14. Quinn #2
I've barely regained my mental faculties—my brain still fuzzy, my breath still coming in shattered gasps—when I hear the rustle of fabric behind me.
The metallic clink of his belt. The distinct sound of a zipper.
I twist my head just enough to see Logan shoving his jeans down his thighs, his thick cock jutting forward, flushed and angry-looking.
The head glistens with pre-cum, and my mouth waters even as my well-fucked pussy clenches in anticipation.
"Logan—" His name is barely a whisper.
He doesn't respond with words. His hands grip my hips, positioning me exactly where he wants me.
The blunt head of his cock nudges against my entrance, slicking through my wetness, teasing me with the promise of what's to come.
I'm so soaked that he slides through my folds effortlessly, coating himself in my juices.
Then he thrusts.
One smooth, powerful stroke buries him to the hilt.
My moan echoes through the barn, raw and animalistic.
He's so thick, stretching me perfectly, filling me completely.
I can feel every ridge, every vein, every inch of him pulsing inside my oversensitive pussy.
My walls clench around him involuntarily, still trembling from my orgasm, and he groans through gritted teeth.
"Fuck." His forehead drops to my shoulder, his breath hot against my spine. "You feel incredible. So tight. So wet."
He doesn't move for a long moment, letting me adjust to the intrusion. I can feel him trembling with the effort of holding back. Then, slowly, he withdraws until only the tip remains inside. And pushes back in.
The pace he sets is steady. Unhurried. Each thrust deliberate, grinding against my front wall before pulling back.
The wet sound of our joining fills the stall—slick and obscene and perfect.
Hay scatters with every movement, golden straw catching in my hair, sticking to my sweat-dampened skin, pricking at my chest and stomach where my shirt has ridden up.
I don't care. Nothing matters except the drag of his cock inside me, the slap of his hips against my ass, the low grunts he makes with each deep thrust.
"Harder." The word escapes before I can stop it.
Logan's grip tightens on my hips. "What was that?"
"I said harder." I push back against him, meeting his thrust. "Fuck me harder, Logan. I can take it."
A growl rumbles from his chest. "You asked for it."
He delivers. The next thrust is punishing, his hips slamming into my ass with enough force to shove me further into the hay bales.
I cry out, fingers scrabbling for purchase against the rough surface.
Again. Again. Each stroke harder than the last, driving the air from my lungs, driving everything from my mind except the blinding pleasure of being claimed so thoroughly.
The wet slap of skin against skin echoes through the stall, mixing with my breathless moans and his guttural grunts.
"Yes—" The word comes out strangled. "Yes, just like that, don't stop—"
His hand fists in my hair. The sharp tug pulls my head up, arching my spine, raising my torso from the hay bales.
I gasp at the new angle—at how much deeper he hits, how the change in position puts pressure on my clit with every thrust. The pain in my scalp only heightens everything, sending sparks down my spine to where our bodies join.
Logan's other hand reaches around, rough palm finding my breast through my bunched-up shirt. He cups the weight of it, thumb brushing over my puckered nipple before pinching. Hard.
I keen, the sensation zinging straight to my clit.
He pinches again, rolling the tight bud between his fingers while his cock pounds into me without mercy.
Then his mouth descends on mine, claiming me from both ends.
The kiss is brutal—all teeth and tongue, him sucking on my tongue the way he sucked my clit earlier.
I can barely breathe, barely think, overwhelmed by the assault on every nerve ending.
His cock hammers into my soaked cunt while his tongue fucks my mouth and his fingers torture my nipple—a relentless trifecta that has me hurtling toward the edge faster than I can process.
My orgasm builds like a storm. The pressure starts low in my belly, spreading outward, tightening every muscle in my body. I'm so close—so fucking close—just need a little more—
Logan twists my nipple at the exact moment his cock hits that spot inside me.
I scream. My release tears through me, more intense than anything I've ever felt.
My pussy clamps down on his cock like a vice, milking him in rhythmic pulses.
I'm dimly aware of my own voice—sobbing, chanting his name, saying things I'll be embarrassed about later.
The pleasure whites out my vision, every nerve ending firing at once, my whole body shaking with the force of my climax.
"Fuck—Quinn—" Logan's rhythm stutters, his control finally cracking. "Your tight fucking pussy—I can't—"
He buries himself deep, holding my hips flush against his as he comes.
I feel the hot pulse of his release flooding my channel, spurt after spurt, his cock jerking inside me.
He curses through gritted teeth, fingers digging into my flesh hard enough to bruise.
I can feel his cum filling me, hot and thick, mixing with my own juices until I'm overflowing with it.
We collapse together, his weight pressing me into the hay bales. Both of us gasp, chests heaving, hearts pounding in tandem. His softening cock twitches inside me, and I clench involuntarily, making him groan.
"Hell." He presses a kiss to my shoulder, then another to the back of my neck. "You're going to kill me, woman."
I laugh, breathless and shaky. "What a way to go."
Slowly, carefully, he withdraws. I feel the loss immediately—my pussy still fluttering, still hungry.
His cum leaks out of me, sliding down my thigh to mix with my own juices.
The mess should embarrass me. Instead, I feel deliciously claimed.
Marked. I'm dripping with him, his seed warm on my skin, and something primal and satisfied purrs in my chest at the evidence of what we've done.
Logan brushes the hay from my hair, his touch impossibly tender after the brutality of what just happened. "You okay?"
I turn in his arms, wincing at the ache in my muscles. My jeans and thong are still tangled around my ankles, hay pokes out of my hair in a dozen places, and I'm fairly certain there are straw scratches across my breasts. I've never felt more wrecked. More satisfied.
Because standing here—
with him
with this place
with everything shifting faster than I planned—
I realize something I didn’t account for.
I don’t just understand this world now.
I want it.
And that—
that’s the most dangerous variable of all.