Chapter 18 #2
His hand clamps down on my stomach, holding me still as I buck against him. The scrape of his beard is a welcome pain, the only thing I can focus on besides the shattering pleasure.
“Don’t you dare stop,” I pant.
He looks up, and his eyes are black with hunger. There’s no thought in them, no artistry. Just pure, predatory need. He looks like he wants to devour me whole.
He’s pushing. I’m breaking. My back arches, a silent scream of anticipation.
Then, the snap. A violent, electrical storm of an orgasm that rips a raw cry from my throat. My body convulses, a series of brutal, spasming waves.
He doesn’t stop. He licks me clean through the aftershocks, his tongue a relentless anchor in the storm, tasting my surrender. I sob, my skin so sensitive the air is a crude rasp against my flesh.
“Please— I can’t—” I gasp, my voice breaking.
He releases my thighs. My legs tremble and fall open as he surges up between them, his cock in hand, the metal glinting.
“You can,” he growls, positioning the head of his cock against my entrance.
He hovers above me, his eyes narrowed, but he doesn’t move.
“Birth control?”
The question is so jarringly practical that it takes a moment for my pleasure-soaked brain to process it. I shift under him, the movement sending a fresh wave of sensitivity through my core.
“What?”
“Birth control. Are you on it?” His voice is strained. “I can’t wear condoms with these.” He gestures down at his piercings.
“Yes. And tested.”
“Same.”
“Then shut up and fuck me.”
A predatory grin spreads across his face. The moment of concern is gone, replaced by the raw hunger I saw before. He got the clearance he needed.
He doesn’t ease in; he pushes. The head of his cock stretches me, and then the first piercing catches. It’s a sharp, shocking friction, a beautiful, brutal texture that my body clenches around.
“Fuck!” The word is a sob, a surrender, a plea for more.
Calloway pulls back and drives in again, setting a relentless rhythm. The piercings create a new geography inside me. A textured, exquisite friction that drags across my G-spot with every thrust, sending waves of pure sensation up my spine.
“Feel that?” he pants, his voice strained with the effort of his control. “Feel me inside you?”
My hands scrabble for purchase, finding his shoulders, his arms, anything to anchor me as he reduces me to nothing but raw nerve endings. The sound of our bodies slapping together fills the room, a wet beat mixing with our desperate breathing.
“You see this, Marcel?” he pants, his thrusts becoming frantic, punishing. “You wanted to touch her…wanted to hear her scream…” He drives into me one more time as my body shudders. “She’s screaming for me.”
Calloway grips my hips, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks. He hoists me higher, changing the angle, and the extra pressure is devastating.
“Oh, my God—” I choke, eyes flying wide. “There— Right there—”
Stars burst behind my eyes. My second orgasm builds faster than the first, a tsunami compared to a wave. When it hits, it’s with such intensity that my entire body locks up, muscles seizing as pleasure tears through me.
Calloway’s rhythm falters as I clench around him. His breathing grows ragged, his thrusts more erratic. He swells inside me, the piercings pressing harder against my sensitive walls.
With a guttural groan, he pulls out. He grips his cock, his release splashing in hot, thick streams across my belly and chest. He paints me in heavy ropes, a stark white claim against my skin.
His jaw is a hard line, a low groan tearing from his throat. His eyes are fixed on mine, wide and unblinking, as if he’s trying to burn an image onto his soul.
The last tremor wracks his body, and he collapses beside me, his skin hot and damp against mine. For a long moment, there is only the sound of our lungs fighting for air.
“That was...” I start, but the word is inadequate.
“I know,” he breathes.
His finger traces a slow, deliberate path through the cooling mess on my stomach. A lazy, abstract pattern.
The corner of his mouth quirks, a ghost of a smile. My world narrows to the tip of his finger on my skin, the quiet scrape of it against my flesh. A strange, fragile peace settles in the space between us.
A floorboard creaks. The sound shatters the illusion. We are not lovers. We are killers in a house with a body.
I push myself up, wincing. “We should clean up.”
His focus shifts. The heat in his eyes cools to a familiar, professional chill as his gaze lands on Marcel. “Right.”
He stands in one fluid motion, then offers me a hand. His grip is warm and steady, a stark contrast to the trembling in my own legs as he pulls me to my feet. Every muscle protests, a deep, satisfying ache.
“I’m a mess,” I say, a grin touching my swollen lips.
He returns it, a flash of white teeth in the dim light. “A beautiful one. Go. I’ll take care of this.”
In the bathroom, the shock of cold water on my face is a welcome jolt. My reflection is a stranger. A woman with wild hair, lips swollen and bruised-looking, pupils still blown wide in a face flushed with exertion. Faint purple marks are already blooming on my neck.
I look wrecked, and my blood sings with the beautiful, brutal truth of it.
I wash the proof of his surrender off my skin and head back out. Calloway has his pants on and is crouched beside Marcel, his expression clinical.
A sharp crack comes from the darkness outside.
We both drop low, crouching. The man who just came undone on my skin is gone, replaced by a predator, his eyes fixed on the window. My body is a coiled spring.
“What was that?” I whisper.
Crunch. Closer.
“Someone’s out there,” I mumble. “And they just got one hell of a show.”