Winter’s POV

There was no gentle build-up, no time to adjust. He gave me not even a second to breathe, setting a punishing, relentless rhythm. It was the speed of a werewolf, a primal, furious pace that stole all thought.

The bed frame slammed against the wall with every violent thrust, the sound a chaotic drumbeat to my screams. The overwhelming fullness, the friction, the sheer force of him, it was too much. It was everything.

My body was no longer my own. It was his instrument, and he was ...