Chapter 6
Hennessy
My legs are still shaking as Beckham leads me through the hallway, his hand pressed firmly against the small of my back. Each step makes me intensely aware of the tie nestled inside me, shifting slightly with my movements. I can feel his cum, hot and thick, held in place by the makeshift plug.
Holy fuck. I've never felt so thoroughly claimed in my life.
“Jesus,” I whisper, pausing to steady myself against the wall. The sensation is overwhelming—being stretched, filled, owned.
“Problem?” Beckham asks, his voice low and rough. I can hear the smug satisfaction dripping from that single word.
“You know exactly what the problem is,” I mutter, clenching around the silk inside me. The pressure sends sparks shooting up my spine. “How am I supposed to walk like this?”
His lips brush against my ear, his beard tickling my skin. “You wanted my attention. Now you've got it.”
The hallway seems endless, each step a delicious torture. The tie slides deeper with one movement, then tugs tantalizingly with the next. My pussy is still throbbing, sensitive and swollen from the pounding he gave me, and I can feel a fresh rush of wetness at the memory of his possessive words.
The thought of walking around with his inside me, plugged up and kept there like his own personal cum dump, makes me clench around the fabric. I never knew I could be so turned on by something so filthy, so primal.
“I can feel you squeezing around it,” he says, his fingers digging into my hip as he guides me around a corner. “Such a good girl, keeping all of me inside you.”
I bite my lip to hold back a moan. “Fuck, Beckham. The things you do to me.”
His jealousy in the bar, the way he snapped when he saw Connors touching me—I've never felt so wanted, so desired. He couldn't control himself. The great Beckham Kingston, always so disciplined, completely lost it over me.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks, his eyes dark as they scan my face.
“How fucking hot it was when you got all caveman possessive,” I admit, watching his pupils dilate. “You completely snapped. Over me.”
His jaw tightens, and for a moment I think he might drag me into another empty room for round two. But we've reached my door now, and he just watches as I fumble with my keycard. He takes it from me since I can’t steady my hand.
The door clicks open, and I step inside, turning to face him. He remains in the hallway, his massive frame filling the doorway but not crossing the threshold. I quirk an eyebrow at him, silently asking if he's coming in.
He shakes his head, his expression unreadable. “Goodnight, Miss Vega.”
What the actual fuck? After everything we just did, he's back to “Miss Vega”?
I narrow my eyes, annoyed and confused. Fine. Two can play this game.
“Goodnight, Coach King,” I respond coolly, then shut the door in his face.
I lean against the closed door, listening for his footsteps. They don't come immediately. He's still there, and then they start to fade down the hallway. My hand drifts to my lower belly and I push slightly just to feel the slight pressure there.
I push off the door and walk unsteadily to the bathroom, each step sending shivers through me as the silk shifts inside. The bathroom lights flicker on automatically, harsh fluorescents making me squint as I confront my reflection.
“Holy shit,” I whisper.
My lips are swollen and red, my hair a tangled mess from where he gripped it. There's a small mark forming at the base of my throat where his teeth grazed my skin. I look thoroughly fucked, and it's the hottest thing I've ever seen.
I reach up and remove my gold hoops one by one, setting them on the counter with a soft clink.
My necklace follows, the clasp giving me trouble with my still-trembling fingers.
Makeup wipes next—I drag one across my face, watching as my smoky eye dissolves into smudges of black and gray.
Another wipe takes care of my lipstick, revealing the natural pink beneath that he bit and sucked raw.
Reaching behind me, I slowly unzip my dress, letting it fall in a puddle around my feet. I'm left in just my bra. My panties are gone—ripped off and probably stuffed in his pocket like a trophy.
The thought makes me clench again.
I unhook my bra and toss it aside, standing completely naked. I turn to the side, running my hands over my body, imagining they're his. My nipples harden under my touch, still sensitive from where he pinched and rolled them between his fingers.
“Fuck,” I breathe, one hand sliding down my stomach to where the tie disappears inside me.
I press my finger against it, feeling how it's soaked through. The end is still visible, a slick blue strip hanging between my thighs. I tug on it experimentally and gasp at the sensation—the fabric sliding against my swollen walls, the feeling of him shifting inside me.
I should take it out. I should shower, clean myself up, and push his cum from my body. That's what any sane woman would do.
My fingers trace the outline of my pussy lips, slipping through the wetness gathering there. I'm still so fucking turned on, my body primed and ready for him again despite the thorough fucking he just gave me.
The shower beckons, but I shake my head. I don't want to wash him away yet. I want to keep his scent on my skin, his cum inside me. I want to fall asleep knowing a part of him is still with me, still claiming me.
One night. I stare at my reflection, fingers playing with the end of the tie. Just one night to have all of him.
I know it's filthy, maybe even a little depraved, but I've never wanted anything so badly in my life.
I step away from the mirror, decision made. I'm not taking it out.
The thought sends a little thrill through me as I walk back into the bedroom, each movement a reminder of what we did, of what's still inside me. It's filthy and taboo and exactly what I want.
I rummage through my suitcase and pull out an oversized St. Charles University hockey t-shirt—one I bought from the merchandise table at a game last season.
The irony isn't lost on me as I slip it over my head, the soft cotton falling to mid-thigh.
His school's logo stretched across my breasts, his cum and tie nestled between my legs. I'm marked as his inside and out.
The sheets are cool against my bare legs as I settle in, adjusting my position to accommodate the foreign sensation between my thighs. I grab my phone from the nightstand, biting my lip as I compose a message to the number I saved earlier.
So...do you want your tie back, or can I keep it? Fair's fair since you kept my panties.
I hit send before I can overthink it, then immediately turn my ringer off and toss the phone aside. My heart pounds as I imagine him reading it, picturing his jaw clenching, his eyes darkening.
I toss and turn for a few minutes, unable to get comfortable with the constant reminder between my legs.
I roll onto my back, spreading my legs slightly. I'm too wound up to sleep.
My fingers drift down my stomach, pushing beneath the hem of the stolen t-shirt until I reach the swollen, sensitive folds of my pussy. It shifts inside me as I press two fingers against my clit.
I close my eyes, replaying the way Beckham bent me over that table, the way his large hands gripped my hips hard enough to bruise as he slammed into me. I can still hear his voice, deep and possessive, in my ear.
This pussy is mine now.
My fingers move faster, my hips lifting off the bed to meet them. I'm already so close—still sensitive from earlier, still filled with the evidence of his possession.
I dip one finger lower, pushing it alongside the silk tie, feeling how stretched and full I am. The sensation is filthy and decadent, knowing I'm playing with his cum, stirring it inside me while I touch myself.
“Fuck, Beckham,” I moan, imagining its his thick fingers working me over instead of my own.
I press harder, faster, chasing the release building low in my belly. My other hand slides beneath my shirt, pinching and rolling my nipple the way he did, recreating the delicious pain that made me clench around his cock.
My pussy spasms around the tie, milking it like it's his cock, my fingers continuing to work my clit through the waves of my orgasm.
As I come down, breathing hard, I feel something warm trickle down my thigh. Some of his cum has escaped, forced out by my contractions. The thought makes me moan again—I'm so fucking full of him that my body can't contain it all.
I drag my fingers through the sticky wetness, bringing them to my mouth to taste our combined flavor. Salt and musk and something distinctly Beckham. It's intoxicating, and I find myself sucking my fingers clean, chasing every drop.
Rolling onto my stomach, my hips press into the bed, putting pressure on my lower body.
The movement causes a little bit more of him to seep out, and I can feel it dampening the sheets beneath me.
I should care about the mess I’m about to sleep in, but I don’t.
It’s evidence of what happened between us, proof that for one night, I belonged to Beckham Kingston completely.
My eyelids grow heavy as post-orgasmic exhaustion sets in.
With the taste of our cum on my lips and his possession still heavy between my thighs, I surrender to sleep finally.