6. 6
His hands moved from my head to my shoulders, gripping tight as he pulled me against him.
His tongue slid past my lips and I met his hunger with my own, our tongues tangling.
Still hungry, I sucked on his tongue, and he groaned, a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through my chest. His teeth scraped my bottom lip, a sharp, possessive sting that made my cunt clench.
It wasn't a kiss; it was a frantic, messy claiming.
"Mine," he growled, and I swallowed the word like a shot of whiskey.
His hands yanked my sweatshirt over my head.
The cool air hit my skin for a second before his palms were there, rough and hot, cupping my breasts.
His thumbs dug into my nipples, a sharp, exquisite sting that shot straight to my cunt.
A ragged gasp tore from my throat as I fumbled with his jeans, popping the button and tearing down the zipper.
He kicked them away along with his boxers, and his cock sprang free.
It was just as I remembered. Thick and heavy, the skin darker, roped with veins that pulsed beneath the surface. Firelight caught on the slickness at the tip, and my body reacted before I could stop it. I remembered the brutal stretch, the way he'd opened me up.
I reached out, wanting to feel its weight again, but Victor had other plans.
He spun me around, pressing my aching nipples against the cool, rough surface of the wall.
His body pinned me there, one hand splayed across my lower back as the other dragged my leggings and panties down in a single, impatient tug.
My ass was bare to the cool air, and the thought of him standing behind me, owning the sight of it, made my cunt clench.
He kicked my feet apart with his own, and I felt the blunt, wet head of his cock nudge my entrance. This was it. He drove forward, a single, brutal thrust that buried him to the hilt.
My cry was swallowed by the wall. The stretch stole my breath, my fingers scraping uselessly against the rough surface as he pulled back and slammed into me again.
His hips smacked against my ass. Again. Harder.
His hands closed around my hips, holding me exactly where he wanted me as he drove into me.
The wet slap of our bodies filled the room, obscene in the quiet cabin.
I couldn't move forward. Couldn't turn around.
All I could do was brace myself against the wall and take what Victor gave me.
He drove into me again and again, each stroke a reminder that I was here, in his room, taking his cock.
This wasn't about my pleasure; it was about his.
It was about the raw, undeniable fact of his possession.
Then, just as my body started to go numb from the relentless pounding, his rhythm broke.
He stilled inside me, his hips pressed flush against my ass, his breath hot and ragged against my neck.
For a moment, we just stayed like that, his cock throbbing deep within me, the only movement the frantic beating of our hearts.
He pulled out slowly, and the sudden emptiness was a hollow ache.
He turned me around, his hands gentle now as he lifted me into his arms. I expected him to throw me onto the bed, but instead, he laid me down as if I were something precious.
He followed me down, covering my body with his, but the weight was different.
It wasn't pinning; it was... blanketing.
He didn't kiss me. He just looked at me, his eyes tracing the lines of my face, my neck, my breasts.
It was a look that was far more dangerous than the brutal fucking had been.
His head lowered, but not to my mouth. His lips brushed my collarbone, then moved lower, taking a nipple into his mouth.
This time, there was no teeth, no sting.
There was only the slow, warm suction, the gentle scrape of his beard, a worshipful tenderness that made my chest ache.
His hand slid down my stomach, his fingers tracing the dip of my waist before moving between my thighs.
He didn't rush. He explored me with a possessive curiosity, learning every fold, every sensitive spot, as if memorizing a map he now owned.
"Brandon doesn't know how to touch you, does he?" he murmured against my breast, his voice a low vibration. "He doesn't know what this body needs."
His fingers found my clit, and I jolted, a sharp gasp escaping me.
He began to circle it, slowly, expertly, building the pleasure with a maddening patience.
He was taking me apart piece by piece, and I was letting him.
The pressure built, a tight, hot coil in my belly, my muscles tensing.
Just as I was about to fly over the edge, he stopped.
His mouth lifted from my breast. His fingers stilled. The pleasure hovered, a phantom limb, and a desperate, frustrated whimper escaped my lips.
"Say it again," he growled. "Look at me and tell me who you belong to."
My eyes flew open, locking with his in the dim firelight. The power had shifted completely. He was no longer asking; he was demanding.
It's just for tonight. Tonight I can give him everything.
"I'm yours," I breathed, the words ragged and desperate. And as I said it, I worked my cunt hard against his still fingers, grinding down, trying to reclaim the pleasure he stole.
His fingers met me thrust for thrust, plunging deep, as his mouth claimed my clit again.
He was no longer holding me there; he was actively meeting me, driving into me, his tongue and fingers working in a merciless rhythm.
We were both making me come, a shared, violent creation.
The orgasm that tore through me was a shattering convulsion, the physical proof of my words, my body screaming its surrender as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over me.
I lay panting, my body boneless, my skin slick with sweat, reeling from a pleasure so fierce it had nearly broken me.
Victor had done this to me. Again.
Through the haze, I felt a pull deep in my gut. It wasn't pleasure, but it was a need almost as powerful. I turned my head and looked at him.
I had told Victor I was his.
Now I needed to prove it.
I pushed him onto his back, surprising a grunt out of him.
I slid down his body, my mouth leaving a wet trail down his chest and stomach.
I paused to flick my tongue over one of his flat, hard nipples, feeling it bead to a tight point under my touch.
I sucked it gently, then bit down just enough to make him hiss, my hand still stroking his length.
I gave the other the same attention before moving lower, my tongue tracing the hard lines of his abdomen.
I took his cock in my hand, feeling its weight, its heat. Then I took him in my mouth.
This wasn't just a blowjob. This was an act of worship.
I took him deep, my tongue swirling around the thick head, tasting the salt of his pre-cum.
I kept my eyes on him, wide and wet as I worked his shaft with my hand, my mouth taking him to the back of my throat.
I hollowed my cheeks, sucking hard, my tongue tracing the thick vein on the underside of his shaft.
I pulled back until just the tip was in my mouth, my tongue flicking against the slit, before taking him deep again, my nose pressing into the coarse hair at his base.
The thick head lodged in my throat, and I gagged, coughing up spit and drool, but I didn't pull back.
"Fuck, Zoe," he groaned, his hand tangling in my hair.
I pulled back, a string of saliva connecting my lips to his tip. "You're so much bigger than Brandon." My words came out in a wet, breathless rasp. "He could never stretch my mouth like you do."
His eyes darkened, his grip tightening in my hair. A low growl rumbled in his chest.
He liked that.
He liked hearing me compare him to Brandon.
I took him back in my mouth and worked him with a frantic energy, my hand twisting around his spit-soaked shaft, taking him deeper with every pass. I gagged and choked, his cockhead swelling in my throat. My face was a mess, dripping with my own spit and his pre-cum.
I had never degraded myself like this for anyone. Never made such a mess of myself for a man.
Then I heard the sounds Victor was making.
His groans had turned ragged and broken, dragged from somewhere deep in his chest, and suddenly every humiliating second was worth it. I went harder, pushing myself until my vision blurred.
I wanted to break him. I wanted him to lose control.
He did.
With a roar, he pulled me up and threw me back onto the bed.
I landed with a jolt, my body bouncing once before he was on me.
He followed me down, crowding over me as he hooked my legs over his arms, spreading me wide.
The position forced my back to arch, my hips tilting up, exposing my dripping pink cunt.
He drove his cock into me. A scream tore from my throat as he filled me, the sudden, brutal stretch stealing my breath.
My hands flew to his shoulders, my nails digging in, but my lower body was trapped in his grip.
He set a brutal pace, pulling out almost completely, the swollen head of his cock catching on my entrance before slamming back in, a wet, obscene sound echoing through the quiet room.
My cunt clung to him, gripping him like a fist, refusing to let him go even as he pulled away.
It felt like he was trying to fuck every memory of anyone else out of me, to ruin me for anyone but him.
And I fucking wanted it.
"Come for me," he snarled in my ear. "Come on my cock like the good little slut you are."
His words were filthy, degrading, and they were exactly what I needed.
The orgasm that hit me was blinding, a white-hot explosion that ripped through me.
My body convulsed, my cunt clamping down on him like a vise.
He drove into me one last time, then pulled out, his fist pumping his shaft.
A hot, thick rope of his cum striped my face, landing on my cheek and lips.
More followed, marking my breasts, my stomach, a possessive brand that seared my skin.
We collapsed in a heap, our bodies slick with sweat and cum. For a long time, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the crackle of the fire and our ragged breaths.
Finally, he moved. He got up and went to the bathroom, returning with a warm, wet cloth. He cleaned my stomach first, then my breasts and face, his touch surprisingly gentle after everything he'd just done to me. I lay still and let him take care of me.
When he was done, Victor tossed the cloth aside and settled back beside me.
For once, he didn't say anything. He didn't tease me or remind me of what we'd done.
He simply pulled me against him, tucking me into the warmth of his body as if holding me afterward was the most natural thing in the world.
I should have moved.
Instead, I let my head rest against his chest.
The fire had burned low, its glow softer now, shadows stretching across the room. I listened to Victor breathe and felt his hand move slowly over my back. There was nothing demanding in the touch. Nothing expected of me.
That somehow made it worse.
I'd been prepared to regret what we'd done. I wasn't prepared for this. For how easy it was to lie there with him. For how safe I felt wrapped in his arms when I had absolutely no right to feel safe at all.
Then I thought of Brandon and the guilt came rushing back so fast that I stiffened. Victor's hand stopped. Neither of us said his name.
We didn't have to.
"Stay with me," he whispered, his lips brushing my hair. "Just for a while."
I knew I shouldn't. The guilt was still there, pressing against the edges of the moment, but I pushed it down.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow we would leave, and I would be Brandon's again.
But for now… I settled deeper against Victor's side, my arm draping over his chest.
For now, I was his.