Chapter 8
Eight
Raven
My back hits the wall again, but I hardly notice.
His hips keep my thighs spread wide, his hands beneath my ass keep me where he wants me, and I’m open to him.
As wet as I’ve ever been, my body still awash with the lingering pleasure of my recent orgasm.
Yet that doesn’t help me adjust for the size of him, and the pain of that first stretch makes me cry out, high and short.
But there’s pleasure too. The press of being filled, the strength of his cock pinning me, and I can’t help but feel it belongs there. Within me.
That’s another first. I’ve never wanted a man within me the way I want to open to him.
“So fucking tight,” Declan breathes.
He hasn’t managed to enter me fully on that first thrust. He grunts with his effort, draws slowly back, then pushes again.
This time, my pussy welcomes him, and he sinks slowly in, until I’m so full it’s like I can’t draw a breath.
His gaze is on mine the whole time, and I find myself captured by him, unable to look away.
It’s the pain, the pleasure, the deliberateness of his penetration, the intensity of his stare.
The fact that we’re not even in my bed, but against a wall, like he could fuck me anywhere.
It’s not comfortable, and I don’t care. It’s not sweet or loving or gentle, and I don’t care.
This is what I want. This is what I never knew I needed.
I know he’ll come within a minute and it will be over. But this instant, this moment where our eyes meet and our bodies are locked together? I wish it could last.
My pussy clenches on his hardness, and my thighs tighten around his flanks, holding him within me. My eyes flutter closed, and I lose myself in the feel of him.
“Just like that,” he mutters, shifting his weight and bracing his legs. “You feel so fucking right. Keep your eyes on me, now. There’s my good girl.”
His words cause a gasp to escape, even as my eyes open in response. I’ve never been anyone’s good girl in my life, and I shouldn’t want to be his.
But I do.
His hips draw back slowly, hands tightening under my ass, then he drives in again, pulling another cry from me.
Barely has he filled me when he slides away, only to ram in once more.
Each stroke slow on the withdraw, strong and brutal on the thrust. My back bangs into the plaster, and I brace my shoulders against it.
My fingers clutch at his arms, my thighs grip him, I cross my ankles at the small of his back.
It’s harder and harder to keep my eyes on his. I so badly want to close them.
Tears spring unbidden as the pleasure increases, another orgasm beginning to build.
That’s new too; the possibility of coming while someone is inside me?
A first for me. My thighs grip him so tight it must be uncomfortable for him, but I don’t care.
Not when he’s driving me into the wall with each thrust, and it’s all I can do to cling to him.
My cries become whimpers, small involuntary noises as I meet each of his thrusts, and I hook my arms around him and bury my face in the side of his neck.
It lets me close my eyes, and that only makes the feel of him that much greater.
And his scent, too—leather and musk and the faint hint of a rich, spicy cologne. I want to wrap myself in it.
I don’t know how long we’ve been doing this, but it feels like forever. And he hasn’t come. But I’ve been stripped naked and licked, carried and dragged across the couch, lifted and pinned to the wall, and my body’s so sensitive. And he’s still fucking me like he intends to go all night.
My whimpers become quiet little sobs, caught with each breath I manage to take, and then a second orgasm washes through me, and I’m certain I stop breathing entirely.
All I can do is cling to him, riding the wave of pleasure and the primal nature of his relentless thrusts, each one only serving to drive my orgasm on and on.
I’m vaguely aware my nails are digging into his shoulders and that my apartment echoes with the sounds of cries I didn’t know I was making.
Then he drives deep inside me, shudders with pleasure, and holds there, catching his breath.
He still hasn’t come. He’s not wearing a condom; I’d feel it if he had.
It’s a bit late to complain. I’m on birth control for my periods, but this isn’t safe sex. Is Declan the kind of man who takes risks with women he doesn’t know? For some reason, I don’t think so.
Why he is with me, I’m not sure.
I relax the death grip on his neck. “You haven’t come.” The moment I utter the words, I feel guilty. Is that my fault?
He chuckles; a deep, satisfied sound that sends ripples through me, making me catch my breath. “No, my little hellcat. We’ve hardly started.”
What?
And ‘hellcat’?
“I’m not your hellcat,” I mutter.
“The scratches down my back beg to differ.”
I feel the flush that burns my cheeks, and bury my head in his neck again. I have no reply to that. “Haven’t just started,” I protest instead.
“And that, right there, tells me all I need to know about your past lovers.” He sounds amused until he doesn’t, the end of it dropping into a growl, like it personally offends him that I’ve been with another man. Or two.
I’m not going to apologize. It’s none of his damn business. The last one was years ago, anyway. Did he think I was a virgin?
“And you’re different?” I say in challenge before I can think. That’s my attitude raising its head, despite him already proving he’s different.
His answer is a push with his hips, his cock still deep inside me. It pulls a gasp from me, and that makes him chuckle again. “I like to think so. Maybe you can tell me when we’re done.” He shifts his weight, arching his back. “For now, I’ve had enough of this wall. You have a bed, right?”
“No, I sleep on the floor,” I sass him.
“Funny girl.” One hand leaves my ass then comes straight back with a slap, and I jump in surprise. The act rubs my body against his and presses my hips into him, and that feels amazing, even with the sting in my butt cheek. Or because of it?
Then his arm comes around my waist, holding me tightly to him, and he’s walking—carrying me, while he’s still inside me. How is he doing that?
It doesn’t last more than a few paces, his cock slipping free even though I tried to clench and keep it within me. He reaches my bed, lowering me gently down on my back, and after the wall, it’s a blissful comfort.
Declan moves between my thighs again, taking his still-hard cock in his hand and lining it up. I’m not sure I can take any more, but I don’t get a chance to protest before he’s sliding into me.
My traitorous body accepts him despite a hint of pain, an ache that promises I’ll be sore in the morning.
Yet this is so much better. He goes in deeper, fills me even more than before, and I can relax and open for him. I can’t believe how it feels to have him inside me. Every ridge of his cock presses into me, his girth stretches me, and I never want him to leave.
“You fit me like you were built for me,” he says through a jaw clenched with effort, and begins to move within me.
There’s no argument with that. I’ve never experienced sex like this, not even close. Then he leans down, captures my mouth with his, and kisses me.
Being kissed while he’s inside me makes everything a thousand times better.
I inhale the taste of him, and his tongue pushes into my mouth.
His beard scratches at my chin and lips, prickling deliciously.
But it’s his cock that steals my focus, drawing out of me and pushing back in, and I lift my knees, rubbing my calves along his flanks, encouraging him as yet another orgasm begins to build.
“Omigod, Declan…” I’m not sure if he hears when it’s lost on a breath.
“That’s my girl,” he murmurs. “Let me watch you come again.”
Fuck. Even his words drive me higher.
He slides one hand up over my breast, pausing to palm my nipple, then his hand runs higher. It closes around my throat, the pressure firm, neither too hard nor too soft, squeezing enough to let me know he has me.
Fear and want arrive together, inseparable, and I about come right then. Possessive, and I’m not sure how I feel about that, but I’m riding it in the moment. Intimate—so intimate—like he’s telling me my life is in his hands, even as he takes my body.
His grip on my neck pulls me against him as he fucks me harder than before, each thrust driving the breath from me.
It’s brutal, it’s dirty, it’s exactly what I expected of him.
Exactly what I wanted from him. His body is braced on his other arm, chest raised over mine, and I run my hands up over his pecs.
But he stops long enough to capture my wrists in his hands, pressing them to the bed above my head. Then he holds them pinned with one hand, his other returning to my throat.
“Now I’ve got you, my little hellcat.”
Declan wants me helpless. Held, not just in one way, but in every way.
He’s so strong, there’s no resisting him. He makes me feel weak and vulnerable, yet the hunger in his eyes tells me he wants me. It’s like I’m the most precious thing and his crudest toy in the same moment.
He’s fucking me like I can’t say no, like I don’t have a choice. Like he’d do it anyway, even if I protested.
I’m so damn far from protesting. It’s the best sex of my life… and it’s not even close.
The only sounds are his grunts of effort, my own high-pitched, short gasps, and the rhythmic slap of his hips into me.
My orgasm catches me by surprise. It’s been building for so long, then it just arrives and keeps coming.
It’s so powerful it takes my whole body, not just where he’s buried inside me.
Every muscle tenses, my back arches off the bed, I can’t breathe, and my cries have gone silent.
It doesn’t stop, just goes on and on, bright lights against the back of my eye lids, and pleasure washing through me.