Chapter 26
Octavia
Slamming him back so hard the entire headboard rattles, my thighs clamp down, grinding him into the mattress like I’m claiming his pulse.
Denim bites my inner thighs, his thick cock trapped beneath that zipper, dragging right against my pussy through the drenched cotton of my panties.
Each roll is ruthless. Slow push forward until the seam of my soaked underwear aligns with the bulge of his cock, then a sharp drag back that scrapes my clit against the rigid outline.
The friction is filthy, the heat of him pinned between my legs making my stomach wrench with need.
My hands plant on his bare chest, nails raking across his collarbone as I ride that trapped hardness.
The fabric darkens with wetness, the slick patch growing with every grind.
His hips jerk up greedily, trying to thrust, but I slam him back down, using my weight to keep him caged, continuing the dirty rhythm: grind, snap, grind, snap.
His jaw clenches, his breath hissing through his teeth. Cursing, his voice is shredded.
“Fuck-”
The words dissolve when I drop lower, grinding circles, rubbing my clit over the bulge until sparks shoot through me.
My hair sticks to my face, sweat dripping down my collarbone.
His hands fist the sheets, knuckles white, bruised skin stretching as he grips tight to keep from ripping my panties off in one violent move.
Every squeak of denim is intoxicating. The headboard keeps slamming the wall, in time with the way I force his cock to grind along my clit.
Moaning into his ear, I let filthy sounds spill out while I ride him through the cloth like I’m dry-humping his soul.
He groans gutturally, trying to arch into me, unaware I own the pace, grinding the rigid length of him until it feels like we might combust before a single layer comes off.
Sitting up suddenly, he wraps one arm around my back, the other sliding down to grab a fistful of my thigh.
Hauling me closer until my chest is pressed to his, we are skin to skin, except for the scrap of my bra already half shoved to the side.
His mouth trails down my throat with open, hungry kisses, his teeth scraping my collarbone.
Rolling my hips, his pelvis grinds up to meet me, the headboard thumping again, rhythmic, desperate.
My cut wrist rubs against his shoulder, leaving a smear of red across muscle.
He doesn’t flinch. Licking my neck, he moans into my skin, kneading my hips hard enough that I know there’ll be fingerprints when this is over.
"I need you,” he breathes into my ear, the words melted down to raw need.
His hands slide up my ribcage, fingers spanning the curve of my breasts, thumbs finding my nipples through the thin fabric before he shoves the bra aside completely and seizes the heat there.
My back arches forward so sharply my head knocks the headboard.
He grips harder, groaning into my hair as I grind down with punishing slowness, dragging across the thick line of him in a long stroke that makes him shudder.
The headboard thuds again. My breathing is fast and uneven, matching his.
Every shift drags us closer to a line we both want to sprint across but can’t quite let ourselves cross yet.
The cut on my wrist throbs; the blood on his hand drying as we move.
His mouth finds mine again. Licking into me like he’s starving, his hips keep thrusting up, thick ridges straining through cloth, each drag sloppier, wetter as desire soaks the denim sticking between us.
Fumbling with the button on his jeans, he almost snarls in frustration when it catches.
Sneaking a hand down, I flick it open, sliding inside with ease.
He’s hot and slick, his cock hard enough to make me moan just from the feel.
Cursing, his head falls back against the headboard with a hollow thud, my fingers wrapping around him as his eyes roll half closed.
His voice is hoarse when he says my name again, not as a plea this time but as a broken exhale.
Without breaking contact I shift, straddling his lap fully, pressing my hips down in a slow grind that squeezes us both.
Dragging his hands down my back, he grabs my ass, thrusting up to meet me.
The headboard keeps thumping, our breaths tangling, blood smearing our skin.
Nothing matters except this brutal, ravenous collision.
Our bodies crash into each other, desperate and aching, every roll of our hips a promise that neither of us should have survived but did.
He’s still fighting his jeans when something in him snaps.
His bloody knuckles hook under the hem of my shirt before tearing, the cotton ripping open with a sharp, vicious sound, the fabric splitting all the way down to my ribs.
I don’t care. My breasts spill free, his eyes gone dark and wild, breathing like a man who just crawled out of a grave.
Then his mouth is on me.
No hesitation. He latches onto my left breast, tongue hot, lips sucking hard enough to bruise.
His teeth scrape the edge of my nipple before he draws it deeper into his mouth, nursing like this is what he’s needed all along.
Thumping my head against the headboard again, I moan, a guttural, helpless sound.
He groans in answer, suction tightening, tongue circling the swollen peak.
His hand kneads the other breast, thumb rolling my nipple until it’s as hard as the one he’s working with his mouth.
The heat is savage. Flexing his jaw, he sucks harder, marking me with terrifying precision.
Feeling every pull like a low voltage thrumming straight to my core, the bruised hand presses into my breastbone, holding me in place while he ravages.
Digging my fingers into his hair, I arch into him, shameless in the way I offer more.
Switching sides with a dirty, wet pop, he bites lightly as he moves, leaving a trail of spit and heat down my sternum.
Licking across to the other nipple, he wraps his lips around it, sucking like he wants to devour it.
His teeth scrape, gentle but firm, then he clamps down just enough to make my breath hitch.
Gasping his name, my nails scratch his shoulders.
His answering growl vibrates against my skin.
He wants me marked. Wants proof of his mouth on me.
Thick bruises bloom under his tongue. I can feel the ache starting already, deep and throbbing.
It only pushes me harder into him, hips grinding slow, chasing every spark he sets off.
His mouth sucks, licks, bites, moves between my breasts as if he needs to ruin every inch. Leaving dark, spreading marks, each one is hotter than the last. Groaning into my skin, he is utterly focused. Aching for him, I’m dripping, thighs slick, clenched around his hips.
“I want you covered in them,” he mutters, voice hoarse. Dragging his lips across the soft swell, he opens wide, clamping down again, harder, tongue laving while he leaves another bruise.
Panting, I grind, giving him every part of me he wants, letting him leave proof of his mouth all over my chest, letting him kiss and bite and suck until my breasts are bright with his marks and my pulse hammers against his tongue.
His mouth leaves my breasts smeared and throbbing, skin tacky with spit and love bites.
I’m still panting when his hand slides from the bruised swell to my throat, fingers spreading along the column, thumb pressing right over the pulse racing beneath my skin.
The touch isn’t gentle. It anchors me, pins me.
His eyes burn as he stares down at me, arm muscles cording as he forces me back into the mattress.
Headboard creaking, I gasp, throat working against his palm as his grip tightens with possessive certainty.
Fumbling for the waist of my ruined leggings, he yanks hard, dragging the fabric down in one vicious stroke that leaves my thighs bare and the rest bunched at my knees.
I can barely breathe, whether from his hand at my throat or the way his gaze devours me.
He tears the scraps the rest of the way off, ripping my panties with impatient hands.
The sound of fabric shredding fills the room, crude and hot, my heart slamming into my ribs.
I’m naked beneath him, spread on the bed, blood streaking my wrist, his hand still claiming my throat.
He stands long enough to kick off his jeans, muscles flexing as the denim slides down those strong legs.
Throwing them aside, he comes back wearing just dark boxers that cling to the hard outline straining beneath.
He looks wrecked and feral, lips swollen from kissing, chest scored with scratches that match the path of my nails.
His knuckles are raw, blood dried into them, my heart flipping at the sight of his marks on me.
Without warning he grabs my thighs, fingers digging in, dragging me down the bed until my ass is right at the edge.
My knees splay instinctively as he folds them over his shoulders.
Jerking my hips up, I slip a half glance toward the door, panic and want tangled.
Latching his hand around my throat, I can’t look anywhere but him once his eyes are devoured by hunger.
“Keep your eyes on me,” he murmurs, voice like ground glass.
Then he drops his mouth between my thighs.