Chapter 17 – Matías #2
I rear back just to snap my hips forward, seating myself fully inside her in one sharp thrust. She chokes on a sound—a high-pitched cry that turns me rock hard inside her soaked heat.
She’s mine to wrap my hands around, slipping from the back of her neck to her throat, a tool to wrench her head back and claim her gaze too. “Then why are you still taking this?”
Her lashes flutter, her lips parting as her nails dig into the sheets beneath her, grasping for a grip I never allowed her to have. I only need a hand to bind her arms behind her back, both dainty little wrists in my grasp, a handhold I grant myself to pound her that much harder.
Each thrust is punishing, anything but dissuaded by the whimpers that escape her in discordant orchestra. “Whoever it was,” I coax. “Did he make you feel like this? Did he stretch your sweet little pussy out this good?”
All she can manage is an incoherent cry.
She doesn’t say his name.
Then I forget there is anyone else.
It is just me. Just her.
Just us.
I work her however I want until she can’t take it anymore—until she’s clenching around me, tight and unrelenting, coming apart with whine after whine as convulsions wrack her suspended frame.
I milk every pulse, every flutter, while she writhes beneath me.
Her moans come in sharp, stuttered gasps, her wrists arguing with my grasp, as if she can hold onto something—anything.
But I won’t let her escape this. She shatters, and I keep going, swallowing the sound of her startled, ruined moan as I lick into her parted mouth.
She cries out for God, choking prayers into my mouth, and I’ve got no mercy to give.
I only take from her. I’ll take whatever she can give me until she gives me what I’ve asked her for.
“That’s it,” I growl. “Give it all to me.”
It’s too easy, to wrestle her off the same cliff twice. Easy for her, at least; worthwhile, too, when she mindlessly squirms for me when I pull out, leaving her shaking through an orgasm I won’t ride out with her.
I’d rather watch her thighs tremble as the aftershocks ripple through her, knowing I’m nowhere near done with her yet.
Not nearly. I drop her wrists and use a grasp on those wrecked locks to suspend her in place, held in a taut arch when my palm spans her waist and my tongue counts out the notches in her spine.
Her skin is flushed, feverish, shaking from stimulation like her system’s shot.
I hear her plead, “I can’t…”
And yet—
She still hasn’t told me the truth.
There is nothing to stop my lips from trailing.
I suck at the generous curve of her hip, teeth scraping every time she twitches against me.
That’s just a precursor—a rest stop on my way to that sweet pussy of hers, still spasming when my tongue strokes the length of her, dipping into her slit just to flick up at her puffy clit.
I revel in the taste of her, even more at the keening cry she expels, fighting my unyielding grip in her hair.
“Does keeping secrets feel as good as my mouth on you, Noa?” I drawl between her thighs.
Her pussy clenches despite her unintelligible whining in what I can only assume is protest. Her body mustn’t have gotten the memo.
“You can keep pretending,” I coo against her flesh, my breath fanning over her soaked core, “but your body knows who it belongs to.”
A sharp inhale. All I need to do is look up, and I’m rewarded by the sight of her burying her face in her freed hands. They muffle the helpless moans that spill from her lips, but there is no staunching them entirety.
Not when I slide my tongue over her clit, thumbing around nerve endings, chasing the sensation even as she shakes her head, as if denying it will make it less true.
“Did he ever make you feel like this?” I ask, mouth up the apex of her thigh, sucking until I know it will leave a mark.
“Did he ever make you come this hard?” I set her up knowingly, granting her enough of a pause to fuck with her, right before my attention skims past the pussy my thumb works to linger at her hole, tonguing at her, until she’s gasping, pulling away, fighting the hold on her hair that won’t relent.
Let her roots burn. She fucking deserves it.
“Tell me the truth,” I command between insistent licks at her hole. “Tell me what I want to know, Noa.”
All she can do is tremble against me, her breath shattered, her body caught between defiance and surrender.
I already know how this ends.
She can fight me all she wants.
I will always win.
I take her for hours until she begins to slip from consciousness.
Splayed out on her side by now, there’s no question about it: Noa is spent.
Wrecked. Her body quivers in my hands, her sweat-glossed chest, covered in imprints of my mouth now, heaving for uneven gasps of air as she fights to remain conscious.
Strands of ruined dark hair cling to the sheen along her temples and neck.
Her fingers twitch against the sheets, clenching, then releasing.
She doesn’t have the strength to push herself up.
I watch her for a moment, still braced over her, my own breath ragged.
My seed spills from her swollen slit, and the primal smell of sweat and pleasure permeates this room.
There’s nothing left inside me—no wrath, no vindication—when I reach out, smoothing a hand down the length of her spine in a soothing, sweeping motion.
She flinches from oversensitivity when my touch coasts over her ass, a barely-there jerk manifesting in her shoulders—but she doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t stop me.
A twisted satisfaction coils in my gut.
“You still with me, esposa?” My voice is low, rough.
A beat. Then, her palm reaches up to cradle my scar-marred cheek, urging me down to brush her lips in breathless intimacy. I feel the words more than I hear them when she slurs, “He was no one—just a man hired a few weeks before… He was no one.”
Her words hit like a punch to the gut.
My fingers still against her. Her voice may barely register above a whisper, but the admission is deafening.
It falls from her lips without permission, ripped from a place inside her she didn’t mean to expose.
It took me peeling every layer away, didn’t it?
Now she’s told me. Now, I know—know enough to track the rest.
Now, I know.
Yet I’ve won nothing.