Chapter 15 Sera
Sera
Icurl my fingers into the blood-damp fabric of James’s once-white cotton T-shirt and drag him toward me with a violence that matches his own, my nails digging into the hard planes of his chest.
His eyes—wild, feral, pupils blown wide—lock onto mine.
Raw, pulsing need charges between us, the need to claim, to erase the violation of Rick’s hands and cock with something far more devastating.
Our mouths crash together in a bruising kiss, all teeth and tongue and the coppery taste of blood. He groans into my mouth, a low, guttural sound that vibrates down my spine and settles deep in my cunt, already slick and aching.
My back hits the cold tile wall beside the urinal, the shock of it a stark contrast to the furnace heat radiating from James’s body.
His hands are everywhere, rough, demanding, mapping the curves of my ass, the flare of my hips, the swell of my tits still trapped beneath my thin work shirt.
He yanks the hem up, exposing my stomach and ribs, his calloused thumb scraping over the bruise already blooming when Rick knocked me to the floor.
“Mine,“ James growls against my lips, the word a possessive rumble that makes my knees weaken. “All fucking mine.”
He doesn’t ask. He takes, and I have no problem letting him. Only him.
He shoves his hand down the front of my pants, past the waistband of my panties, his fingers, covered in his and Rick’s blood, plunging into my wet heat.
I cry out, arching off the wall, my head thudding against the tile.
Then two thick fingers curl inside me, finding that sensitive spot with unerring accuracy, rubbing hard and fast. His thumb presses down on my clit in rough circles that send sparks of near-painful pleasure shooting up my spine.
“Fffuck!” The word tears from my throat, ragged and desperate.
My hips buck against his hand, seeking more, harder, deeper. The violation, the fear, the helpless rage I felt moments ago under Rick’s filthy hands is burning away, replaced by this brutal, consuming need.
James’s eyes devour the expressions flickering across my face with obsession, the way my lips part on a gasp, the flutter of my eyelids as he works me relentlessly. He watches me unravel with the fierce focus of a predator claiming its kill.
“That’s it, Prayer,” he murmurs, his Scottish brogue roughened, almost unintelligible. “Let me see ye come on my fingers. Show me what belongs to me.”
His command, the raw ownership in his gravelly voice, tips me over the edge.
My cunt clenches violently around his fingers as the orgasm rips through me, a silent scream locked in my throat.
My vision whites out, my body shuddering uncontrollably against his, held up only by his arm braced behind me and the relentless pressure of his hand between my legs.
That orgasm is a claiming, an obliteration. Spots dance before my eyes as it keeps shuddering through me, leaving me trembling and gasping, my fingers digging into his shoulders hard enough to bruise.
He doesn’t stop. He fucks me with his fingers through the aftershocks, prolonging the intensity until I whimper, oversensitive and raw. Only then does he withdraw his hand.
He brings his fingers, glistening with blood and cum, to his mouth and sucks them clean with a low groan of satisfaction, his eyes never leaving mine. “Fuck, lass.”
The sight of him, the sound of him, the sheer carnality of it, sends a fresh jolt of desperate heat straight to my pussy.
“Off,” he commands suddenly, his voice thick. He slaps my hip, a sharp, stinging blow that makes me jump. “Get these fucking pants off. Now.”
I fumble my fingers with the button and zipper, clumsy with lingering tremors.
He doesn’t wait, grabbing the waistband and yanking my pants and panties down my thighs in one harsh movement.
The cool air of the bathroom hits my exposed skin, making my nipples peak painfully tight beneath my bra and shirt.
He spins me around, pressing my bare ass flush against the hard ridge of his cock straining against his jeans.
A ragged groan escapes him as he grinds himself against me, the rough denim an exquisite torture against my sensitive flesh.
His hands grip my hips, his fingers digging deep, holding me immobile as he ruts against the cleft of my ass, his breath hot and harsh against the back of my neck.
“Feel that?” he rasps. “That’s what ye do to me, Prayer. With your online stories. With murder on your mind. Ye turn me into an animal.”
He pushes me forward, bending me over the bloodstained sink.
My palms slap against the wet, bloody surface as he kicks my legs wider apart.
I hear the rasp of his zipper, the rustle of fabric, and then the thick, blunt head of his cock nudges against my soaked entrance.
Before he enters me, he smears one hand down the bloody wall and coats his cock.
Then, with one powerful thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside me.
The air punches out of my lungs.
“Yes!” I croak.
He’s huge, stretching me impossibly wide, filling me completely.
The sudden, brutal invasion borders on pain, a delicious, welcome burn that echoes the violence of the last few minutes.
He holds himself deep for a heartbeat, letting me feel every thick inch, before pulling back almost entirely and slamming home again.
The force of his thrusts rocks my entire body, driving my hips against the unforgiving edge of the sink.
Our sounds are almost obscene in the small tiled room—the wet slap of flesh against flesh, his guttural groans, my own choked whimpers mixing with the faint, wet gurgle from Rick’s ruined form on the floor nearby.
James’s hands clamp onto my hips like vises, guiding the punishing rhythm, holding me open for his cock as he fucks me with relentless, driving strokes. It feels like each deep plunge hits my cervix, a sharp, bright spark of sensation that blurs the lines between pleasure and pain.
“Tight cunt,” he grunts out, his voice strained. “So fucking wet for it. I knew ye needed this. I knew ye needed me to fuck the pain right out of ye.”
He’s right. Every brutal thrust is erasing it. Replacing the helpless terror from five years ago, from tonight, with this raw power, this shared savagery.
I push back against him, meeting his thrusts with equal ferocity, craving the delicious ache, the feeling of being utterly filled, utterly owned. My cunt grips him tightly, milking his thick, long length, the friction sending shockwaves of pleasure radiating out from my pussy.
One of his hands slides around my hip, his fingers finding my swollen clit. He rubs hard, rough circles, the pressure almost too much combined with the deep, relentless pounding of his cock.
“Come again,” he demands, his voice a harsh whisper against my ear. His teeth graze my earlobe. “Come on my cock, Prayer. Show me you’re mine.”
The dual assault is too much. The rough pad of his finger on my clit, the thick fullness stretching me, the possessive growl in my ear. All of it shatters me. My orgasm explodes, a supernova detonating in my lower belly.
My cunt clamps down on his invading length in violent, rhythmic spasms, drawing a ragged shout from James’s throat.
I cry out, a raw, broken sound that echoes off the tiles, my body convulsing against the sink as wave after wave of intense, almost painful pleasure crashes over me. Stars burst behind my eyelids.
He fucks me through it, his thrusts growing even more erratic, more desperate. His grip on my hips tightens to the point of bruising as he chases his own release, pistoning into my spasming pussy.
“Fuck!” He gasps, his voice thick with need. “Mine, Prayer. All mine.”
With a final, brutal thrust that shoves me hard against the bloody sink, he buries himself to the root, pulls out, and comes.
The hot, thick pulse of his cum floods across my ass, jet after jet, a scalding claim.
His body shudders violently against mine, a low, continuous groan rumbling in his chest as he empties himself.
His cock twitches as the last spurts release, his forehead pressed between my shoulder blades, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
We stay like that, locked together, trembling. The only sounds are our harsh breathing and the slow, wet drip from the faucet into the bloody sink.
James’s cum slowly leaks down my ass crack and inner thighs.
His hands, still gripping my hips, relax, his thumbs stroking almost absently over the fresh bruises he’s left.
The violence of our fucking has smeared Rick’s blood across my ribs, stomach, and back where James’s shirt rubs against my skin.
The coppery smell mixes with the musky scent of sex and sweat, creating a dark and dangerous perfume.
Slowly, James turns me around, his bright-blue eyes scanning my face, my body, taking in the mess, the marks, the dazed satisfaction that must be written all over me.
He looks…settled. Like a storm that has finally found its center. He leans in, capturing my lips in a kiss that’s surprisingly tender, a contrast to the brutality of moments before. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, claiming me softly this time, tasting of blood and me and him.
“Okay?” he murmurs against my lips, his voice rough but gentle.
I nod, unable to form words yet. Okay isn’t the right word. I feel shattered and remade. Raw. Powerful.
I slide down the front of him, my legs shaky, my pussy throbbing pleasantly, achingly empty now. He catches me, holding me upright against his solid frame, as he sinks us both to the tile floor.
My pants are half off, tangled at my ankles.
His jeans are still unfastened, his cock, now softening and glistening with our combined fluids, exposed.
Bruises are already blooming on my hips and ribs under the smears of blood.
His knuckles are a raw, bloody mess. We’re a mixture of violence and release, sitting in the wreckage.