Chased by My Possessive Ex (Dylan) novel Chapter 48

Chapter 48

DYLAN

I slowly crawled on top of him–straddling him as his hands slid up my thighs. I placed my palm flat on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his racing heart beneath my hand as I positioned myself on top of him. His eyes were fixed on me, watching my every move. I can feel how ready he is beneath me, and I’m already soaking wet. His whole body stiffened as our bodies touched. He dug his finger against my skin, dying with anticipation as he waited for my next move.

I started lowering myself, filling every inch of my core. His mouth fell open, a low, helpless sound slipping from him before he shut his eyes, head tipping back against the pillows.

Even after all the times we had done this before, I still haven’t adjusted to his size. My lungs tightened as I sank lower, inch by inch, until the pressure blossomed into something warm and consuming.

1 paused, steadying myself with both hands on his chest, drawing a deep breath as I felt him fully inside me. His hands gripped my hips now, not to take control but to ground himself, his fingers trembling with restraint. I take my time to let myself get used to his whole.

“Move, little dove. I’m already at my limit. If you don’t, I might die right now,” he rasped, voice thick, already strained.

I lifted my gaze to meet his. He looked undone. Ruined and reverent at the same time.

“Who says you can make demands, Mr. De Marco?” I asked, raising my eyebrow.

He frowned, obviously annoyed, the muscle in his jaw tightening as his brows drew together. He hated losing control. And I loved watching him lose it because of me.

“Dylan,” he said again, low and strained, like he was warning me.

But the warning only made something inside me glow hotter, brighter.

Because for the first time tonight, he wasn’t the composed, untouchable man everyone feared.

He wasn’t the one calling the shots.

He was the one unraveling beneath me.

And he knew it.

A slow, confident smile stretched across my lips as I watched the tension ripple through his body. His hands were gripping my hips hard enough to leave marks later, but he still didn’t try to take control. The effort it took him to hold still was written in every tight line of his body–jaw clenched, shoulders rigid, breath coming out uneven.

He was fighting himself.

He was fighting the urge to flip me over, to take back everything I was stealing from him inch by inch.

And the fact that he couldn’t win–that he was losing himself because of me–sent a delicious thrill through me..

I leaned closer, my hair falling around his face like a curtain, forcing him to look up at me and nowhere else.

“You don’t scare me, Mr. De Marco,” I whispered, brushing my lips over his cheek. “Behave before I decide to stop this.”

His eyes snapped open fully, blazing with a fierce, helpless heat.

“Don’t you dare, wife,” he growled, his voice rough, his restraint fraying by the second.

Chapter 48

I laughed softly, the sound low and breathless, because, God, I had never felt this bold before.

This is powerful.

This is wanted.

“Then, be a good boy and be patient,” I murmured, trailing my fingertips along his jaw.

“This is the most patient I can be, little dove. A little more and I can’t promise I’ll hold myself.” His throat bobbed in a hard swallow, eyes narrowing. “And if that happens,” he said, breath hitching, “I won’t be gentle.”

A shiver ran through me, not from fear, but from the way his words vibrated against my skin.

But I kept my expression steady, letting confidence coat my voice like warm honey.

“Who said I wanted gentle?” I whispered.

I saw it happen—the exact moment his control slipped, the exact second the annoyance in his eyes turned into something darker, deeper, hungrier.

His hands shot to my waist, fingers tightening with a sudden, possessive desperation he could no longer hide.

And the raw, unguarded look he gave me made my breath catch in my throat.

Without a warning, he pulled my hips downward, filling my inside entirely in one fluid motion.

His breath fractured into a rough, helpless groan.

And the moment I felt him fully inside me, filling every inch of my core with a burning stretch that made my own breath stutter, a slow, satisfied smile curved my lips.

I tilted my hips first–just a small, teasing roll–letting the movement ripple through both of us. Then I began to move slowly, deliberately, grinding down against him in a way that made heat pool low in my belly.

The pace was unhurried, but every shift sent a warm shiver through me. His body reacted instantly, a quiet, strained breath escaping him as my hips rolled again. I could feel how tightly he was holding himself together, how hard he was fighting not to grab me and set the rhythm himself.

But I didn’t give him that chance.

I pressed my palms to his chest, grounding myself as I circled my hips once more–slow, smooth, dragging out the sensation until my own breath grew uneven. The friction built with every movement, warm and steady, coaxing little sounds from him that he tried–and failed–to swallow back.

His fingers dug into my waist as if I were the only thing keeping him tethered.

I leaned forward slightly, letting my hair fall around us as I continued that slow, steady grind. The closeness let me feel everything–his shuddering breaths, the way his body tensed beneath mine, and the way his eyes struggled to stay open as he watched me take control.

His grip tightened, like he was one heartbeat away from flipping us over. I felt the tension in him–coiled, trembling, barely leashed–and it only made me grind down harder, slower, dragging a helpless sound from his throat.

“Little dove…” His voice was rough, almost pleading now.

I leaned closer, my palms sliding up his chest, feeling the way it rose and fell too fast. “What do you want, Mr. De Marco?” I murmured, brushing my lips over his jaw without quite kissing him. “I want to hear it.”

His hands flexed at my waist. “You’re pushing your luck.”

Chapter 48

“Am I?” I whispered, rolling my hips again, this time with a little more pressure, a little more intent. “We’ll see about that

His eyes

fluttered shut for a moment–just one moment–but it was enough. I saw the way the pleasure hit him, sharp and sudden, stealing the air from his lungs. His whole body tensed beneath me, fighting for control he no longer had.

I straightened up, keeping my hands on his chest, riding him with the same slow, deliberate rhythm that was driving him to the edge. The heat built between us, steady and consuming, each movement drawing a deeper sound from him than the

last.

“Dylan…” he tried again, breathless, warning and want tangled together.

I smiled down at him, loving the sight–his hair messy against the pillow, his chest rising too fast, and the hunger in his eyes growing darker by the second.

“What is it, honey? You need to say it louder,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh, fck!” he cursed, and I can feel that his control finally cracked. His fingers dug in, his breath stuttered, and for the first time tonight, he looked up at me and looked me in the eye as if he was begging. “Move faster, please.”

A slow, wicked smile tugged at my lips. Hearing him say it sent a rush of power through me so heady it almost made my knees weak.

I leaned down until my mouth brushed the shell of his ear. “What else?” I whispered, letting the words tease over his skin.

His breath hitched. He swallowed hard. Then, with a voice rougher than I’d ever heard it, he finally gave in.

“Fck me harder,” he said, the words escaping him like he’d been holding them back for far too long.

The way he looked at me–eyes dark, chest heaving, pride stripped raw–made something warm and triumphant bloom inside my chest.

“Well,” I murmured, lifting my head just enough to meet his gaze, “since you asked so nicely…” I cupped his jaw, my brushing over his bottom lip. “I’m going to reward you, my dear husband.”

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Before he could even breathe in a reply, I straightened up and planted my hands on his chest, feeling the hard thump of his heartbeat beneath my palms.

Then I moved–harder, deeper, grinding down on him with a rhythm that stole the air right out of his lungs. His head tipped back against the pillow, his lips parting in a rough, broken sound as I rode him with everything he begged for and

more.

His grip tightened around my waist, his fingers digging into my skin like he needed the anchor, like without me he would fall apart completely. His breath came out in rough, uneven bursts, his body tense beneath mine as if he were fighting a losing battle against the pleasure tearing through him.

“Dylan…” he gasped again, voice frayed at the edges, trembling in a way that sent a delicious thrum of confidence through

1. me.

I leaned forward just enough for him to see my smile, slow, breathless, and undeniably possessive. “Don’t ever let any woman touch you,” I whispered, my hips rolling in a slow, punishing grind that made his back arch off the bed. “Do you understand? You’re mine, Hunter. Remember that.”

A shudder ran through him, sharp and uncontrollable, like my words hit deeper than anything my body was doing to him.

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