Chapter 22 #2
He’s beautiful. Terrifying and beautiful, all that ink and muscle and controlled violence, and he’s looking at me like I’m the only thing in the room worth looking at.
He crawls over me like a predator, pinning me beneath his weight, his cock throbbing against my pussy. I grab him hard, desperate, and he hisses through clenched teeth.
“Beg for it,” he growls, voice rough.
“Please,” I gasp, shameless and hungry. “Fuck me.”
He slams into me with brutal force that knocks the breath from my lungs. I cry out, clawing at his back hard enough to draw blood. He grips my hair, yanking my head back to expose my throat.
“You’re mine,” he snarls against my neck, teeth scraping skin.
“Yes,” I moan, “yours.”
He pounds into me mercilessly, each savage thrust hitting deeper than the last. The bed frame slams against the wall, and I’m beyond caring who hears.
His hand finds my throat, squeezing just enough to make my vision blur.
I’m trapped beneath him, claimed, used, and God help me, I’ve never wanted anything more.
He withdraws and flips me over, pulling my hips up as he stands. He thrusts deep into me, and from this angle, he fills me so completely I lose language entirely.
My fingers bunch in the sheets. His hands dig into my hips hard enough to bruise, and I want the bruises. I want every mark he puts on me. I want to carry them into tomorrow like proof that this happened, that I’m still here, still breathing, still his.
“Aran,” I gasp.
He leans forward, one hand sliding up my spine and fisting in my hair, pulling my head back until my throat strains. “Say it again,” he growls.
“Aran.” Louder this time. Broken. “I’m yours.”
He drives into me harder, and I stop thinking. There’s nothing left to think with. There’s only him, the feel of his cock, the relentless pace, and the sound of my own voice coming apart in a way I don’t recognize and don’t want to stop.
He reaches around and finds my clit, and that’s the end of me.
I come so hard my whole body locks, my knees nearly buckle beneath me, and the sound I make is something between a sob and a scream. My pussy clenches around his cock like it never wants to let go.
He grunts. “Fuck, Aoife. That’s it, sweetheart. Tighter.”
I can barely breathe as my orgasm blinds me.
He pinches my clit and twists it sharply before releasing me and gripping my hips again so he can drive into me, withdraw almost completely, and then slam back in. I’m split wide open, and my pussy clamps around him again, milking his cock for everything he’s got.
I feel like I’m floating, like I’ve left my body and I’m somewhere on the ceiling, looking down at the mess of us, at the brutal, beautiful fucking that is taking place.
His body owns mine. His cock owns my pussy.
His hands own my flesh. He is everywhere, consuming me, and I want more. I want all of him.
His rhythm becomes erratic, his breath ragged. He’s close, and I want to push him over the edge. I want to feel him come inside me. I buck back against him, meeting each thrust with a desperate hunger.
“Fuck, Aoife,” he growls, his voice low and strained. “You feel so fucking good.”
I can barely form words, but I manage a breathless, “Come for me, Aran. I want to feel you come inside me. I want to know you’re mine.”
“Jesus,” he growls. “Say it again.”
I can feel his cock throb as he groans deep in his chest. “You’re mine,” I gasp. “You’re fucking mine, Aran.”
His grip on my hips tightens painfully, and I welcome it. His body slams against mine, each thrust deliberate and brutal, claiming me in the most primal way.
“Aran,” I gasp out, my voice barely a whisper. I can feel every inch of him, every ridge and vein of his cock as it slides in and out, pushing me closer to the edge again.
His hand tightens in my hair again, pulling roughly. “You’re going to come again, Aoife,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl in my ear. “You’re going to come with my cock deep inside you, and you’re going to scream my name when you do.”
I whimper, the sound barely escaping my lips before another moan takes over. The pleasure is overwhelming, consuming every part of me. Aran’s grip on my hair tightens, sending a sharp pain through my scalp that only intensifies the sensation. His cock stretches me, owns me.
“Aran,” I cry out, my voice breaking as another orgasm builds.
“That’s it, Aoife,” he growls, his voice a low rumble around the room. “Come for me. Let me feel you come around my cock.”
His words push me over the edge. My body convulses, and I scream his name, the sound raw and primal. Waves of pleasure crash over me, drowning out everything else.
Aran’s fingers dig deeper into my hips as my body shakes through the last waves, and he thrusts one final time, burying himself so completely that I feel every pulse of his release.
He groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating through me.
I gasp for air, my chest heaving, skin slick with sweat from both of us.
He stays inside me for a long moment, his breath ragged before he finally pulls out with a slow drag that makes me whimper.
I roll onto my back, staring up at him as he stands between my legs, his chest rising and falling fast, those blue eyes locked on mine with an intensity that pins me in place. He looks ruined in the best way.
“Mine,” he says again, voice rough and certain, like he’s stamping the word into me.
He bends down and grabs his pants, pulling his blade free.
He flashes it once at me and then presses the tip to my hip, digging it in sharply.
“Mine. I’m going to carve my name into your skin so that everyone knows, and you never forget who owns you. ”
“Aran,” I pant, staring at the knife.
He twists it slowly, drawing blood. “Am I yours, Aoife?”
I look up at him, absolute certainty coursing through me. “Yes,” I breathe. “Yes, you’re mine.”
With a wicked smile, he drags the blade down.
It slices into my skin with a sharp, burning sting that makes me hiss through clenched teeth.
Blood wells up immediately, hot and sticky, trickling down my hip as Aran works the tip with precise, deliberate strokes.
I grip the sheets harder, my knuckles aching from the pressure, but I don’t pull away.
I watch him, his face focused, eyes dark with that possessive fire that both scares me and pulls me in deeper.
The pain sharpens everything—the way my body still throbs from him fucking me senseless, the sweat cooling on my skin, the rapid thud of my heart.
I bite my lip to keep from crying out, but a small whimper escapes anyway.
“Quiet,” he murmurs, not looking up. “Take it like you take my cock.”
My thighs tremble as he drags the blade that sends fresh fire racing through my nerves. Blood trickles down my hip, staining the sheet.
He finishes, each letter etched into me like a brand.
The whole thing takes maybe a minute, but it feels endless, every second stretching out with agony and twisted want.
When he pulls the blade back, wiping it clean on his pants, I look down at my hip.
His name is carved into my flesh. Crude, red, already starting to swell around the edges.
He meets my eyes then, satisfaction etched into his expression. “Now it’s permanent.”
I reach down and trace the letters lightly, wincing at the raw throb.
His hand covers mine, pressing just hard enough to make me gasp again. “Mine.” He leans in and kisses the spot gently, his lips brushing the bloodied skin before his tongue darts out.
I moan with want, desperate for him again. He thrusts his fingers inside me before slowly drawing them up over my clit. His fingers are sticky with his cum, and I roll my hips, needing so much more.
“Dirty girl,” he whispers.
The filthy praise turns me on so badly, my clit twitches again.
“So responsive to me,” he murmurs. “Look at you, full of my cum, and begging for more. My name is carved into your skin. I own you now, Aoife.”
“Yes,” I pant. “I’m yours. Fuck me again, Aran. I need you.”
He drops the knife and grips his cock. He rams it into me so hard, I cry out, “Yes! Harder! Faster!”
He grips my ankles and spreads my legs, skewering me on his dick until I soak him. “Fuck, Aoife. You’re so fucking beautiful.”
“Aran,” I moan, lifting my hips and feeling the sting of the carving. It’s good. It feels so fucking good, I gasp. “I’m yours. Everyone will know I’m yours. Fuck me. Use me.”
He fucks me like he owns every inch of my body.
His grip on my ankles tightens, spreading my legs wider as he drives into me with a rhythm that borders on punishment.
I arch up to meet him, the fresh carving on my hip burning with each thrust, a reminder that stings in the best way possible.
Blood smears across the sheets, mixing with our sweat, but I don’t care.
I want this—him claiming me, marking me, making sure I feel it all.
“Fuck, yes,” I gasp as he pounds deeper. My pussy clenches around him, pulling him in, and he groans low, his pace picking up until the bed shakes under us. I reach down and rub my clit, fast and desperate, chasing that edge again while he watches me with those intense blue eyes.
“That’s it, Aoife,” he mutters, voice rough. “Touch yourself for me. Show me how much you need it.”
I do, circling harder, my fingers slick with us. The pressure builds fast, coiling tight in my core, and when it snaps, I come undone, screaming his name as my whole body seizes. He doesn’t stop, just fucks me through it, drawing out every wave until I’m shaking and boneless beneath him.
He pulls out suddenly, flips me onto my stomach, and yanks my hips up again. Before I can catch my breath, he’s inside me once more, one hand pressing my face into the mattress, the other gripping my waist. “Mine,” he growls, slamming home. “On your knees for me while I fuck you.”
I push back against him, meeting every brutal stroke, my moans muffled by the sheets.
He reaches around and pinches my clit hard, sending sparks through me.
Another orgasm hits without warning, ripping through my body like fire, and I sob into the fabric, my fists twisting the sheets.
It’s weak, but my body responds to him like I was born for him.
Aran follows right after, burying himself deep with a guttural curse, his cock pulsing as he unloads inside me.
“Better?” I pant.
“Much,” he says and pulls out of me. He disappears into the bathroom and comes back with a white cloth and a tube of antiseptic.
He kneels on the bed between my legs and wipes me first, careful, methodical, getting his cum off my thighs and my pussy.
Aran unscrews the cap on the antiseptic. “This is going to sting.”
“I gathered.”
His eyes flick up to mine. Blue, steady, not remotely sorry for who he is, but not unaffected either. “Stay still.”
“I don’t regret it,” I say because I think he needs to hear it.
“I know,” he says.
The antiseptic hits the cut, and I hiss hard through my teeth, every muscle locking.
“Fuck.”
“I did warn you.” He keeps one hand spread over my hip to steady me while he cleans the blood away with the cloth in the other. He’s careful now. Precise. The same man who split me open, held me down, made me come until I went stupid, now dabbing at my skin like he’s handling something fragile.
It does strange things to me.
I look down at the angry red letters swelling across my hip, and a pulse of heat goes through me.
“That’s unhinged,” I whisper.
“You let me.”
“I know.”
He smears the last of antiseptic on and caps the tube. He takes it and the cloth back to the bathroom, and I scoot further up the bed. “I suppose the real world is calling now.”
“The real world can wait five fucking minutes,” he says, coming back into the bedroom.
I groan. “Don’t say things like that—” I’m cut off by his phone buzzing somewhere on the floor. “You dick,” I grumble as he smirks and bends down for his pants, pulling out his phone and answering it briskly.