Chapter 12 Kieran #2
The insides of her thighs were slick already—wet heat smeared against my knuckles before I even found her cunt.
When I did, it was molten—soaked, dripping, like she’d been waiting, aching, starving for me.
I spread the wetness across her flesh, dragging it up over her clit just to feel her jolt under my hand.
My vision went red at the thought of anyone else ever touching her there.
Never. She was mine. Every wet, trembling inch of her was mine.
She just didn’t know it yet. Her whimper broke like a prayer, small and wrecked, and my cock jerked so hard I nearly came in my pants before I’d even gotten a taste of her.
“So fucking wet for me,” I rasped, forehead pressed to hers, needing to see her break apart. “Saints, you’re—fuck—” The words strangled in my throat, burning out in a growl.
I shoved two fingers inside her, rough and greedy for the feel of her.
Her cunt was scorching, clenching around me so tight it felt like she was dragging me under, slick walls gripping and fluttering as I curled deep to find what would break her.
The second I hit it, her gasp tore high and breathless, her hips grinding down hard on my hand.
The muted moans spilling out of her—broken, desperate, almost soundless—lit me up like fire catching dry kindling.
Her nails raked my shoulders, sharp enough to sting, then fumbled lower. And then she wasn’t fumbling at all—she was tearing at my belt, ripping at the fastenings with shaking hands.
“Saints—fuck, Merrit—” I snarled between my teeth as she dragged me bare, her trembling fingers closing over my cock, the head already slick with pre-come. The sight of her drenched around my fingers, desperate enough to rip me open herself, snapped the last of my control.
I pulled my hand from her cunt, spread the slick up over her clit once more just to hear her choke on a moan, then lined myself up and slammed into her in one brutal thrust.
Her cry broke, desperate and breathless, a muted moan that still tore through the chamber like a scream. Fuck. Her cunt clutched me so hard I saw stars, choking me in that wet heat, gripping like she’d never let me go.
“Look at me,” I snarled, dragging almost all the way out just to feel her flutter, then slamming back into her so hard the table shuddered under us. “Don’t close your eyes. I want every fucking sound you make when I’m inside you.”
Her gaze stayed locked on mine, glassy with want, her lips parting around those tiny, wrecked whimpers that owned me completely.
Every desperate roll of her hips dragged me deeper, squeezing, milking me.
Every broken moan vibrated against my mouth until I thought I’d lose my godsdamned mind.
Her cunt was a vise, wet and greedy, and every second inside her was another chain around my throat I didn’t want to break.
I fucked her harder, faster, frantic like I was trying to drive myself through the table and into her all at once.
Wood groaned, glass cracked and skittered to the floor, but I didn’t stop—couldn’t.
Her back scraped the surface with every thrust, her nails clawing at me hard enough to sting, her hips rolling up wild to meet me, slick and desperate.
My hand tore up her body, palming her breast, squeezing rough until she gasped.
My thumb dragged over her nipple, circling, flicking, until her breath hitched and she moaned louder—choked, broken, beautiful.
I wanted every sound. Needed them. My mouth devoured her throat, teeth scraping, biting everything but the vein I’d already claimed, marking her everywhere else I could reach.
Her cunt clamped down harder with every thrust, wet heat choking me, milking me, driving me insane. The lewd slap of our bodies filled the room, her wetness running down my thighs as she squeezed around me, tighter, wetter, so fucking perfect.
And then she shattered.
Her body seized under me, legs snapping tight around my waist, heels digging in, her cunt clenching so hard around my cock I nearly blacked out. Her muted whimper tore through me, raw and trembling, dragging me with her.
“Fuck—fuck—fuck—” I hissed through my teeth as I roared against her skin, snarling as release ripped me open.
It tore through me, spilling in violent surges as her cunt clamped down, milking me until I was shaking, until every thrust sounded like sin made flesh.
I fucked her through it, thrust after thrust, until the table rattled and we were both shaking, ruined and breathless, nothing left but sweat, blood, and the raw scrape of need finally given shape.
For a single moment, I stayed buried inside her, forehead pressed to hers, dragging in her breath like I’d drown without it.
Her cunt still clutched at me, milking every twitch, every aftershock, until I didn’t know where her shudder ended and mine began.
Her scent—desire, blood, me—wrapped around my skull like chains, pulling tighter with every gasp.
My venom still burned through her, as her blood through me, but it had never hit like this.
Never been so intense, so potent. It felt like it was binding us together vein by vein.
Wrong. Impossible. Too much.
I should have pulled free. Should have let go. Instead, I lingered, buried in her, staring into wide, dazed eyes that held nothing but trust and ruin. Saints, she was perfect. Saints, she was mine.
And that was the problem.
The thought was a blade across my heart. I tore myself back anyway, even as it felt like ripping my own heart out to leave her empty. Her lips were swollen, her chest still heaving, her body wrecked and trembling underneath mine—wrecked because of me.
For half a heartbeat, I almost told her the truth. That I’d never felt anything like this. That I couldn’t stop.
Instead, the words came out jagged, almost cruel. “We shouldn’t have done this.”
Her eyes flickered, flashing with hurt, but she masked it fast. I watched the light die there, a shutter slamming down until nothing but cold remained. Her hands stilled, steady now where they’d trembled before.
“You’re right,” she signed, stiff and deliberate. Her throat worked like she was swallowing glass. “It meant nothing.”
The lie gutted me, but I forced myself to nod, as if agreeing could make it true. Better she hated me than know the truth—better her fury, her coldness than the bond between us that was burning me alive.