Qingyue's POV:
Watching Ruofei try to position himself above me is simultaneously the most endearing and frustrating thing I've ever experienced. He's trying so hard, brow furrowed in concentration, but he keeps slipping, my cock sliding against his slickness without catching.
Is he doing this on purpose?
I can't tell if he's genuinely struggling or if this is some kind of torture designed to make me lose my mind. Either way, I've reached my limit.
My hands shoot out to grip his shoulders, and in one smooth motion, I flip us. Ruofei gasps as his back hits the mattress, eyes wide with surprise as he looks up at me.
"You're clumsy, aren't you?" I can't help the teasing edge in my voice.
"What do you mean—" His question cuts off into a sharp gasp as I slowly push the tip of my cock into his entrance.
The heat of him, the way his body yields to me, it's almost enough to shatter my control right there.
"W-what are you doing?" There's a tremor in his voice, uncertainty mixing with want.
I push in further, watching his face for any sign of discomfort. "Finishing the job you started, princess. It's too late to regret it now."
"The fuck—" Another gasp as I slide deeper, his walls clenching around me so tight I have to grit my teeth.
"You're squeezing me so tight, princess." The words come out rougher than I intend, but I'm beyond caring about maintaining composure.
I lean down and capture his lips in a kiss, passionate and claiming, even as I continue to push deeper. He moans into my mouth, and I take the opportunity to slide my tongue past his lips, tasting him, claiming him.
His hands come up to push weakly at my chest—need for air, probably—but I'm not ready to let him go. Not yet. Not when he tastes like this, feels like this, wants like this.
Finally, I pull back just enough to let him breathe, watching his chest heave as he gulps in air. He barely gets a few seconds before I'm kissing him again, rougher this time, swallowing his sounds as his body relaxes beneath me.
His walls loosen slightly, adjusting, and I know he's ready.
I don't give warning. I thrust my full length into him in one smooth motion.
Ruofei cries out, the sound caught between pain and pleasure, and I freeze immediately, every muscle locked as I fight against my instincts screaming at me to move.
"Breathe, princess," I murmur against his neck, pressing soft kisses there. "Breathe for me. You're doing so well."
Ruofei's POV:
Full. Too full. So full I can barely breathe.
The stretch burns, teetering on the edge between pleasure and pain, and for a moment all I can do is try to adjust to the overwhelming sensation of him inside me.
But Qingyue isn't moving. He's holding himself perfectly still, and when I manage to focus on his face, I see the strain there—the way his jaw is clenched, the tension in his shoulders.
He's waiting for me.
Something about that realization makes warmth bloom in my chest. For all his possessive words and dominant actions, he's giving me time to adjust. Giving me control over when we continue.
I take a few breaths, willing my body to relax, and slowly the burn fades into something else.
Something that makes me want him to move.
"Okay," I whisper, and his eyes snap to mine. "You can move."
He starts slowly, shallow thrusts that let me adjust to the sensation. Each movement sends sparks of pleasure through me, building gradually, and I find myself tilting my hips to meet him.
Then he hits something inside me—some spot that makes stars burst behind my eyelids—and I cry out, back arching off the bed.
Qingyue freezes immediately.
I blink up at him in confusion, still floating in the aftershocks of that unexpected pleasure. His hair is falling into his face, strands of black sticking to his forehead with sweat. There's a soft flush across his cheeks, and his eyes...
His eyes are dark with lust, yes, but there's something else there. Something that looks almost like concern. Like care.
I never imagined seeing him like this. Not in all the dreams I've had—and I've had plenty, some innocent, most decidedly not.
"What's the problem?" My voice comes out huskier than I expect.
He leans down, and his fingers are surprisingly gentle as he tucks strands of my white hair behind my ears. "Are you alright?"
Oh. Fuck. Me.
He stopped because I cried out. He thought I was in pain.
"Why wouldn't I be?" I try to keep my voice steady, but I can hear the breathiness in it.
"You started crying, so I wanted to make sure you're alright." His thumb brushes across my cheek, and I realize it's damp. I have been crying. "Does it hurt too much? If it does, we can stop whenever you want."
Something in my chest clenches at the genuine concern in his voice.
This is Luo Qingyue, my family's enemy, the man who just infiltrated my organization and orchestrated this entire situation. He should be ruthless, should be taking what he wants without care.
But he's asking if I want to stop.
"It doesn't hurt," I manage, and it's the truth. "Now, can we continue?"
He searches my face for a moment, and I watch his expression shift from concern to something more knowing. That insufferable smirk curves his lips.
"Oh? Looks like someone is starting to like it." His voice is provocative, teasing, as his fingers trace the marks he left earlier on my chest and neck.
I feel exposed under his gaze, like he can see right through me to all the things I've been hiding—the want, the need, the three years of denying myself this.
Something flickers in his eyes then, something possessive and dark that makes my breath catch. But it disappears almost immediately, replaced by that gentle concern again.
"Are you sure you're okay?" He leans down to press a kiss to my forehead, and it takes every ounce of patience I have not to tell him to just fuck me already.
"Yeah."
"Then why were you crying?"
Fuck. He really knows how to catch me off guard.
I turn my head away, closing my eyes. I can feel his gaze on me, patient and waiting, but I can't look at him while I say this.
"It's just... unbearable," I whisper, hoping maybe he didn't hear.
"What is unbearable?" His voice has gone lower, darker with impatience.
My face burns. I keep my eyes firmly shut, my head turned away.
"The pleasure," I finally admit, barely audible.
The silence stretches for a heartbeat, and then I feel him lean close, his breath warm against my ear.
"It's the same for me, princess." His voice is rough, sincere. "You can't even imagine how long I've been waiting for this moment."
The blush on my cheeks intensifies. I'm not used to him being like this—vulnerable, honest, gentle. It's doing things to my heart that have nothing to do with the heat or the drug.
Slowly, I turn back to face him, opening my eyes. He's close, so close I can count his eyelashes, can feel each exhale against my skin.
"You want to continue?" he asks, pressing soft kisses across my face—my neck, my lips, my ears, my collarbone, everywhere he can reach.
The tenderness is overwhelming, making something in my chest ache.
"Stop asking stupid questions and just ram it into me, you motherfucker!" The words come out more desperate than angry.
His expression shifts, and I see the moment his control snaps.
"Then please bear with me, princess."
Before I can respond, he pulls almost all the way out and slams back in, setting a brutal pace that steals my breath and my thoughts and everything except the overwhelming sensation of him.
Qingyue's POV:
I lose myself in him.
In the way he feels wrapped around me, in the sounds he makes, in the way his body responds to every touch, every thrust, every whispered word.
He's perfect—more perfect than I ever imagined—and the knowledge that I'm the first and only person to see him like this, to have him like this, sends possessive satisfaction through me.
When he comes, it's beautiful—back arched, head thrown back, my name on his lips like a prayer. I follow moments later, and the pleasure is so intense it almost hurts.
I expect him to try to pull away, to put distance between us now that we've both found release. Instead, when he starts to sit up, I press him back down.
He looks at me with surprise. "You're not leaving me until we're done, princess."
"We're not done?" The shock in his voice is almost comical.
Oh, princess. We're far from done.
I don't give him time to protest. Instead, I carefully pull out and flip him onto his stomach in one smooth motion, then slide back in from behind.
This angle is deeper, and the sound he makes—half moan, half gasp—goes straight to my cock.
"Too deep—" he starts, but the words dissolve into moans as I set a new rhythm.
This time I'm more gentle, more focused on mapping every inch of him, learning what makes him gasp, what makes him moan, what makes him claw at the sheets beneath us.
Ruofei's POV:
I lose count somewhere around the fifth round.
My body is oversensitive, every nerve ending firing with pleasure that borders on too much. But every time I think I can't take anymore, Qingyue does something—changes the angle, slows the pace, whispers something in my ear—that makes it good again.
Better than good. Perfect.
We move through different positions, different rhythms. Sometimes he's gentle, almost reverent, like I'm something precious. Sometimes he's rough, possessive, claiming. Sometimes he lets me set the pace, ride him while his hands guide my hips.
Each time is different. Each time is overwhelming.
I pass out at some point, consciousness slipping away in the aftermath of another orgasm, but I wake to the sensation of him still moving inside me, gentler now, one hand stroking my hair.
"Shh, princess. Go back to sleep. I've got you."
The tenderness in his voice makes my chest tight, and I let myself drift again.
When I wake next, it's to sharp pain at my nape.
My eyes fly open, and I try to turn to look at Qingyue, but his teeth are locked in my skin, and the sensation is—
Oh.
Oh no.
Understanding crashes through me like ice water. A bite to the nape during sex. An alpha's bite on an omega's bonding gland.
He's marking me.
The realization should terrify me. Should make me fight, push him away, do something. But the pleasure flooding through me from the bite itself is overwhelming, mixing with the lingering heat in my system until I can barely think.
When he finally releases his bite, I feel his tongue lap at the wound, soothing and claiming at once.
"Morning, princess." His voice is rough with satisfaction as he presses a kiss to my forehead. His fingers trace my eyelashes with unexpected gentleness.
I stare at him, my mind finally catching up to what just happened. "Why the fuck did you do that?"
His smile disappears, replaced by that familiar smirk. "You mean the marking?"
"What else would I mean, you punk!?" Anger and panic and something else I don't want to name war in my chest.
"In case you try to run away." His voice is casual, but his eyes are intense, possessive. "This way, no one else can have you. No one. Just me."
I stare at him in disbelief. A bonding mark. A permanent bonding mark. He just made me his lifelong partner without asking, without permission, without—
Fuck, fuck, FUCK!
As if reading my mind, he continues, "Don't be angry, princess. You'll get used to it soon."
Used to it my ass. No way in fucking hell would I get used to being bonded to my family's enemy, to being marked and claimed like some kind of—
But even as I think it, I can feel the bond settling into place. Can feel his emotions like an echo of my own—satisfaction, possessiveness, and underneath it all, something that feels almost like... love?
"You're digging your own grave," I mutter, but the threat lacks heat.
He just smiles and kisses me, slow and deep, before he starts moving again.
This time is different. Slower, more intimate, like he's savoring it. And I can feel through the bond what I do to him—every touch, every sound sending waves of pleasure and possessive satisfaction through him.
It's overwhelming in a completely different way.
Qingyue's POV:
By the time the sun starts to rise, we've lost count of the rounds. Eighteen? Twenty? More?
All I know is that Ruofei is finally sleeping peacefully, curled against my chest, the bonding mark on his nape red and perfect against his pale skin.
Mine. Finally, completely mine.
I know I should feel guilty about marking him without explicit permission. But I can't bring myself to regret it. Not when it feels this right, having him in my arms, connected to me in the most fundamental way an alpha and omega can be.
I press a kiss to his hair and let myself drift off as well, my last thought a prayer that when he wakes, he won't hate me for this.
Ruofei's POV:
I dream.
It's unusual—I rarely dream, and when I do, they're usually fragmented, nonsensical things that disappear upon waking.
But this dream is different. Vivid and clear and so real it almost doesn't feel like a dream at all.
I see us—Qingyue and me—in what looks like a home. Not my mansion, not his family's estate, but somewhere new. Somewhere that feels like ours.
We're older, maybe just a few years. Qingyue is cooking something in the kitchen, and I'm sitting at a table doing paperwork. It's so domestic, so peaceful, so unlike anything I've ever allowed myself to imagine.
Then I hear laughter—children's laughter—and two small forms come running into the room.
Twins. A boy and a girl, maybe four or five years old. One of them has Qingyue's dark hair and my purple eyes while the other got my white hair and Qingyue's eyes, and they're arguing about something in that way children do when they're not really angry, just being dramatic.
"Papa!" the girl calls, running to Qingyue. "Mommy said I can't have more cookies!"
"That's because you already had three," I hear myself say, but there's no real heat in it. I sound... fond. Happy.
The boy climbs into my lap, careful of my papers, and says, "Mommy, can you help me with my homework?"
And I—the Mafia King, the Purple-Eyed Devil, the person who has killed more people than I can count—smile softly and ruffle his hair. "After dinner, okay?"
Qingyue brings plates to the table, and we eat together like a normal family. Like this is normal for us. Like we've been doing this for years.
Throughout it all, I can see the bonding mark on my nape whenever I move, can see the matching one on Qingyue's. Can see the way he looks at me when he thinks I'm not paying attention—like I'm everything he's ever wanted.
And the strange thing is, in this dream, I look at him the same way.
The scene shifts. The twins are sleeping, and Qingyue and I are alone in a bedroom. He pulls me close, and I let him, curling into his embrace like it's the most natural thing in the world.
"Happy?" he murmurs against my hair.
And dream-me, without hesitation, without pride or walls or fear, answers simply: "Yes."
The dream starts to fade, but not before I catch one last glimpse of that life. That impossible, perfect, peaceful life.
I smile in my sleep, unconsciously pressing closer to the warm body beside me.
I don't realize I'm seeing the future. Don't realize this is a promise of what's waiting for us.
I just know that for the first time in years, I feel safe.
And I let that feeling carry me deeper into sleep, unaware that when I wake, I won't remember any of this.
Won't remember the night, the bonding, the dream.
Won't remember choosing him.
For now, though, I hold onto it. Hold onto him. Hold onto the feeling of being home.