shit—don’t you fuckin’ come yet,” he warns, even as his pace stutters. “Not without me.”
You sob a sound that isn’t even a word, half his name, half a plea, and he slows down just a beat, just enough to force you to feel every inch of him dragging inside you.
“I said wait,” he murmurs, breath hitching, eyes locked to your face like he’s watching you fall apart in real time. “You’re gonna come with me. You hear me, baby?”
You nod frantically, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes as your body trembles beneath him. “I-I’m trying—Enjin, I can’t—”
“Yes, you can.”
He leans in, presses his forehead to yours, his hand still wrapped gently around your throat, thumb brushing over your pulse point. His other hand slips between your bodies, sliding down to where you’re joined, fingers finding your clit like he knows it by feel, by sound, by memory.
His thrusts turn brutal again, hard, fast, perfectly timed with the drag of his fingers over your most sensitive spot. The sound of skin against skin, the ragged breathing, your shared moan, it all rises, chaotic and hungry and so, so close.
“You’re gonna come all over me, and you’re gonna feel it for days,” he bites out, voice cracking. “And every time you do, you’re gonna remember this—remember who you belong to.”
“Y-you,” you cry, every part of you straining toward release. “I’m yours. Only yours.”
“Only mine,” Enjin growls, slamming into you with a force that rocks the bed frame against the wall. “Say it again. Louder.”
“I’m yours!” you gasp, every nerve ending lit up. “Only yours—fuck, Enjin—”
“Yeah?” he pants, breath hot against your lips. “Then take it. Fuckin’ take it, baby—take all of me like that greedy little pussy was made for it.”
You sob out a moan, hips jerking up into his, lost to the heat, the rhythm, the ragged drag of his cock inside you. You feel so full it borders on unbearable and you love it.
“Gods—so deep—” you cry out, nails digging into his shoulders. “You’re so deep I can’t—can’t think—”
“You don’t need to think,” he snarls, fucking into you harder now, faster, like he’s lost every ounce of restraint. “You just need to feel. You need to cum with me, yeah? Milk my cock like you fuckin’ mean it—”
You choke on a breath when his hand slips back to your throat, firmer now, his thumb brushing your jaw as his hips crash into yours again and again.
“Dripping for me,” he grits out. “Look at this mess you’re makin’. So fuckin’ wet I can feel it all the way down my thighs.”
“I wanna,” you whimper, body jerking with every thrust. “Wanna cum—please, Enjin, please—”
“You gonna cream on my cock like a good fuckin’ girl?” he snarls, voice feral. “Gonna let me fuck it out of you? C’mon—beg for it.”
“Please,” you sob, tears sliding down your temples. “Please, baby, I wanna cum so bad—fuck me harder, don’t stop, don’t stop—”
He slams into you so hard the mattress shudders, one hand still at your throat, the other rubbing your clit in messy, ruthless circles.
“Yeah, that’s it—fuckin’ lose it for me,” he growls. “Wanna feel that pussy squeeze around me like it doesn’t wanna let me go.”
Your vision blurs. Your mouth drops open but no sound comes out, just a sharp, guttural gasp as your orgasm hits you like a freight train. Your body seizes, clenching around him so tight it drags a broken snarl from his chest.
“Oh fuck— that’s it, that’s it,” he groans, hips faltering. “Cum for me—so fucking tight—shit—”
You’re still trembling when you feel him surge inside you, thick and hot and raw as he presses deep, grinding into you, riding every last wave of your high with his own.
“Take it,” he rasps, forehead pressed hard to yours, every muscle tense. “Take every fuckin’ drop—god, you feel so fuckin’ good—”
You’re gasping, your body wrecked, your thighs trembling, your mind floating, when he doesn’t pull out.
He stays inside you, deep and pulsing, both hands cradling your face like he just gave you every drop of his soul.
And maybe he did.
Your breath hitches when his thumb swipes the tears from your cheek, slow and reverent.
“You always do this to me,” he whispers, voice hoarse and trembling. “Ruin me. Every fuckin’ time.”
You swallow hard. “You like being ruined?”
His lips twitch into something too soft, too broken. “By you? It’s the only way I wanna be.”
Your heart aches sharp and sweet, but your body’s still burning. You shift beneath him, a lazy grind, and feel the aftershocks still rippling through both of you. You’re swollen, slick with the mess he left in you, and somehow it just makes you want more.
“You’re still hard,” you whisper.
His jaw flexes. “Don’t say that unless you want me to fuck you again.”
Your fingers trail down his back, nails grazing the ridges of his spine. “You’re still inside me.”
“I know where I am,” he growls, hips twitching. “Don’t think I’m ever gonna leave.”
You roll your hips slow, dragging, and he hisses, his body trembling from overstimulation.
“You love it,” you breathe, a little breathless, a little unhinged. “You love how wet I am for you, how full you make me feel. You love when I lose my mind on your cock.”
He snarls low and broken, and buries his face in your neck like he’s trying not to combust.
“Fuck, you’re filthy,” he groans. “You used to be so shy. Now look at you. Talkin’ like a fuckin’ goddess sittin’ on my cock like it’s your throne.”
You clench around him again, grinning at the sound it rips from his chest.
“I am a goddess,” you pant, eyes lidded. “And you’re my favorite worshipper.”
His breath stutters.
Then he moves.
Pulls back just enough to drag his cock slow, agonizing, all the way to the tip, your slick folds clinging, fluttering around him before he thrusts in again, hard, and you scream.
You feel it.
Hot and thick and still inside you, and now it spills around him as he fucks it deeper, pushes it out, spreads it all over your thighs and the sheets and the base of his cock with every brutal snap of his hips.
You sob, wrecked and overstimulated, and he groans like a man undone.
“Oh fuck,” he snarls, voice shredded. “You feel that?”
You nod helplessly, crying out again when he thrusts in deeper. “It’s leaking—fuck, Enjin, it’s everywhere—”
“I know.” His hand grabs your jaw, forces your gaze up. “You’re soaked, baby—look at this greedy little pussy tryin’ to keep it all in.”
He pulls back again and you both groan.
Because his cock is glossy, dripping, smeared with your slick and his cum mixed together, strands stretching between you before he slams back in, and the sound is obscene.
Your head tosses back against the pillow. “God, I can’t—Enjin, I’m still so—fuck—”
“Too much?” he growls, though his pace doesn’t slow. “Then say stop.”
You don’t.
You won’t.
You claw at his back instead, crying out as you meet his thrusts, body twitching from how sensitive you are.
He leans down, panting against your ear.
“Look at you,” he whispers, voice molten. “Fucked dumb on my cock, still beggin’ for more like you don’t care how wrecked you get.”
“Don’t,” you sob, mouth open and trembling. “Don’t wanna stop. Want you to ruin me.”
His hips snap.
“I’ll fuck you till it drips down your thighs and you can’t walk straight,” he bites out. “Gonna own every inch of you, baby — inside, outside, fuckin’ everywhere.”
Your cunt clenches violently around him, milking him again, and he feels it.
He loses it.
“Oh fuck—you’re close again?” he pants, watching the way you writhe beneath him, breath caught, body locked in tension. “This pussy’s never satisfied, is it?”
You moan something broken, maybe his name, maybe a sob, and he grabs your thigh, pushing your knee up toward your chest to get deeper, to split you open wider.
His next thrust punches the breath from your lungs.
Your whole body jerks, leaking more cum around him now, messy, hot, slick enough to make you both slide. You can feel it, the sound of it, the heat of it dripping between your ass cheeks, pooling under you.
He loves it.
“Fucking say it again,” he growls. “Say what I do to you.”
“You wreck me,” you gasp, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Every time. I can’t think, can’t breathe without you—”
“Yeah?” he pants, sweat dripping down his temples. “Then let me fucking ruin you.”
He drives into you again, and again, brutal now, broken, but his mouth is soft, pressing kisses between the filth, grounding you with whispered truths between each thrust:
“I love you.”
“You’re the best thing I ever fucking touched.”
“This pussy was made for me.”
“No one else’ll ever touch you like this.”
You cup his face with shaking hands, dragging his mouth to yours. “I don’t want anyone else,” you whisper against his lips. “Just you. Always you.”
He kisses you like it hurts, like he’d crawl inside your lungs if you let him, and you let him, because it’s Enjin, and you’re his, and this is the love that’s filth and fire and fucking holy.
“Fucking hell,” he groans, hips stuttering as your walls clamp down. “You’re gonna make me cum again, aren’t you?”
You nod, voice wrecked. “Do it—fill me again, Enjin, please—please, I want all of it—”
“You’re gonna be dripping for hours,” he snarls, losing rhythm as you milk him again, the overstimulation breaking him down just as fast. “You want that? Walkin’ around with my cum still inside you?”
“Yes—fuck, yes—”
“I’ll give it to you.”
And he does.
He buries himself to the hilt and groans as he cums again, not as much, not as forceful, but just as raw, grinding into you with trembling hips, pressing his forehead to yours as he spills another pulse of heat inside your already ruined cunt.
You both lie there in the aftermath, tangled and slick, shaking and raw. His forehead rests against yours, both your chests heaving.
The world blurs.
You’re not sure when the tears started, his or yours.
You only know the feeling, stretched full and dripping, his breath mixing with yours, his hands still cradling your face like you’re a miracle he’s terrified of breaking.
“Baby,” he whispers, so hoarse it’s barely sound. “Look at me.”
You blink up at him, lashes damp.
“You okay?” he asks, voice trembling. “Did I hurt you?”
You shake your head, eyes stinging. “You gave me everything.”
His throat works around the ache. “You are everything.”
He stays inside you, unmoving, trying to catch his breath. His hands never leave you, one still holding your jaw, the other smoothing up your thigh, over your waist, tracing circles on your ribs like he needs the rhythm to come down from the high.
You shift again, not enough to start anything, just enough to feel the way he’s still twitching inside you, the way it slides.
He groans, forehead pressing into yours. “You do that again, and I swear to every fuckin’ god—”
“Promise?” you murmur.
“Don’t test me,” he growls, but it’s half-laugh, half-wrecked. “I’m already on my knees for you and I haven’t even moved.”
You bury your face in his neck, inhaling the salt and heat and him. “Good. Stay there.”
He wraps you up in his arms, chest to chest, fingers curling into your spine like he’s trying to pull you into him.
For a long time, neither of you say anything. You just breathe.
Your body aches. Your thighs are trembling. Your stomach is sticky, your core still fluttering from aftershocks. And every now and then, when you shift, you can feel the slow drip of him leaking from where he’s still buried deep.
It should be too much.
But somehow, it just feels like him.
Like love that doesn’t end when the climax does. Soaks through you and leaves its mark.
“I should clean you up,” he murmurs eventually, brushing a kiss over your jaw. “You’re a mess.”
“You did that.”
“I know.” His grin turns smug. “It’s my finest work.”
You roll your eyes, but your chest tightens with something warm. Fierce. Familiar.
He shifts gently this time, pulling out slow, careful, and you both hiss at the sensitivity. His release spills from you instantly, trailing down your thighs, hot and messy. He watches it with a reverent kind of awe, thumb brushing over your hip.
“Still dripping,” he mutters. “You really do keep every drop.”
“Only yours.”
He freezes just for a second. Then he leans down and kisses you like a vow. Like a promise. Like he’s never going to let you forget that you’re his.
When he finally moves to clean you up, it’s careful. Tender.
He grabs a soft cloth from the side table, kept there for this exact reason, and kisses your inner thigh as he wipes the mess away. He’s quiet as he works, focused. Gentle.
You watch him through heavy lids, your chest aching with the kind of love that doesn’t know how to stay quiet. That overflows. That ruins you, and saves you, all at once.
He finishes cleaning you with the same care he used the first time he ever touched you, like your body is something sacred. When he tosses the cloth aside and lays beside you again, it’s not with the raw hunger of earlier.
It’s something quieter.
He reaches for your hand.
You let him take it.
Your fingers slot together like they always do, imperfectly perfect, warm and grounding, and when the light shifts just right, your wedding bands glint in the fractured morning sun.
Twin rings. Twin oaths.
You glance at them, then at him.
He’s already watching you.
Not smiling.
But there’s something in his expression that’s more dangerous than any smirk, a kind of awe that simmers behind golden eyes, like he still hasn’t forgiven the universe for letting him have you.
He lifts your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, to the metal that binds you, to the skin underneath.
And then, voice low and rough, he murmurs,
“Still can’t believe you said yes.”
A beat.
“Still don’t know what I did to deserve it.”
You blink. “You’re so romantic.”
His grin sharpens. “You married me.”
“I was drunk on your abs.”
“You were drunk on me.” He squeezes your hand, dragging it slowly across his chest until your palm settles over his heart, where it’s still thundering like he never came down. “And you still are.”
You laugh, breathless. “Maybe.”
“No maybe,” he says, nuzzling his nose against yours. “You’re mine, body and soul. I branded you with every drop. You’re leaking proof all over these sheets.”
You groan, pressing your forehead to his neck, fingers curling into the muscle of his shoulder. “God, you’re vile.”
He laughs low, shameless, and leans in, mouth grazing your ear as he breathes,
“I’m yours.”