31. Maren #2
His eyebrows shoot up, confusion flashing across his face.
“I need it,” I explain, my voice urgent. “Need us how we are. Strong, dirty, violent, and fucked up.”
Understanding dawns in his eyes, followed by something darker, hungrier. “Every nightmare needs...”
“A monster,” I finish for him, my nails digging into his shoulders. “And you're mine.”
Something shifts in his expression. A predator replacing the lover. He unlaces our fingers, and his grip on my wrists tightens painfully as he pins them above my head with one hand. The other wraps around my throat, applying just enough pressure to make my pulse jump.
“Is this what you want?” he growls, his hips snapping forward with bruising force. “To be used? To be fucked like the little monster you are?”
“Yes,” I gasp, arching into him. “Harder.”
He obliges, driving into me with punishing thrusts that steal the breath from my lungs. The hand around my throat tightens, restricting my airflow just enough to make my head swim. Stars dance at the edges of my vision as he pounds into me, each thrust hitting deeper than the last.
“This what you need?” he snarls, his voice barely recognizable. “To be reminded that you're mine to destroy?”
I can't answer, can only nod as he ravages me. The pleasure builds again, sharper this time, edged with the kind of pain that makes everything more vivid. His teeth sink into my shoulder, and I cry out, the sound strangled by his grip on my throat.
I wrap my legs tighter around him, urging him deeper, harder. Every thrust feels like it might break me apart, and I fucking love it. This is what I need.
“More,” I demand, voice ragged. “Fuck me like you mean it.”
Something feral flashes in his eyes. In one swift movement, he pulls out completely, leaving me empty and aching. Before I can protest, his hands grab my hips, flipping me over with such force that I bounce against the mattress. His palm lands hard on my ass, the sting making me gasp.
“Face down,” he commands, his voice dark with promise. “Ass up.”
I comply, pressing my cheek into the mattress as I rise onto my knees. His hands grip my hips, positioning me how he wants me. I feel exposed, vulnerable in a way that makes my heart race. His fingers dig into the flesh of my ass, spreading me open to his gaze.
The first touch of his mouth against my ass sends a shock through my system. It's unexpected, forbidden. Something I've never experienced before. I try to jerk away, but his grip is iron.
“Riggs—” I start to protest, but the word dissolves into a moan as his tongue circles my entrance.
My mind blanks as he works me with his mouth.
I should be pushing him away. Instead, I find myself pressing back against his face, chasing the pleasure that's building inside me. My fingers claw at the sheets as I rock against him, shameless in my need.
“That's it,” he growls against me. “Show me how much you want this.”
I can't form words, can only respond with broken moans as his tongue pushes inside me.
Just as I'm about to shatter, he pulls away. I whimper at the loss, feeling empty and desperate. Then I feel the blunt head of his cock pressing between my lips, hot and hard.
“Mine,” he growls as he slams into me in one brutal thrust.
My arms give out, face pressed into the mattress as he takes me like an animal. One hand tangles in my hair, pushing my head deeper into the bed as he pounds into me from behind.
He's not making love to me anymore. He's fucking me like an animal, rutting into me with a desperation that matches my own. Each thrust pushes me further up the bed until I have to brace myself against the headboard to keep from smashing into it.
“Mine,” he growls, the word punctuated by the slap of skin against skin. “Say it.”
“Yours,” I gasp, the word muffled by the mattress. “I'm yours, Riggs.”
“Yes, you fucking are. My fucking nightmare.” I love how he calls me his nightmare.
“Harder,” I demand, spitting the word like venom. “Make it fucking hurt.”
His grip on my hair tightens painfully, yanking my head back until my spine arches. “You want it to hurt, baby?” he snarls against my ear. “I'll make you fucking scream.”
He releases my hair to grab both my hips, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises. Good. I want his fingerprints all over me, want to be able to press on them tomorrow and remember this moment.
He leans over me, his chest pressed against my back.
“You think you're so fucking tough,” he whispers hotly against my ear, his hips never slowing. “But look at you now. Begging for my dick like it's the only thing keeping you alive.”
“Maybe it is,” I gasp, the words barely audible as his hand tightens. “Maybe I need you to fuck me to feel anything at all.”
“No, baby, you don’t. You need me to love you.”
“Yes,” I admit, voice breaking. “Yes, I need you to love me.”
Something changes in his rhythm, his thrusts becoming deeper, more deliberate. One hand slides around to find my clit, circling it with maddening precision.
“Then let go,” he commands, his voice gentler now but no less intense. “Let me feel you come apart.”
My thighs shake, muscles clenching around him as the sensation spirals tighter and tighter. I'm clawing at the sheets, desperate for something to anchor me as I feel myself slipping.
“I can't,” I gasp, overwhelmed by the intensity. “Riggs, I?—”
“You can.” His fingers press harder, moving faster. “Come for me, baby. Let me feel you.”
I scream his name as my body convulses, clenching around him in pulsing spasms.
“Fuck, Maren—” Riggs groans, his rhythm faltering. His hands grip my hips with bruising force as he slams into me one final time, burying himself to the hilt. I feel him pulsing inside me, his cock twitching as he follows me over the edge with a hoarse shout.
For a moment, we're both suspended in that perfect space between pleasure and pain, life and death.
Then he collapses on top of me, his weight pressing me into the mattress. I should feel trapped, but instead, I feel...safe and protected. His breath comes in ragged pants against my neck, his heart hammering against my back.
We stay like that for what feels like forever, neither of us willing to break the connection. Eventually, he rolls to the side, taking me with him so we're spooned together, his arm draped possessively over my waist.
“Did I hurt you?” he murmurs against my hair, his voice soft with concern.
I almost laugh. After everything we've done to each other, he's worried about this?
“Only in the ways I wanted you to,” I assure him, threading my fingers through his where they rest against my stomach.
He presses a kiss to my shoulder, gentler than anything that came before. “Good.”