Chapter 11 #3
His cock stretching me impossibly wide. The obscene wet sounds of him fucking into my drenched pussy. The way my legs tremble uselessly in the stirrups as he uses me exactly how he wants.
I force my eyes open—didn't even realize I'd squeezed them shut—and look down the length of my body.
The sight nearly breaks me.
My sports bra still covering my breasts. My legs spread wide and locked in place. Ryan between my thighs. And his cock—thick and glistening with my arousal—disappearing into my body with each brutal thrust.
You're getting exactly what you wrote about. Every shameful fantasy. Every dark craving you were too afraid to admit.
The thought sends another vicious pulse through my core, my pussy clenching reflexively around his thickness in a way that makes him groan.
"That's it," he growls, fingers digging harder into my hip. "Squeeze my cock. Show me how much you fucking need this."
I do need this.
I need to be split open, and claimed, and fucked so hard I can't think about anything except the overwhelming physical reality of being used.
Ryan shifts his angle slightly—pulling back farther this time before slamming in with enough force to make the entire table shudder beneath me—and something inside me gives way.
Not breaking. Not tearing.
Just... surrendering.
My body stops fighting the invasion and starts accepting it, accommodating the brutal stretch, welcoming the pain-laced pleasure that's building with each thrust.
And suddenly he's deeper. Impossibly deeper. Buried inside me so completely I can feel him everywhere—pressing against places that make stars explode behind my eyelids, filling me so thoroughly there's no space left for anything except this.
"Fuck yes," he breathes, satisfaction dripping from every syllable. "There you go. Take it all."
I'm moaning—desperate, broken sounds I don't recognize—as he establishes a rhythm. Pulling out until just the thick head remains inside me, then slamming back in with punishing force that makes my entire body jolt against the restraints.
The stirrups keep my legs spread wide no matter how much I tremble. The table holds me perfectly positioned for his use. And I'm helpless to do anything except take what he's giving me.
"Shit," he groans. "Fuck, Scarletta. I'm gonna come, you little fiend. Ten goddamn minutes and I'm at your fucking mercy."
He reaches forward with one hand, fingers spreading wide as they cup the back of my neck. The grip is possessive, demanding, as he hauls me upward off the table—forcing my spine to arch as my entire upper body lifts toward him.
"See?" he demands through gritted teeth. "See what you do to me?"
I do see.
God help me, I see everything.
"If I come," he says, his breath coming in harsh, ragged bursts that match the rhythm of his thrusts, "you come too.
" His hand releases my neck, fingers sliding up into my hair instead.
He winds his fist into the strands—not gently, not carefully—just twisting until my scalp burns and I gasp. "Do you hear me?"
He yanks me closer, my face tilting up to meet his as he leans down. Then his mouth crashes against mine—brutal, consuming—all teeth, and tongue, and desperate hunger. He bites my lower lip hard enough to sting.
"Do you fucking hear me, little fiend?"
"Yes," I gasp against his mouth. "Yes, I—"
But the word barely escapes before his hand slides between us—rough, demanding—and his thumb finds my clit.
The pressure is immediate. Perfect. Devastating.
He circles once. Twice.
And I detonate.
My orgasm hits like a physical blow—ripping through me with such brutal intensity that my entire body locks up around his cock. Every muscle seizing. My pussy clenching so hard around his thickness that he groans into my open mouth.
"Fuck—" Ryan's voice breaks. "Fuck, Scarletta—"
His rhythm shatters. Three more brutal thrusts—desperate and erratic—then he yanks himself out with a guttural sound that's half curse, half prayer as I slam back against the table.
His hand wraps around his cock—slick with my arousal—and he aims at my stomach as he comes.
Hot ropes of come paint my skin. Thick, and white, and obscene across my exposed stomach. Hitting the underside of my sports bra. Spattering across my ribs and chest.
One particularly strong pulse arcs higher—landing on my chin.
Oh god.
I'm marked. Completely. Undeniably.
Still trembling from my orgasm, still locked in the stirrups with my legs spread wide, covered in his release like some kind of depraved art installation.
I just lie there, chest heaving, pussy still clenching around nothing, his come cooling on my skin as my brain slowly comes back online.
Ryan recovers first. His breathing evening out while mine still comes in ragged gasps. He leans forward, one hand bracing against the table beside my head, and kisses me. Not brutal this time. Gentle and tender.
When he pulls back, there's a wicked grin spreading across his face.
"Dirtiest little fucking button ever," he murmurs against my lips.
The nickname is cute. I like it. I like… him.
We stay like that for a long moment—him leaning over me, both of us catching our breath, the evidence of what we just did cooling between us.
Then Ryan straightens, adjusting his joggers and pulling them back up over his hips like what just happened was casual. Normal. Something that happens in the back room of his gym every day.
Maybe it does.
Don't think about that.
He walks to a cabinet against the far wall—the kind meant for supplies or equipment—and opens it. Inside, instead of weights or resistance bands, there's merchandise. Iron River Fitness t-shirts and shorts in various sizes, all neatly folded and organized.
He selects a black t-shirt and matching bike shorts, glances at me still spread open on the table, then returns to me with an offering. His satisfaction barely disguised as apology. "Sorry about your clothes," he says, reaching for the stirrup releases.
I'm not.
The restraints pop open and my legs drop—heavy, trembling, completely useless. I don't trust myself to stand yet. Don't trust my body to do anything except continue lying here like a used, thoroughly fucked disaster.
But I sit up so I can change. Ryan watches as I peel off my sports bra—also splattered with his cum—and pull the fresh shirt over my head.
I shimmy into the bike shorts next, my movements clumsy and uncoordinated as sensation slowly returns to my limbs.
When I'm finally decent—or as decent as someone can be after getting fucked raw on an examination table—Ryan leans in again.
This kiss is different. Slower. More deliberate.
Like he's tasting me. Memorizing me.
"Come back tomorrow morning," he murmurs against my lips. "Five AM. We'll go another round." He pulls back from the kiss just enough to meet my eyes. "This time I'll be prepared."
I cannot contain my smile.
He kisses me one more time—quick and claiming—then straightens and walks toward the door.
He doesn't look back. Doesn't wait to see if I need help getting off the table or finding my way out.
Just leaves.
Savor this. Remember every second. You're finally getting what you've been dying for.
So I do…
Because this man is exactly what I need.
No, he's more than that.
Ryan Adamson is exactly what I want.