Chapter 19
Nineteen
Sloane
Icouldn’t catch my breath.
My lungs burned, and my thighs shook against the damp couch cushion, trembling with something beyond exhaustion—electric and unfinished.
Callan hadn’t pulled out. He stayed buried in my wrecked ass, thick and barely softening, and every unconscious shift of his hips sent fresh aftershocks rolling through me, deep and sweet and agonizing.
His arm draped heavily across my waist, pinning me against his chest. His heartbeat hammered into my back—steady, possessive, claiming me even in stillness.
Sweat cooled on my skin, and I wanted more.
Not because the ache wasn’t real. God, it throbbed—my stretched ass, the fingerprint bruises purple on my hipbones, the raw bite marks stinging along my neck where he’d sunk his teeth in while he destroyed me.
All of it pulsed with proof of what he’d done, but the pain only sharpened the hunger.
I craved obliteration, that place where nothing existed except heat and weight and him—where I could stop thinking, stop surviving, stop holding myself together.
I clenched around him. Slow. Deliberate. A long, rolling squeeze that dragged along every inch of his length.
His breath caught hot against my ear, and his fingers dug into my hip.
“Jesus, Sloane.” Gravel-rough. Completely at my mercy. “You’re gonna kill me.”
I smiled into the dark—small, wicked, mine. “Not yet.”
I rocked back into him, lazy and filthy, taking him deeper into the slick mess he’d made of me. He twitched inside my ass—thickening, helpless—and the drag pulled a low sound from my throat before I could swallow it. I reached behind me, found his wrist, and drew his hand down between my thighs.
His fingers met soaked skin. Slippery. Obscene. His cum leaking slowly from both my holes, coating his knuckles as I pressed his palm against me.
“You left me dripping,” I whispered, my voice raw and honest in the quiet. “My pussy. My ass. Both of them so full of you I can’t tell where you end and I start.”
His hand tightened between my legs—instinct, hunger, something deeper than either. His mouth found the curve of my shoulder, open and hot, and he breathed me in like I mattered more than air.
His fingers traced my swollen, puffy folds, slipping through the creamy mess. A groan rolled out of him—low, involuntary, vibrating straight through my back into my chest—and his cock twitched inside my ass, thickening like his body couldn’t help answering mine.
He pulled out slow. The wet pop echoed off the office walls, and strings of cum stretched between my gaping asshole and his slick cock, catching the dim light before they broke. I didn’t close my legs. I let him see everything he’d done to me.
He slipped out toward the staff bathroom, and I watched his naked back and muscular ass flex in the dark—every movement deliberate, unhurried, confident in a way that made my stomach warm.
Water ran for a few minutes. He returned with his clean cock already in his fist, stroking the thick length slowly, his eyes devouring me from the doorway like I’d ruined something inside him too.
I held his stare and slid two fingers into my dripping pussy.
Slow. In and out. The wet sounds filled the quiet room—shameless—and I spread my legs wider, letting him see it all.
My cum-filled asshole still clenching open.
My clit swollen and glistening. His gaze dropped between my thighs and darkened, and I pumped my fingers deeper just to watch his eyes heat.
I drew them out, glossy and coated, brought them to my mouth, and sucked them clean.
A filthy moan hummed in my throat—his salt, my cum, everything mingled on my tongue.
I swirled around each fingertip, licked every drop, greedy and deliberate, and I never looked away from him, my eyes locked on him.
“I’m not done, Callan.” My voice came out low and certain as I pushed my fingers back inside my soaked cunt, pumping faster, curling against my g-spot until my thighs trembled. “Wreck me again, but harder this time. Use me until I can’t walk.”
He exhaled sharply through his nose, standing over me with his fist tight around his fully hard cock, watching me fuck myself with my own fingers. His eyes—dark, hungry—tracked every lewd detail as if he needed to memorize it, as if the world outside had taken everything from him except this.
“You sure you can take it, baby girl?” The rasp in his voice scraped against something raw inside me. “You’re already shaking like a desperate little whore.”
He didn’t wait for an answer.
He slid onto the couch behind me, his chest hot and solid against my back, and his fingers found my pussy alongside mine.
He pushed in, stretching my cum-soaked cunt wider around our combined fingers, and the fullness pushed a loud, unguarded moan out of me.
Both our fingers pumped together—scissoring, curling through the slick mess of his earlier release, his knuckles grinding against mine inside my body.
Something about that intimacy—his hand tangled with mine in my most vulnerable place—hit harder than the filth, deeper than the ache.
“Fuck, Sloane,” he growled against my ear, curling his fingers harder alongside mine.
“Your greedy little cunt sucking us both in, creaming all over my fingers like a filthy slut. So wet and loose already—such a little cum dump for me.” His lips grazed the shell of my ear, breath ragged and hot.
“Say my name. I love hearing it on your lips when you’re this fucking wet. ”
“Callan.” It broke out of me, shaking and stripped bare—not performance, not provocation—simply his name on my lips as if it belonged there.
His fingers drove deeper, and his arm tightened around me, pulling me closer, holding me as if I mattered more than surviving another day.
I turned my head—slightly, enough to catch his mouth in a desperate, open kiss, my teeth pulling at his lower lip, hard, until he moaned into my mouth. I didn’t let go.
“I want it to fucking hurt, Callan.”
His eyes sharpened, and he pulled our tangled fingers out in one slow, deliberate motion, and I whined—pathetic, hating the sudden emptiness.
Before I could reach for him, he flipped me onto my back so fast that the room tilted, my legs falling open on instinct, my body already ready to give him access.
He loomed over me, eyes black in the dim light. Blood smeared his lower lip where I’d bitten him. He looked feral, beautiful, like he’d stopped pretending to be civilized.
He grabbed my ankles and shoved them up and back until my knees pressed against my shoulders, folding me in half—completely exposed, completely his. My cunt on full display, puffy and glistening, leaking his thick cum in slow, obscene trickles that slid down to my asshole.
“Look at this beautiful little pussy.” His voice came out guttural.
He lined the head of his cock against my dripping entrance, dragging the swollen head through the mess, coating himself.
“Still gaping from the first time I fucked it raw.” He notched himself at my opening and held there—just pressure, just promise.
“You’re gonna take me again, Sloane. Every brutal inch. ”
He didn’t ease in.
He slammed home. Hard. Deep. Merciless. His cock punched through my soaked folds and buried to the hilt in one violent thrust, stretching my cum-filled cunt wide open around him.
The force drove the air from my lungs. I screamed—half pain, half raw ecstasy—and my nails raked bloody lines down his forearms as my walls fluttered and clenched desperately around his thick shaft.
But underneath the scream, underneath the white-hot stretch and the fullness splitting me apart—relief. Pure, devastating relief.
He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. Simply started pounding into me like he intended to break me in half—hips driving forward with brutal, rhythmic force.
Each thrust bottomed out with a loud, wet slap, his heavy balls smacking against my ass.
My tits bounced with every punishing impact, nipples hard and aching, and I couldn’t do anything but take it.
“Fuck—Callan—yes,” it tore out of me, raw and involuntary.
He bared his teeth. “That’s right, baby girl. Say my name again. I want to hear it while I wreck this beautiful little cunt.”
“Callan,” I sobbed, my voice cracking on every brutal snap of his hips. “Please—hurt me—make it burn.”
He shifted his angle and ground the thick, veined ridge of his cock against that swollen spot inside me—relentless, precise—and my vision whited out, toes curling hard.
One large hand closed around my throat. Firm, possessive.
His thumb pressed just under my jaw, not choking, claiming, reminding me exactly who owned every gasp, every whimper, every dripping inch of my body.
“You like being my baby girl?” Low, lethal.
His hips never stopped—driving harder, the wet sounds of my cum-filled pussy echoing in the quiet room.
“Like getting your greedy cunt railed like a little slut while the world burns outside?” His grip on my throat tightened slightly.
“Look at you. Folded in half, leaking my cum, taking every inch as if you were born for it.”
“Yes—god—yes, Callan,” my voice didn’t sound like mine anymore—wrecked, desperate, honest in a way I only allowed when he had me pinned beneath him.
His free hand cracked across my ass. Sharp. Stinging. The smack echoed through the room, and I jerked hard beneath him. Again. Again. Each slap sent fresh heat across my reddened skin, and my cunt fluttered and clamped down around his thick cock, greedy, involuntary, pulling him deeper.