23. Sophia #2
“You feel so good inside me,” I gasp against his mouth. “So thick. So perfect. This cock was made for me. Only me.”
“Fuck.” His hips start thrusting up to meet me, driving deeper, and I moan loudly, letting him hear exactly what he does to me.
“That’s it,” I encourage, riding him faster, my pussy making wet, obscene sounds around him. “Claim me. Show me who this body belongs to now.”
His control snaps.
He flips us suddenly, pressing me into the mattress, thrusting deep and hard. Every stroke is possessive, like he’s trying to fuck the memory of her out of both of us.
I wrap my legs around his waist, heels digging into his ass, urging him deeper.
“Look at me,” I gasp when his rhythm falters, and he stills for a moment, buried to the hilt inside me. Our eyes meet, his hooded with desire and the ghosts still trying to pull him under.
“You’re safe. I’m safe. You have the control. Say it.”
He tries to move, but I sink my heels into his ass, stilling him, keeping him deep and full inside me.
“Say it.”
His throat works as he swallows hard, sweat beading at his temples. His cock twitches inside me, thick and throbbing, like his body is fighting his mind.
“I’m safe,” he rasps, voice wrecked. “You’re safe. I have the control.”
My legs ease around him, and I roll my hips beneath his, taking him deeper, grinding my clit against his pelvis. “I’m the only one who gets to have you like this. The only one who gets to feel you come inside her.”
A shudder runs through him. His hips snap forward again, harder this time, driving into me with long, powerful strokes that make my toes curl. The wet, filthy sound of his cock slamming into my soaked pussy fills the room, mixing with our ragged breaths and broken moans.
“Jesus Christ.” He buries his face in my neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, hips pistoning faster. “You’re so tight. So wet. So fucking perfect.”
I rake my nails down his arms, marking him, claiming him. “That’s it. Feel me. Her hands never touched this. This pussy is yours. This cock is mine. Come back to me. Fuck me like you own me.”
He growls—low, primal—and the last thread of his restraint snaps.
He hooks one of my legs over his shoulder, folding me open wider, and drives into me with brutal, relentless thrusts. The new angle has him hitting so deep I see stars, the head of his cock dragging against that perfect spot inside me with every savage stroke.
My breasts bounce with the force of it, nipples tight and aching.
I’m moaning shamelessly now, lost in the feeling of him—thick, hot, stretching me so perfectly it borders on pain.
“Harder,” I beg, nails digging into his shoulders. “I want to feel you tomorrow. I want to feel you for days.”
He gives me what I ask for. His hips slam into me, balls slapping wetly against my ass, the wet squelch of my pussy taking every thick inch echoing obscenely. Sweat slicks our skin, our bodies sliding together as he fucks me like a man trying to exorcise demons with pleasure.
“Look at me,” I gasp again when his eyes start to glaze.
He does. And this time there’s less shadow in them. Just love and desire and need.
“I’m yours,” he groans, voice breaking on every thrust. “Only yours. Fuck—Sophia—I’m gonna come.”
“Come inside me,” I moan, clenching around him. “Give me everything she tried to take.”
His rhythm turns erratic, hips snapping with punishing force. His face twists—pleasure and pain and catharsis all at once—and then he buries himself to the hilt with a shattered, violent roar.
His orgasm hits him like a storm breaking.
His whole body seizes, muscles locking tight as his cock pulses hard inside me, flooding me with hot, thick ropes of cum.
He moves through it—deep, brutal, almost involuntary—like his body is trying to purge every last drop, every last ghost, every last violation.
Grinding deep, he forces his release as far inside me as it can go, and a second wave hits him even harder, tearing another broken sound from his throat as more cum spills into me, so much it starts leaking out around his cock.
His arms shake violently where they brace beside my head. His back bows. His eyes squeeze shut for one heartbeat, then snap open again, locking onto mine like I’m the only anchor keeping him from shattering completely.
“You are mine,” he pants. “And I’m yours.”
I clench around him, milking every last pulse, and my own orgasm crashes over me right after his—white-hot and devastating.
I cry out his name—Nazareth—as pleasure rips through me, walls fluttering and squeezing his cock, drawing out every drop while he keeps thrusting through both our orgasms, desperate and possessive and free.
When it finally ebbs, he collapses on top of me, heavy and trembling, face buried in my neck, drawing lazy circles against my skin with his tongue, his arms wrapping around me so tightly I can barely breathe. But I don’t care. All I care about is him.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper against his skin. “I’ve got you.”
He doesn’t answer with words. He just holds me tighter, breathing me in like I’m the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.
And for the first time since he came back, I feel him truly start to come home.