Chapter 32 #2
I press a grin into her skin before diving in once more. “Doesn’t stop you grinding on my face like a junkie,” I taunt softly. “That’s it, good girl. Show me how much you want it. Let me taste how wet you are for me.”
She hesitates for a second, then a shudder runs through her and she pushes her hips up harder against my mouth in clear surrender.
She likes it. Fucking hell, she likes it.
My own control is shredding. I’m not just tasting her; I’m consuming her.
The low, guttural whimpers she makes are a language I understand better than words, a raw translation of the pleasure I’m pulling from her.
It’s a different kind of power, this complete surrender to her pleasure, more potent than any goal I’ve ever scored.
Not the roar of a crowd, but the silent, vicious satisfaction of breaking a code.
“Yes, just like that,” I murmur. “Beg for it with your body, Clara.”
Her body convulses without warning, hard, raw cries tearing from her throat as she comes undone.
Her back bows off the mattress, thighs clamping around my head like iron vice grips.
When she collapses, gasping my name, I’m already crawling up her body, yanking off my boxers.
I crush my mouth to hers, tasting her climax still slick on my lips, forcing her to taste herself on me.
She clutches my jaw, her eyes blazing. “This doesn’t mean anything.”
“Liar,” I mutter, the head of my cock pressing into the damp heat between her legs.
She slaps my chest. I catch her wrist, my grip like steel. “You gonna try to talk me out of this?”
“No,” she says, her voice shaking but defiant. “I want to see if it feels better when I stop pretending I don’t want it.”
That cracks something deep inside me. Not a surrender.
A challenge. A dare. And I’ve never backed down from one in my life.
I release her wrist, my movements suddenly rough as I reach for my discarded jeans, fumbling for my wallet.
The sound of the foil wrapper tearing is loud in the tense quiet, like a blade splitting the air.
She watches me roll the condom on, her expression unreadable but intensely focused.
I move back over her, parting her legs with my knee.
I thrust in slow and brutal, every inch claiming territory in her tight, wet heat.
A guttural growl rumbles deep in my chest, a primal sound of possession.
She hisses, a sharp intake of breath, her nails raking my back in desperate, burning arcs.
This isn’t a frantic tryst against bookshelves.
This is her bed, her sanctuary, and I brace her hips, pressing my forehead to hers, forcing her to look at me.
“You’re not getting rid of me, Clara,” I rasp, the words a promise.
Her nails dig deeper. “I haven’t asked you to leave yet.”
My thrusts deepen, each one a slow, deliberate claim.
I watch her face, committing every detail to memory: the way her lips part, the flush that creeps up her neck.
Her legs wrap tight around my waist, pulling me closer.
I bite her shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark, tasting the faint salt of her skin.
She cries out, a sound of both pain and pleasure.
Her own teeth sink into my shoulder in response, sharp and punishing.
The flare of pain is a shock, and then it’s pure fucking fuel.
“Mine,” I growl against her skin, the word a raw, possessive truth.
My body screams at me to move faster, to finish, but I hold the pace.
Watching her unravel is more important. I watch the flush spread across her chest, her back arch, the cords in her neck standing out as she bites back a scream.
This isn’t just sex; it’s an exorcism. I’m trying to fuck the memory of anyone else out of her skin, to brand her so completely she only ever feels me.
“Fucking tell me you feel me inside you,” I demand, my voice ragged.
“I feel it,” she chokes out, her hips lifting to meet my next thrust.
Her honesty cracks my armor. I change the rhythm, pulling back almost completely, then driving into her again, focusing on the friction of her clenching around me.
Her breath comes in short, sharp gasps. “You like that, princess?” I rasp.
“Like how I’m filling you up? No one else is ever going to be inside you like this.
You’re mine now.” The words are a vow, a claim, a promise.
When she comes again, she doesn’t make a sound, her eyes squeezing shut, her body clinging to me in a series of violent, silent shudders.
Her inner muscles contract around me, a sweet, hot torture that finally shatters my control.
Her body is screaming a truth her mouth won’t admit.
The sight of her, completely undone beneath me, is what pushes me over the edge.
A raw, guttural roar is torn from my throat as I drive into her one last time, my release a blinding, shattering wave.
I empty myself into the condom, my body shuddering as I collapse onto her.
We’re two broken things, crashing together, and I never want it to stop. This isn’t out of my system. It’s the only thing in it.
She collapses under me, her breathing ragged, her body slick with our sweat.
After every other battle, she’s been the first to pull away, to retreat behind her armor.
But not this time. She stays. In the quiet of her room, with her weight on my chest and her scent in my lungs, the noise in my head finally goes silent.
It focuses into a single, sharp point: her.
The storm is over. Or maybe, it’s just found its center.
Her staying is a confession, an act of trust so profound it feels more intimate than anything we just did. A surrender. Proof that this is real.
My phone buzzes on the floor, a harsh, unwelcome sound. I ignore it. Nothing outside this room matters.