HobbitSpaceGirl

That precision, the control he has over them, and the way they respond to him like they're an extension of his own body. What would that feel like, turned inward? Directed not toward battle, but toward you?

A slow, traitorous flush creeps down your neck.

You shift on the bed, suddenly very aware of how warm your skin feels, how much space there is between the two of you. You chew your bottom lip, watching as one of the shadows curls around his wrist like a lover's hand, languid and slow.

Your thighs press together without thinking.

"Whatever you're thinking," Xaden suddenly says, voice low and edged with amusement - apparently, he's been watching you without you noticing, "you're not being subtle about it."

Your heart skips a beat. You look up too fast, and sure enough, he's turned to you now, elbow on the table, chin resting on his fist. Those dark eyes fix on yours, heat smoldering behind them.

"I wasn't thinking anything," you lie, poorly.

He lifts an eyebrow in an unspoken challenge. "No?"

The shadows twist upward behind him, lazily coiling like smoke in a breeze. You can't help it; your gaze follows the movement, and he notices. Of course he does.

"You've been staring for the past five minutes," he murmurs, rising slowly to his feet. "And you do this thing ..." His head tilts, eyes raking over you. "... where your breathing changes. A little faster. Lips parting. Eyes glazed. That usually means one of two things."

You blink, startled. "Oh?"

"Either you're about to kiss me," he says, stepping closer, shadows following after him like eager whispers, "or you're imagining what I can do to you."

Your skin goes hot. You don't respond, can't, because yes, damn it, that's exactly what you're doing.

He stops in front of you. Close, but not yet touching you.

"What is it about them?" he asks softly. His eyes flick to his own hand, where a shadow is curling between his fingers. "The way they move? Or the fact that I can control them with a thought?"

You breathe in, gaze fixed on the shadow. "Both." This single word is a whisper and a confession in one, and you immediately see something in his expression change.

His shadows still as he leans down, mouth near your ear, voice a raw, delicious scrape of sound. "I've thought about it too, you know."

Your breath hitches.

"You pressed up beneath me, breathless and flushed, my hands holding you down while my shadows ..." He pulls back, just enough to meet your wide eyes. "... explore."

You shudder just once, not in fear but in anticipation, and don't look away. You can't - too enthralled, the images already burning into your mind.

"Tell me," he says, voice low and reverent. "Do you want to feel it?"

There's a pause before you answer, soft but sure, "Yes."

That one word changes everything. Xaden's eyes darken, heat and intent flaring behind them like something alive. But he doesn't move forward. Not even a single step toward you. Instead, he stays exactly where he is, a few feet away, arms relaxed at his sides, shadows slowly curling at his heels like they're waiting for permission.

"This is about you," he says, voice a low, molten thread of sound. "So I'm not going to touch you."

You blink. "What?"

He smiles, slow and dangerous, like he knows exactly what that promise will do to you. "You're going to feel everything," he says, "and I won't lay a single finger on you. Not until you ask me to."

Your breath catches.

Because you can already see it, you see how much he wants to. It's in the way his hands flex at his sides, how the tension has crept into his shoulders. His gaze is locked on you, burning, like he's already imagining what it would feel like to give in, to press his mouth to your neck and pull those desperate little sounds from your throat.

But he doesn't.

He just lifts his hand, fingers twitching in a subtle, deliberate motion, and the shadows come to life. One tendril rises, slow and sinuous, brushing along your ankle like a whisper of wind. You twitch, the sensation feather-light and unfamiliar, and your eyes shoot to his. He watches you closely, carefully, as another shadow curls around your calf, sliding beneath the hem of your pants.

You inhale. Sharp. Audible.

The shadows are cool but not cold. Just ... different, unfamiliar. They move like silk against your skin, with the weight and texture of something half-formed, something alive. One glides higher, slowly trailing the curve of your thigh, and you feel it even through the layers of fabric. It's a delicate, teasing pressure that makes your stomach twist and your breath grow shallow.

Xaden says nothing. But his pupils dilate, and his throat bobs when he swallows. Yet he still doesn't move closer.

Another shadow moves, this one rising behind you, slipping between your back and the shirt that suddenly feels far too heavy, too in the way. It lifts the hem slightly, gliding along the dip of your spine with aching patience. You shiver, spine arching instinctively, chasing the touch.

"Good," he murmurs. "Just feel."

The one at your thigh climbs higher, and gods, your breath stutters as it slides beneath the waistband of your pants. It doesn't touch anything yet; it just rests there, waiting for a command. You meet his gaze again, and something about how he's watching you - dark and reverent, restrained but starving - makes heat bloom low in your belly.

"Do you feel how much they want you?" he asks softly. "They react to me, but they respond to you. They're drawn to your need."

You bite your lip hard enough to sting, legs tense, muscles coiling in anticipation as the shadow behind your back slowly inches higher, brushing your lower ribs, tracing the side of your breast through your shirt.

You let out a quiet, shaky breath. Too overwhelmed by the sensation to do anything else.

"I can stop," he offers, voice rougher now, more ragged.

"No!" you say quickly, almost desperately. "Don't."

His jaw clenches and his hands twitch, but he nods. "I won't."

The shadow beneath your clothes at your waist finally moves again, tracing the curve of your hip bone, before finally slipping lower. Not quite touching where you want, where you need it, but circling closer and closer like it knows exactly how to undo you one brush at a time.

And still, Xaden hasn't taken a step.

But he's breathing harder now, lips parted, chest rising with each slow inhale like it's costing him something to keep his distance. He's watching you unravel, and gods, the way he's watching makes you feel bare even with all your clothes on.

"Does it feel good?" he asks quietly.

You nod. "Yes," you breathe.

The shadows are slow and deliberate, gliding just beneath your clothes, shaping your breath, and making your skin feel electric. Every pass, every faint caress beneath fabric you suddenly resent, tightens the coil in your belly another notch.

But then they stop. Sudden. Inexplicably.

They still and retreat, slipping away from your body like smoke sucked into the air. You blink, heart racing, skin humming with frustration and want.

You're about to question your boyfriend, curse him, and beg him to continue, but then you hear his voice, low and raspy, "Take them off."

His dark eyes are fixed on you, sharp and hungry. He's still standing exactly where he was, chest rising with careful, controlled breaths as if proximity might undo him. As if he cannot guarantee not to touch you, should he come closer.

Your lips part. "You want me to ...?"

"Clothes," he explains, voice even lower and rougher than before. "Take them off. I want to see."

Your breath catches because you know he won't ask twice. So, you slowly rise to your feet on trembling legs. You don't rush the process, though. Partly because your fingers are shaking. Mostly because something is intoxicating about the way his gaze follows your every motion, tracking your hands as you peel your shirt over your head, slow and careful, revealing bare skin inch by inch. His eyes immediately flicker to your breast, to your nipples already tightened from the phantom touch of his shadows. He swears under his breath.

Your pants slide down next, slowly over your hips, until they pool at your feet. You stand there for a moment in just your underwear. The room is silent except for your breathing and the subtle crackle of restrained power in the air.

Then, without a word, you slip the last layer down too, baring yourself to him completely.

His jaw tightens. "Sit back down. Just like you were before."

You do, moving slowly, lowering yourself back onto the edge of the bed. Your thighs part instinctively, showing him how aroused this whole thing has already made you.

Xaden's mouth parts just slightly, as he stares at you.

You're already wet. You know you are. The air brushes your skin and makes you clench around nothing, and the way his eyes drag over every inch of you, now neck to chest, to your slick center and back up again, makes your breath catch.

His voice, when it comes, is low and reverent. "Fuck."

He runs a hand over his mouth, like he needs a second to compose himself. "I knew you'd be beautiful," he murmurs. "But like this? Dripping and flushed and waiting ... all because of me? Because of my shadows touching you?"

You exhale shakily. "Xaden ..."

His shadows stir again. Like they can feel his restraint slipping and want to return to what they've been doing before. Touching you, feeling you unravel beneath them. But he holds up a hand, commanding them still.

"I want to remember this," he says, voice quiet. "Every part of you. Every look you make. I want to see what my shadows do to you."

You shift on the bed, instinctively trying to ease the ache growing between your legs. His eyes follow the motion and darken.

"Touch yourself," he says. It's not a command, just a plea by a man starved. "Just for a moment. Let me see how badly you need it."

You hesitate, the heat of his gaze wrapping around you like a second skin. But then, slowly, you obey.

Your breath stutters as you slide your hand between your thighs, fingers moving cautiously at first. Testing. The memory of his shadows still lingers on your skin. Soft, ghostlike. Wanting. But now it#s your hand, your touch, and his eyes never leave you.

You glance up and your breath catches in your throat.

Xaden's no longer standing in front of you; instead, he's taken a seat in the chair across from the bed, distant enough not to touch, but close enough that nothing escapes his view. He sits wide-legged, hands gripping the arms of the chair like his life depends on it. And between his thighs, his pants are visibly, unmistakably tight.

There's no hiding it. The bulge pressing against the front of his pants is hard and obvious, a physical betrayal of everything he's been trying to hold.

You lick your lips, proud that you can have such an effect on him just by presenting yourself to him. Your arousal becomes his arousal and vice versa.

His gaze stays locked on your hand. On the slow, tentative movements of your fingers as they brush through your slick folds, circling your clit once, twice, which draws out a soft moan you try (and fail) to contain.

He keeps watching like he's starved. Dark eyes fixed, jaw tight, the tendons in his neck straining with restraint. His shadows swirl faintly at his feet again, like they're agitated and restless, sensing just how much their wielder is holding himself back.

"Don't stop," he says roughly. It's the first time he's spoken since sitting, and his voice alone is proof of his building arousal. It's lower now, hoarse. Like it's scraped raw from the inside. "Let me see you fall apart."

You shiver, and his command causes your fingers to move a little faster now, bolder, getting encouraged from his noises. Your other hand lifts to your chest, brushing over one breast, teasing one of your already pebbled nipples. The sensation sends sparks dancing down your spine, and you let your head tip back for a moment, lips parting to let out a low moan.

When you spare a glance at him, you realize that one of his hands has clenched into a fist on the armrest. The other twitches, like he's resisting the urge to reach for himself, no matter how difficult it seems to be. His jaw is locked tight, his eyes dark and feral, but his body remains still. Controlled, but burning up in heat.

"For someone who's not supposed to be touching," you murmur, breathless but in a teasing tone, "you're looking at me like you're seconds away from losing it."

That earns an immediate reaction. His head tilts, and a small smile curves at his lips. "I said this was about you, not me."

And then, finally, the shadows start to move again. They slither forward like they've been waiting for this moment, rising to meet your thighs, brushing past your fingers with the same careful precision as before. One tendril wraps gently around your wrist, slowing your movements, before using its grip to guide them. Another one glides along the inside of your thigh, tracing slick skin, spreading you a little wider. Two wrap around your thighs, holding them open, and giving Xaden a perfect view of everything that is happening.

Xaden exhales like he's been holding his breath for minutes. "Look at you," he says, "you're soaked."

The shadows shift, and a new one curls beneath your breast, lifting it slightly before trailing the tip across your nipple. You gasp, louder this time, hips rocking instinctively into your own hand guided by their touch.

"You should see what I see, love," Xaden murmurs. "Flushed. Desperate. Dripping for me. For my shadows."

The one around your wrist retreats now, your hand free again, and you're moving it quicker now, fingers sliding in deeper, guided by your need and his intense focus. But the shadows don't stop this time; they join you. One flickers gently across your clit while another brushes the spot where your fingers disappear inside yourself, clearly planning to either join you or take over completely.

You moan again, this time unfiltered. Loud and desperate and fueled by a kind of heat you've never felt like this before.

And across from you, Xaden groans, quiet and broken, when you suddenly see it: His hips shift. He presses into the seat of the chair, like he's trying to relieve the pressure, just for a second. Just to survive the sight of you like this. But still, he doesn't touch. Gods, does he want to, though.

You're so close you can taste it now. The shadows are everywhere, coaxing, teasing, knowing. One is stroking your clit in maddening circles, precise and rhythmic, while another moves against your entrance in tandem with your fingers, every motion tailored to bring you to the brink of orgasm. Your hand is soaked, knuckles slick, your breath ragged as your thighs tremble with every breath.

Your head falls back. Your hips rise. You're right there, teetering on the edge ...

Suddenly, your wrists are caught, stopping every motion immediately.

Your eyes fly open with a sharp inhale as cool tendrils of shadow wrap around both wrists, gentle but firm - no matter how hard you try to free yourself, you can't - and lift your arms above your head.

They pin you to nothing but air, stretched and exposed, your back arched and your chest rising in quick, desperate breaths. Your hands twitch in the hold, but there's no pain. Just a quiet, impossible strength that says: stay.

"What ..." you gasp, eyes darting to him. "Xaden!"

His gaze is molten, no longer calm, no longer composed. He leans forward in his chair at least, forearms resting on his thighs, and his voice is barely human when he speaks. It's low and dark and hungry. Different from what you're used to. "You don't need your hands anymore."

Immediately, you reply with a quiet, wrecked sound, caught somewhere between surprise and need. He still hasn't moved from that chair, hasn't touched you, but somehow, this is even more intimate than him being right in front of you. Or above you. Your body is fully open, trembling under the sensation of shadow and want, your skin hypersensitive, your breath breaking.

"I want to see you fall apart," he says, each word thick with restraint. "But I want it to be because of me. Not your fingers. Mine."

In that moment, you realize: his shadows are his fingers. They are an extension of himself. Guided by his will, listening to his command, touching you the way he would.

They start moving with more purpose now, no longer teasing. One slides between your legs, a thicker one than the small tendrils that have touched you before, and presses inside you. Slow but thick enough to stretch, and somehow it feels both soft and strong all at once. You cry out, hips jerking, the sensation unlike anything you've ever felt.

Another one trails up to your stomach, curves over your breasts, and brushes your nipples with aching precision. First one, then the other. Going back and forth, switching between them.

And the one at your clit? It doesn't stop. It keeps circling, stroking you with maddening accuracy. Never too much, never too little. Just enough to keep you spiraling higher and higher.

Xaden watches you writhe under the touch of his power, his jaw clenched so tight you think it might crack.

"You look so fucking perfect like this," he rasps. "Wrists bound. Mouth open. Needing me ... and so fucking wet for me."

You moan at the cadence of his voice, low and dark, cracked with hunger. One of the shadows brushes your throat like a phantom kiss, not choking, just reminding you that he could touch you anywhere and anytime. That he is touching you, even if not directly.

"Do you want to come?" he asks, eyes fixed on your soaked center, on the way his shadows move inside you.

"Yes," you gasp, the word torn from your throat. "Please ... Xaden, please."

"Good," he growls. "Then let go."

And with one final flick of shadow against your clit, one deep thrust of dark silk inside you, right against your spot, you shatter. The moment your orgasm crashes over you like a wave, stealing the breath from your lungs, tearing a loud moan from your throat, everything blurs.

You need a few seconds to come back, and when you do, when the wave recedes, the shadows remain.

Your body is still pulsing, clenching involuntarily around the cool tendril inside you. Your skin is damp with sweat, your chest heaving, your thighs trembling uncontrollably. You're floating, skin prickling, heart fluttering ... and then you feel it.

They haven't stopped.

The shadow tendril buried inside of you doesn't retreat. No, it stays where it is. Still moving, slower now, but steady still, curling in a way that makes your overstimulated nerves jolt in shock. Another brushes your clit in delicate, lazy circles, too gentle to hurt, but too much for your already sensitive bundle of nerves.

Your breath catches in your throat. You try to speak, but the words stutter out as a broken moan.

Xaden hasn't moved from his seat yet, but he's leaning forward now, elbows braced on his knees, his expression dark and unreadable. His pupils are blown wide. His jaw flexes as he watches the way your body arches, the way you fight the pleasure even as it builds again. Faster than the first time.

"You're shaking," he says softly.

You nod, unable to do much else, not trusting yourself to speak just yet. Your wrists are still pinned above your head, held by nothing but shadow and his command. You don't even think about pulling free anymore.

"You just came, and now you're already clenching for more. Tell me, love. Tell me how much you enjoy it."

You whimper, hips jerking as the shadow inside you twists again, gentle but devastating.

"Xaden." His name slips out like a plea, like a warning.

He cocks his head slightly. "Do you want me to stop?"

You should say yes. You should. Your body is too raw and overstimulated. But even as the words rise in your throat, you feel it again. That heat. That slow, growing ache that builds from the aftermath and transforms into a second wave of pleasure. The shock has started to fade, replaced by something darker, something deeper. Pure need. Desperate want. Burning heat.

So instead of giving him the answer you should, you shake your head, and whisper, "No. Don't stop."

His eyes darken even more, if possible, and a low groan escapes him, like your words physically unravel something inside him. "Then take it," he growls. "Let me watch you fall apart again."

The shadow at your clit quickens just slightly, the circles tighter now, more deliberate. The one inside you thrusts a little deeper, filling you completely before dragging out with slow, perfect pressure. You cry out, body jolting with every pulse of sensation.

Your back arches. Your legs twitch.

And Xaden is watching it all, hands clenched on the arms of his chair, muscles taut, a sheen of sweat at his brow from how tightly he's reining himself in.

"You're going to come again. And you'll keep going until I say you're done." It's not a threat, it's a promise. You know he isn't playing around, especially not when it comes to something like this.

Another shadow tendril rises and wraps around your waist - not to restrain, but to cradle. To hold you still. You're barely sitting upright anymore, slumping into its cool embrace like you're weightless, boneless. Which, honestly, after everything, might not be that far off the truth.

Your nipples are hard, your mouth slack, and your whole body trembles. The pressure of another orgasm is rising again, faster this time. Hot and brutal and inevitable.

You can't think. Can't breathe. All you can do is feel.

When it finally hits, it hits you harder than the first. The second climax tears through you without warning, without mercy. It's raw and overwhelming, your body clenching so hard around the shadow inside you that your whole vision whites out at the edges. You cry out, loud and unfiltered, every nerve stretched, every muscle taut.

Your limbs tremble violently in their bindings, thighs twitching with aftershocks. The tendrils of shadow cradle you still, one stroking inside, another lazily circling your clit like it's savoring the moment. There's one still playing with your nipples, and a few more keeping you in place, holding you open and mostly unmoving. Your skin feels too hot, too sensitive, like you could burst from even a single breath of air.

You let your head drop back for a moment, eyes fluttering shut. Your heart is racing, lungs dragging air in ragged gulps, body slick with sweat.

For one second, you think it's over. But then you blink and realize Xaden has finally moved. He's standing now, and while his shadows move across the room, remaining on your hot body, he has finally stepped closer. Not yet touching you, but finally within reach.

His jaw is hard, his breathing uneven. His eyes are darker than you've ever seen before. And when your gaze shifts downward, you see it.

He's pulled down his pants, his cock now in his hand. Thick, flushed, and painfully hard. He's not stroking, just holding it, fingers tightening like he's seconds away from losing all control.

Yes! He'll finally give it to me now, you think for one blissfully naive second.

You're wrecked, spent, soaked. Although your body is done, your mind screams at you, imagining it vividly: Xaden finally sinking into you, claiming you after all that teasing and restraining, giving up the control he so carefully maintained.

But he doesn't move, doesn't come closer, doesn't give any sign that you're wish is about to come true. Instead, he meets your eyes and smirks.

"You think you get this now?" When he speaks, his voice is ruined with lust. His hand flexes around his cock, but he doesn't stroke. Doesn't offer it to you. "You think just because you came twice for me, I'm going to fuck you?"

Your lips part, but you don't have an answer. Your mind is too occupied with watching him, big, flushed, and ready. The ache between your legs hasn't faded - it only seems to grow stronger.

"You don't get that yet. Because this isn't about me." His gaze flicks down to your body, your parted thighs, your glistening skin, your nipples still hard, your wrists still pinned high in the air. "This is about you; this is about what you can take."

He's moved closer, until he's standing right at the edge of the bed and between your spread legs.

The shadow inside you pulses once in a deep, deliberate thrust that has your hips jerking as another gasp rips from your throat.

"You're not done, love," he says. "Not even close."

Suddenly, something new touches you. Smaller. Different.

Your body goes completely still as a thin tendril brushes softly over the curve of your ass. Hesitant. Gentle. It's not yet pressing, just a presence. Like it's testing the waters, asking for permission to go further.

Your breath stutters in your throat, your heart giving a sharp little flutter of surprise as your eyes fly to Xaden.

He's still watching you, every inch of you, every breath. His cock is hard in his hand, his control barely holding. But his gaze softens the moment he sees your expression shift.

"No, don't tense you," he says gently, tone softer than before. He knows this is new territory, and he's giving you a chance to stop him before he goes further.

You swallow hard. "Xaden ..."

"Shhh. You're safe, I promise."

The smaller shadow hasn't moved again. It lingers where it is, waiting for you to breathe more normally.

"I won't hurt you," he promises.

You nod, chest rising with each shaky inhale. You know that. Xaden would never do something that'll hurt you.

He watches you for a moment longer, his gaze like a hand stroking down your body. "This is just another way to make you feel good. If you want it."

You don't need to think about it for long. You just nod and whisper, "Okay. I trust you."

That soft tendril starts to move. It's just a nudge at first, brushing between your cheeks, slicking itself with your arousal before it traces lower. The pressure is featherlight. Circling, teasing, not yet pushing in.

Xaden looks at you, at the small tendril working at your tightest hole. "That's it. Let it in. Let me show you what you can feel."

You gasp as it eventually slips in, not far, just barely enough to make you tense. But you feel the stretch, the sensation. It's neither overwhelming nor wrong. It's just ... more. Different. Not something you're used to.

Paired with the slow thrusts from the other shadow and the rhythmic circles on your clit, it feels insane. Like your body is being touched in ways you never thought to imagine.

You moan, louder this time, raw and half-broken. From the corner of your vision, you see Xaden's hand tighten around his cock, stroking up and down just once. Probably to alleviate the pressure.

"You're taking it so well," he says. "So fucking perfect for me."

The tendril inside your ass moves again, just slightly. A flex. A press. Slowly but surely working you open, so your whole body shakes. By now, it feels like it's not entirely your own anymore, nothing but heat and trembling limbs, every nerve alive and burning.

You're still bound. Still held open by his shadows, which have not relented the slightest. The one inside your cunt keeps up that slow, steady rhythm, deep and dragging, like it knows exactly how to keep you suspended right on the edge. The tendril inside your ass moves in time, not fast, not rough, just full. Measured. Perfect. And the one at your clit continues its circles, patient and relentless, tracing the shape of you, bringing you closer to your next inevitable orgasm.

You moan again, high and shaking, toes curling.

Xaden's voice breaks through the haze. "Fuck. You look so fucking good like this."

His hand is still wrapped around his cock, now flushed dark and heavy, and he's definitely throbbing.

"You don't realize, do you?" he murmurs, looking down at you, at your stretched, wrecked body, held wide open for him by nothing but his magic. "Stuffed in all the right ways. Taking every bit of it like you were made for this."

You moan, body arching, because gods, the words, the way he says them ...

Suddenly, he freezes because you do something he doesn't expect. You tilt your head back, eyelids fluttering. Your mouth falls open. Not in a cry this time, but in invitation. Slow. Willing. Silent.

You look up at him with your lips parted, tongue just barely visible, and there's no mistaking what you're asking for. Not begging. Not demanding. Just offering - in case he needs it.

His breath catches in his throat. A muscle in his jaw ticks. He lets out a noise which sounds suspiciously like a growl, and for a second, he doesn't move.

But then he steps forward.

His cock is right there now, heavy and flushed and aching. So close you can smell the salt and sweat and want rolling off him in waves. He watches your mouth like it's the most dangerous thing in the world.

"Are you sure?" he asks, voice low and guttural. "Because if I fuck your mouth right now, I'm not going to last long. You've already undone me, love. All of this -" He gestures at your body, his shadows still moving in a slow, sensual rhythm. "This is you doing it to me."

You breathe out around the words. "Then let me finish it."

That seems to be all it takes.

His hand lifts as he guides himself to your lips, eyes asking for permission once more, before he finally slides in. The weight of him on your tongue is heady. Real.

The moment you close your lips around him, Xaden shudders like he's being struck by lightning. "Fuck. Yes. Just like that, love."

He doesn't thrust. Not yet. Instead, he lets you set the pace, lets your tongue swirl, lets you hollow your cheeks, and allows your mouth to worship him in the way you want.

But his control? It's shredding by the second. You see it, you feel it.

As his shadows keep moving inside you, pushing you higher once more, he finally touches you, tangling a hand in your hair. His breath catches and his hips twitch, and you know: This is the beginning of the end.

His cock is heavy on your tongue, warm and pulsing, the taste of him already blooming against the back of your throat. He's still not thrusting, letting you drag your mouth over him slowly. Your lips glide down his length as far as they'll go, your tongue curling underneath as you pull them back, then down again, building a rhythm.

Above you, Xaden swears, quiet and savage. "Fuck, you're perfect. So fucking perfect with your mouth full of me."

His hand stays buried in your hair, fingers clenched tight, but he still doesn't force it. Doesn't need to. You're doing it for him - to him. And the look on his face is giving you confirmation you're doing something right, because it's nothing short of wrecked.

But what ruins you all over again, what truly undoes you, is that his shadows have never stopped. They're still moving inside you with terrifying intent.

The thick one inside your cunt is thrusting faster than before now, perfectly timed with the flickering pressure at your clit. The smaller tendril in your ass moves in a slow, careful motion, stretching you just enough to make your body twitch with every movement. Your wrists are still held high, legs shaking. Your entire body feels like one exposed, burning nerve.

You can't moan around his cock, but your throat vibrates with the effort.

Xaden feels it. He chokes out a curse, hips jerking forward just a little, and that's the moment you've been waiting for. His control finally snaps. "Shit - love, I'm gonna ... fuck, I'm-"

You look up at him, eyes wide, mouth full, and take it.

The shadows drive deep inside you, fast and hard now, and your body tips over the edge one last time. Your third orgasm of the night crashes through you like lightning rippling through your spine. Your hips buck, walls clenching around the tendrils inside you, every inch of you convulsing with a release so raw it leaves your vision blurring.

And above you, Xaden roars. His hand tightens in your hair, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he thrusts deep one last time, spilling hot down your throat, groaning so low it seems to vibrate in your bones. His eyes are locked on yours the entire time, wild and worshipful and undone.

You swallow around him, reflexive, greedy, and he nearly collapses.

The shadows don't stop immediately. They ease, slow their movements, stroking you gently through the aftershocks as your whole body trembles, overstimulated and utterly spent. A soft, rippling sensation coils around your thighs, your belly, your chest, like they're trying to soothe you now. Trying to bring you gently down from your high.

When he finally pulls out, you're still breathing hard, lips parted, chest heaving. Xade drops to his knees in front of you. His hand cradles your jaw, his thumb wiping a tear you hadn't realized had fallen. His gaze searches yours, worried and full of something deeper than lust.

"You okay?" he asks in a whisper.

You nod. "I've never -" You break off, breath hitching.

He leans in, presses a single kiss to your damp cheek. Then your temple. Finally, your lips. Soft this time, with no demand behind it. Just him. Just your boyfriend.

"I know," he murmurs. "Me neither."

Time seems to lose all meaning after that.

You're not sure how long you sit there, body limp, shadows fading slowly like dusk melting into night. The bindings at your wrists release at last, and you let your arms fall with a shuddering sigh, your whole body humming, flushed and overstimmulated in the best way.

You barely notice when Xaden moves. It's only when you feel his arms around you that you do. Strong. Gentle. Steady.

He lifts you with seemingly no effort at all, one arm beneath your knees, the other around your back. You don't protest. You just let your head fall to his shoulder, your cheek resting against his bare skin, still damp with sweat and heat. His heart is racing.

He lies you down on his bed, real, solid, grounding, and eases you down like you're fragile. You aren't, of course, but gods, you're glad he treats you like you are right now.

Then he crawls into bed next to you, not reaching for more, not chasing the embers of lust still flickering in the air. He's just lying there, close and real.

You turn to him, your limbs slow and heavy, and he lifts the blanket over both of you. The heat of him seeps into your bones. His arm curls beneath your head, and his hand rests on your waist, holding you there like he's afraid you'll disappear.

And then, finally, he speaks. Quiet, almost uncharacteristically unsure. "I didn't go too far?"

You shake your head, brushing your nose against his chest. "You stopped every time you thought you might. You gave me every choice."

He exhales, which you can feel in your hair. "I've never done that before. With the shadows, I mean."

You pull back just enough to properly look at him in disbelief. "You've never used them during ...?"

His eyes meet yours, soft and unwavering. "Never. Not like this."

Your chest tightens as something inside you settles. "What was this, then?" you ask, not teasing. Just curious.

Xaden hesitates, then brushes his thumb across your cheek, the way he did when you were bound and writhing, only now with tenderness so thick it nearly breaks you.

"This," he says quietly, "was me showing you that you're not just another weapon I want at my side. You're the only thing I've ever wanted to fall for."

Your breath catches. There are no more shadows now. Just you, and him, and the sound of your heartbeat where it echoes against his chest.