Chapter 79 Rhyland
Rhyland
In a blur of movement, I'm behind her on the dance floor, pressing my erection against the curve of her ass.
My fingers tangle in her sweat-dampened hair, yanking her head back to expose the delicate column of her throat.
"Had enough yet?" I grumble against her ear, the bass vibrating through both our bodies.
Her response is to reach behind her, palm sliding over the rigid outline of my cock through my pants. "Not even close," she slurs, eyes glazed with alcohol and defiance.
The scent of whiskey rolls off her in waves. She's beyond tipsy—she's fucking wasted. Decision made. I spin her around and hoist her over my shoulder, clamping one hand over her thighs to preserve what little modesty her dress allows.
She erupts in wild laughter against my back. "Caveman!" she calls loudly enough for nearby dancers to stare. Her drunken laughter is half challenge, half delight.
She protests halfheartedly as I carry her toward the private bathrooms. If she wants to play games and push boundaries, I'll show her what happens when they break. Besides, my little exhibitionist has always thrived on the thrill of potential discovery.
I kick through the bathroom door, depositing her on the marble counter with minimal gentleness. The lock clicks decisively before I return to her. She's still orienting herself, pushing tangled hair from her flushed face.
That smile—half challenge, half invitation—lights up her features.
The fierce woman who's faced down gods and monsters looks at me with eyes that promise both heaven and hell.
The pride that surges through me at who she's become nearly derails my mission, but my throbbing cock reminds me we have unfinished business.
"Impatient much?" she taunts, words still slightly slurred.
I don't dignify that with a response. Actions speak louder than words.
I shove her dress up, exposing her to the cold marble. In one motion, I hook her legs over my forearms and drag her to the counter's edge. Her red lace panties—a deliberate provocation—are soaked through. I yank the fabric aside rather than waste time removing it.
The sight of her glistening center has my fangs threatening to descend. She's drenched—all that dancing and teasing has left her ready. I drop to my knees, finding her swollen bud with practiced ease—giving her slow, deliberate circles—gentle torture after a week of her pushing my limits.
Her sharp gasp is all the encouragement I need.
I devour her like a starving man, groaning as her unique flavor floods my senses—sweet nectar mixed with salt, creating an intoxicating combination that drives me past the point of control.
My growl vibrates against her sensitive flesh as her fingers tangle in my hair, nails scraping my scalp.
Her legs spread wider, stilettos digging into my shoulders through my shirt.
I torture her with open-mouthed kisses around her clit, deliberately avoiding direct contact while my hands keep her thighs spread wide, exposing her completely to my hungry mouth. The vulnerability of her position—splayed open on a public bathroom counter—only heightens our arousal.
"Oh, god, Rhyland..." Her voice breaks on my name, head falling back against the mirror.
"Fuck. I missed this, baby. This pussy." I drag my tongue around her swollen bud before attacking it with rapid flicks that have her hips bucking against my face.
Two fingers slide into her wet petals, curling upward to find that spot that makes her see stars.
Her inner walls clench around my digits as I work her mercilessly.
She's absolutely drenched, her arousal coating my fingers as they pump into her relentlessly. The obscene wet sounds of her pussy taking my fingers echo off the marble walls, competing with her increasingly desperate cries. Her voice rises above the muffled bass from the club, uninhibited and raw.
"Fuck! Rhyland...yes...yes...right there...oh, GOD!"
The bathroom's acoustics amplify every sound—A private concert of pleasure that feeds my primal satisfaction.
I groan against her sensitive flesh as she chants my name like a prayer, the vibration making her thighs tremble against my face.
My tongue works her swollen clit while my fingers curl inside her, stroking that sweet spot over and over.
Her thighs shake, her back arching off the mirror as she reaches the edge.
Then she shatters spectacularly, her inner walls clamping down on my fingers with bruising force as she releases a flood of arousal that catches even me by surprise. "Goddamn, baby. That's it," I growl, not missing a drop as she squirts against my mouth and chin.
I drink her down greedily, my tongue working to catch every bit of her release as she continues to convulse around my fingers. Her entire body trembles with aftershocks, fingers painfully tight in my hair as she rides out the intensity of her orgasm.
The scent of her pleasure fills the small space, marking it as ours more effectively than any territorial display.
I don't give her a moment to recover. I yank her off the counter and spin her around to face the mirror in one fluid motion.
Her dress disappears over her head, revealing what she'd been hiding underneath—a sinful red lace teddy with strategic white bows like she'd gift-wrapped herself for me. The Christmas-themed lingerie confirms this was all planned, the little minx.
I roughly tug the lace down, freeing her heavy breasts to spill into my waiting hands.
Her eyes meet mine in the mirror—glazed with both alcohol and desire—as I capture her soft flesh in my palms, kneading with just enough force to border on pain.
Her nipples harden to stiff peaks as I roll them between my fingers, twisting just enough to make her gasp.
"I love my present, baby," I growl, my lips finding that sensitive spot where her neck meets her shoulder. I bite down hard—no fangs, just teeth—marking her without breaking skin. Her whole body shudders in response. "But I'm done waiting to unwrap it."
With one hand between her shoulder blades, I bend her forward until her bare breasts press against the cold marble countertop.
The sudden temperature change pulls a startled grunt from her lips, her heated skin pebbling instantly against the cool surface.
The position presents her perfect ass to me, still barely covered by a scrap of red lace.
The mirror offers me the perfect view of her flushed face, her parted lips, and the way her breasts flatten against the marble—a visual feast that has me nearly tearing my pants in my haste to free myself.
I palm her soaked pussy, gathering her cum and coating my painfully hard cock with it. The contact makes her whimper, her hips instinctively pushing back against my hand.
"Rhyland...please." Her voice is desperate, needy—music to my ears.
"Begging already, baby?" I taunt, stroking myself with her slickness, making sure I'm thoroughly coated with her arousal. The head of my cock nudges at her entrance, teasing us both with what's to come. "What happened to all that attitude from the dance floor?"
I push forward slowly, inch by torturous inch.
My eyes slam shut at the overwhelming sensation of her tight heat enveloping me.
Every muscle in my body tenses with the effort of restraint as her pussy grips me like a vise, threatening to end this before it begins.
A controlled breath hisses through my clenched teeth as I fight for control.
Fucking shit. After all this time, she still feels impossibly tight, like she was made for me and me alone. At this rate, I'll be lucky to last more than a few strokes before emptying myself inside her.
I drive forward with one powerful thrust, burying myself balls deep inside her. The sound that tears from her throat is pure sin—half moan, half sob.
"Goddamn, baby," I grunt, snapping my hips forward with enough force to drive her against the counter edge. The marble digs into her soft flesh, marking her in another way. The impact draws a sharp gasp from her lips, but her eyes in the mirror tell me everything I need to know—she wants more.
"Harder. Please. Fuck. Me." Each word punctuated by desperate pants as her honey-gold eyes lock with mine in our reflection, challenging me, begging me.
Christ.
My cock throbs dangerously inside her, already threatening to explode. The sight of her—flushed and begging, bent over in a public bathroom—is almost too much.
I gather her long, thick hair in my fist, wrapping it around my hand until I've fashioned a makeshift handle. I pull her head back with a sharp tug, arching her spine into a beautiful curve. "Yeah? You want to get fucked, baby? Is that what all this teasing was about?"
"Yes!" The word bursts from her mouth, desperate and raw.
Something takes over. I hammer into her with punishing force, using her hair like reins to control her movements.
Each thrust drives her forward, only for me to yank her back onto my cock.
The brutal pace has the counter shaking, her breasts bouncing with every impact as obscene wet sounds fill the air between us.
My breathing remains measured and deep—a warrior's discipline keeping my impending release at bay.
One hand grips her hip with bruising intensity while the other maintains its firm hold on her hair, keeping her arched and exposed.
I bring my palm down hard against her ass cheek, the sharp crack of skin on skin punctuating our rhythm.
The flesh reddens instantly beneath my hand, a mark she'll feel tomorrow.
"Oh god—yes!" she cries out, her voice breaking with each thrust. "Don't stop, Rhy—please!
Harder! I need—I need—" Her words dissolve into incoherent moans as her fingers scramble for purchase on the slick marble.
Her eyes find mine in the mirror, glazed but challenging.
"You promised to ruin me—so fucking ruin me already. "