31 - Adrian #2
I thrust into her in one brutal stroke, burying myself to the hilt.
We both groan at the connection. She’s hot, tight, every inch of her clenching around me, and the sensation is so much I almost lose control right away.
But I want her to remember this—remember the man who would destroy his own life just to keep her in it.
I take her hard, punishing, hips slapping against her ass, the table shuddering under every stroke.
I want to bruise her, mark her as mine so deeply she’ll feel it for weeks.
My hands bruise her hips, nails digging crescents into her skin, and she takes it all, fucking back with equal ferocity, daring me to give her more. The table creaks under the assault.
"This is what you are," I growl, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. "Mine. My perfect, dangerous girl who kills for me."
"Yours," she gasps, meeting my thrusts. "Always fucking yours."
The table finally gives way with a crack, one leg splintering, and we crash to the floor in a mess of torn paper and broken wood. We don't stop. I flip her onto her back amid the destruction and slide back inside her, needing to see her face.
She smiles, bloody and feral.
"You love this," she whispers, and it’s not a question.
I slam into her, hands on her throat, thumb stroking the pulse that flutters frantic and alive.
"I love you," I say, and it’s the truest thing I’ve ever uttered.
She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me deeper, her nails raking my back. "I need to tell you something," she says as I thrust into her, her legs wrapped around my waist.
"Tell me." I lean down to capture her mouth, tasting myself on her lips.
"I love you." The words come out clear and certain between thrusts, cutting through me sharper than any blade.
My whole body goes rigid, my cock pulsing inside her.
"You are a fucking asshole who takes too much, takes everything, a complete control freak, but I want it all. I love it. I love you, Adrian. "
My chest cracks open. My girl, finally knows the truth. She belongs to me and I belong to her.
"Say it again," I demand, thrusting deeper, harder, needing to hear it, to believe it.
"I love you," she moans, her pussy clenching as we both approach the edge. "I fucking love you, Adrian. I love the monster you are."
"Fuck, Isa."
Something in me gives way completely. My rhythm falters, loses its brutality, becomes something else—less punishment, more like drowning.
I press my forehead to hers and come with her name in my throat, not a growl but something rawer, older than words.
She follows me over the edge with a sound that is almost a sob, her nails finding my back not to rake but to hold.
We end up on the floor among the wreckage of three months of careful work. A torn corner of the mandala is stuck to her shoulder. I don't remove it. Our breathing slows. Somewhere in the apartment, a colored pencil rolls off something and hits the floor.
After our breathing slows, she shifts beneath me, my softening cock still inside her, my cum leaking out around it. "We should mark this," she says, her voice still rough. "Make it permanent."
"How?"
She pushes me off her gently, and I watch my cum drip down her thighs as she stands. The sight makes my cock twitch with renewed interest. She returns with a ballpoint pen, a small bowl, and a sharp pointed knife from her kitchen, gloriously naked and marked with my seed.
"Give me your wrist."
I extend my arm without hesitation, watching her face as she works. She breaks open the pen and tips the ink into the small bowl. Then she dips the pointed tip of the knife into the ink, then starts marking my skin with it, pressing hard enough that the knife tears tiny furrows in my skin.
The crude tattoo stings as she etches it. A small blade on my inner wrist. The pain is immediate and perfect, heat spreading through my arm. My cock hardens fully again at the intimacy of it, at her marking me as hers.
"Because I'm The Blade," she says simply, pressing the knife deeper. "Now you'll carry me forever."
When she's done, I take the tools from her, my hands steady despite the throbbing in my wrist and my renewed arousal. "Your turn."
She offers her wrist without hesitation, the one with the key tattoo already there.
“You want me to tattoo over the key?”
She shakes her head. “I can’t replace my grief, Adrian. But I can learn to carry love beside it."
I work carefully, adding a small crown beside the existing mark. My nickname, The King, going right next to Meiling’s key she's always carried. The stained knife tears into her perfect skin, blood welling in tiny drops.
As I work, she doesn't flinch, just watches our future being torn into her skin beside her past.
The marks throb in time with our heartbeats. I pull her against me, both of us naked and marked, my cock pressing against her stomach, already hard again from the intimacy of what we've just done.
"Mi amor," I growl against her mouth.
"Yes," she agrees, reaching between us to stroke my cock. "And vice versa. Don’t you forget it."
We're already moving toward her bedroom, unable to stop touching. This isn't over. Won't be over for hours, maybe days. We've broken through every barrier, and now there's nothing left but truth and skin and the beautiful violence of being exactly what we are.