Nine #3
He’s fucking me as he’s kissing me, and that’s a hundred times more intimate.
I can’t help but moan into his mouth, lost in the moment, the feel of him.
The taste of him, and beneath it, the taste of me.
He doesn’t stop playing with my tongue, and he’s moving gently, too.
He’s not thrusting hard nor pinning me down.
He’s making love to me.
He doesn’t get to do that. Not after all he’s done. “Not gently.” It slips out. I barely stop myself from adding please.
“You’re mine,” he breathes. “I’ll take you as I want.”
“I’ll… bite you.” I snap my teeth at him, but I can barely move.
He dodges easily, chuckling. “Strays often bite… until they’re broken in.”
“You’ll never break me.”
“We’ll see.” He pushes inside me again, watching my eyes as he does. I close them, turning my head away, trying not to feel. It’s impossible.
“So goddamn tight,” he murmurs. “Such a perfect little pussy.”
That’s all I’ve been reduced to: a hole for him to use.
He’s still talking, his words accompanying his thrusts. “You are… without doubt… the most exquisite creature… I’ve ever had beneath me.”
Good. Maybe he’ll be done sooner.
“I don’t want this to end,” he breathes.
“I do,” I grind out. “Be finished already.”
“I’ll never have enough of you, Little Stray,” he says softly. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it. I can feel your body responding.”
“Just my body. Not my mind.” Even though it’s almost both.
“I don’t believe that either.”
“Believe it,” I say, struggling beneath him, trying to buck him off. He presses me down, stopping his rhythm.
“Have it your way.”
He lifts himself up, and one hand comes around my throat, gripping tight. His other hooks my leg, pulling it up. He begins thrusting again, using his hold on me for leverage, and this time he’s not being gentle.
Every thrust is hard and sharp, and he’s driving deeper. I’m too aroused for this, and my body clenches around him, my orgasm rushing close. I can’t stop it.
His grip on my neck makes it difficult to breathe. I stare up at him with wide eyes, wondering if this is the moment he changes his mind, and decides he does want to hurt me.
But there’s no anger in his expression, nothing to suggest he means me harm. He’s breathing hard with his exertion, but he’s focused on me.
His grip eases enough for me to draw in air, then tightens again.
He’s doing it deliberately, the way he does everything. Does this man even get angry? His control is almost more frightening, especially when it means I can’t manipulate him.
Every thrust, he draws back agonizingly slowly, then slams into me.
Every thrust, my body clenches in response, and I can’t help the gasps that escape.
“Come for me, Little Stray,” he orders. “Let me feel you clench.”
It’s like my body was only waiting for that command.
My orgasm arrives with a force that leaves me shaking beneath him, clamping down on his cock as my thighs close on his hips, and I grip him with everything I have.
My entire body is one long pulse of pleasure, and he grunts with effort as he fucks me through it, drawing it on and on, until I’m lost in a never-ending wave of ecstasy he has no right to inflict on me.
I’m barely aware that I’m sobbing through his grip. He must still be watching me closely, because I have only the air I need, no more or less than that. My neck is sore, but it’s a good sore. My body is aching, but I’m too high on endorphins to care.
He’s still fucking me.
I both want him to come and don’t. I want him to fill me, so that I can feel it when he does, but I don’t want this to end. I want him to be finished, so he can leave, but suddenly I’m not sure I do want him to go.
No, that’s just a momentary weakness, born of too much mind-melting pleasure.
Then his strokes grow shorter, his body tenses, and his hand tightens on my throat, cutting off all my air.
My vision greys at the edges, before he finally thrusts deep, shudders, and comes inside me.
The feeling triggers another wave of my orgasm, and it’s only intensified as his grip relaxes, oxygen flooding back into my starved lungs.
It’s a while before either of us can do more than breathe.
“Was that just your body too?” he asks at last.
I can’t reply. We both know it wasn’t.
This man isn’t just inside me, he’s inside my head. He has been since the very first day we met, only now he knows it, too.
If he was ever in any doubt.
Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe the only person doubting it was me.
There’s no hiding from it now. Not after that.
He reaches up, unfastening one cuff, then the other, freeing my wrists. They’re not even sore, despite my struggles, the velvet lining soft.
Then he slips from inside me, flops down on the bed, turns me on my side, and pulls me in against him.
I’m too exhausted to fight it. I’m not even sure I want to.
“Sleep, Little Stray,” he murmurs, his hand cupping my breast. “I’ll keep you safe.”
Yeah? But who will keep me safe from him?
But as sleep takes me, it’s no longer my life I fear for. It’s my very existence.
I’m scared Van Wyk is making me his.