5. Chapter Four #2
I roll my hips, testing the sensation. It is perfect. He is perfect. For a moment, I do nothing but sit there, full of him, my cunt clenching, my breath suspended in a cavity of desire.
He shifts again, deeper this time. His hand brushes my thigh, then falls away. Not sure if he is awake. I don’t give a fuck right now.
I ride him. Slow, grinding circles, forcing him to hit that spot until I’m almost coming undone. My nipples brush the skin of his chest as I lean forward, fingers digging into his flesh. I want to leave marks. He’s mine.
Creed
The dream is pure sensation. Warmth, pressure, a sopping wet mess closing around me, pulling me up from the drowning black.
The bed is not empty. My body registers this before my mind does.
I know the exact weight of her, the feel of her thighs splayed over my hips, the friction where she grinds herself down onto my cock.
The muscles in my groin contract. There is no transition between sleep and consciousness; I am simply present, and she is already riding me.
Her cunt is tight, slick, greedy. I am hard, so hard that for a split second, I question whether this is still a dream. She shifts her weight, driving me deeper. My vision is a blur of motion, her hair cascading around her face, her head thrown back, mouth open and breathless.
For a moment, I do nothing. I watch. I let her think she is in control, that this is hers.
I am curious what she will do with it. Her hips work slow, then fast, then slow again.
Each movement is designed to wring pleasure from the experience, to see how far she can push herself before it breaks her.
It does not take long.
Her hands are on my chest, nails digging in, leaving crescent marks in the muscle.
She leans forward, bracing on my ribcage, and I feel the tremor in her arms as she fucks herself on my cock.
The sight of her, eyes closed, lips parted, the first signs of sweat gathering at her collarbone, sends a jolt through me.
I reach up, palm her breast, thumb rolling over the nipple until it’s hard as glass.
Her eyes fly open, and she gasps before the sound drops into a moan, low and needy. The sound is a challenge.
I accept.
In one motion, I grip her by the throat and squeeze, not hard enough to bruise, just enough to make her rasp.
She looks down at me, confusion and arousal battling for dominance.
I increase the pressure, thumb pressed to the hollow of her windpipe.
She gasps, then grins. I flip our positions in a single, practiced movement, rolling her onto her back and pinning her beneath me.
The momentum never stops; I keep fucking her, but now I set the rhythm.
Deep, relentless, forcing her to take all of me like the bad little kitten she is.
She claws at my shoulders, legs locking around my hips. I trap her wrists above her head with one hand, using the other to hold her jaw in place. Her pupils are blown wide, her face flushed. She tries to arch up, but I pin her down harder, holding her there until she relaxes into it.
“Is this what you wanted?” I ask, voice a growl in the dark.
She nods, but it’s not enough. I need to hear it.
“Say it.”
“I want you,” she whispers, barely a voice at all.
“Louder.”
“I want you to fuck me,” she says, her voice breaking on the last word.
I fuck her. I fuck her until she is sobbing my name, until her thighs tremble and her pussy clamps down on me so hard I think I might lose it.
Her orgasm rips through her, and I feel it, every pulse, every involuntary spasm.
I do not stop. I drive her through it, into another, and another, until she is limp beneath me, tears on her face, hair plastered to her cheek.
I slow, then stop, but don’t pull out. I release her wrists, run my hand down her throat, feel the blood pounding just beneath the skin. She is alive, so alive, and in this moment, she is entirely mine.
She opens her eyes. There is no fear, only hunger.
“Again,” she says.
I give it to her. This time, slower, more teasing.
So slow she’s begging for me to end her misery.
I want her to remember this, to feel me inside her with every step she takes.
I fuck her until I come, the orgasm so violent it nearly blacks me out.
I collapse onto her, breath heaving, sweat mingling.
For a long time, neither of us speaks. I roll off, but keep a hand on her body, anchoring her to the bed. Her chest rises and falls as she tries to catch her breath.
She turns her head, looks at me. “You were awake.”
“I am always awake,” I reply, voice soft now.
She laughs, a dry, broken sound. “I could have killed you instead of fucked you.”
“Not a chance,” I say, and mean it.
We lie in the dark, the only sound our breathing. The moonlight has faded, replaced by the first hint of dawn. I feel her reach for my hand, fingers threading through mine.
“You’re not what I expected,” she says.
“Neither are you.”
I close my eyes, and for the first time in years, sleep comes easy.