Chapter 8 - Hannah
I fucking missed his cock so much.
Months of waking up alone, of memories that couldn't compare to the reality of him standing between my thighs right now, hard and solely mine.
"Claim me properly," I tell him, pulling him closer with my legs. "Make me yours."
Wesley's hands tighten on my thighs. His cock is right there, pressing against my entrance, so close I can feel it pulsing.
"Last chance to change your mind," he says, voice strained.
"Fuck me, Wesley. Now."
He positions himself and pushes inside, slow and steady. My mouth falls open on a silent gasp as he stretches me, fills me, splits me open in the most perfect way.
"Shit," I breathe. "Forgot how big you are."
"You can take it." He doesn't stop pushing until he's fully seated inside me, hips flush against mine. "You always could."
We both go still. Just breathing. Just feeling.
This. This is what I've been missing. This connection. This fullness. This feeling of being completely joined with another person. Wesley pulls back an inch, then pushes back in. Testing. My body adjusts around him, welcoming him back like he never left.
"Move," I whisper. "Please move."
He does. Pulls almost all the way out and slams back in hard enough to jar the desk beneath me.
"Fuck!" The word tears out of me.
"That's it. Let me hear you."
He sets a rhythm that's already brutal. No warm-up, no gentle beginning, not today. Just hard, deep thrusts that make the desk shake and my mind go blank.
I wrap my legs tighter around his waist, heels digging into his ass. My hands scramble for purchase on his shoulders, nails scraping down his back.
"Yes," I gasp. "Just like that. Don't stop."
"Wasn't planning on it."
Each thrust drives deeper. Hits harder. The desk scrapes across the floor, and my body jolts with each impact, breasts bouncing, head falling back.
Wesley's mouth finds my throat. Teeth scraping. Tongue soothing. Marking me everywhere he can reach while his cock pounds into me relentlessly.
"Missed you," he growls against my skin. "Missed this tight pussy. Missed watching you take my cock."
I can't form words. Can only moan and gasp and hold on while he fucks me like he's trying to prove something.
Maybe he is. Maybe we both are.
The angle is good but not perfect. I shift slightly, trying to adjust, and the desk gives an ominous creak.
Wesley freezes mid-thrust. "This thing's going to collapse."
"Don't care," I pant.
"I do." He pulls out completely and I whimper at the sudden emptiness. "Need you bent over. Need to fuck you properly."
Before I can process, he's lifting me off the desk and spinning me around. My feet hit the floor. His hand presses between my shoulder blades, bending me forward until my chest is flat against the cool surface.
"Spread your legs," he orders. "Wider."
I obey, shifting my feet apart. The position has me completely exposed, ass up, bent over and waiting.
"Fuck," Wesley mutters behind me. "Look at you. Perfect."
I feel him line up. Feel the head of his cock pressing against my entrance from this new angle. Then he's slamming inside and I'm screaming into the desk.
"Oh God! Wesley… Fuck—"
This position is deeper. So much deeper. Every thrust feels like it's hitting my stomach. Like he's trying to rearrange my internal organs.
And I fucking love it.
Wesley grips my hips and starts fucking me in earnest. Long, powerful strokes that make my whole body slide across the desk surface. The edge digs into my hip bones but I don't care. Nothing matters except the feeling of him inside me.
"Take it," he grunts. "Take all of it."
"Yes, more! Harder!"
He gives me what I ask for. Fucks me so hard the desk scrapes loudly across the floor with each thrust. So hard I have to brace my hands on the far edge to keep from being pushed completely over it.
The sound of skin slapping skin echoes through the room. Mixed with my moans, his grunts and the desk still creaking. Everyone downstairs can definitely hear us. I should care. Should be embarrassed.
I'm not.
Let them hear. Let them know exactly what's happening up here. Let them know I'm his.
"So good," Wesley groans. "Fucking perfect. Your pussy feels like heaven."
I try to respond but can't form words. My brain has completely short-circuited. Everything is too much: his cock stretching me, his hands on my hips, the desk hard beneath me, pleasure building impossibly fast.
Wesley leans over me, covering my back with his chest. One hand slides up to wrap around my throat, just holding it.
"Mine," he says roughly in my ear. "You're mine now. Say it."
"Yours," I manage. "All yours."
"That's right."
He straightens back up and changes his grip. One hand stays on my hip. The other grabs a handful of my hair at the base of my skull. Not pulling, just controlling.
I'm completely at his mercy. Completely under his control.
And I've never felt safer.
"Harder," I beg. "Please, Wesley, harder."
"Greedy." But he complies.
He fucks me harder. Faster. Each thrust punishing and perfect. My legs start shaking. The pressure building low in my belly spreads through my whole body. I'm getting close. So fucking close.
"Not yet," Wesley says, reading my body like a book. "Hold it."
"Can't—"
"You can. Hold it for me."
He slows down. Not stopping but not giving me enough to push me over the edge either. Keeping me right on the precipice.
"Wesley, please—"
"Please what?"
"Let me come. Please let me come."
"Not yet. Want to feel you desperate first. Want you begging."
"I am begging." I try to push back against him but his grip on my hip keeps me still. "Please. I need it. Need to come."
"Touch yourself then."
The suggestion surprises me, but I shake my head against the desk. "No."
He pauses. "No?"
"Want to come just from your cock. Want you to make me. No help."
Wesley makes a choked sound. "Fuck, Hannah. You're killing me."
"Then kill me back. Make me come on your cock."
That snaps whatever restraint he had left. He releases my hair and grips both hips with bruising force. Then he fucks me, truly fucks me, without holding back.
Each thrust is perfectly aimed. The angle is devastating, and my whole body tightens like a coiled spring.
"Yes," I sob. "Right there! Don't stop, please don't stop—"
"Not stopping. Never stopping. Come for me."
My eyes roll back in my head. My mouth opens on a scream that might be his name or might just be incoherent sound.
"That's it," Wesley groans. "Fuck yes. Come on my cock. Show me how good I make you feel."
The waves keep crashing through me. Endless. Overwhelming. My legs give out completely and I collapse against the desk, held up only by Wesley's hands on my hips and his cock still buried inside me.
He doesn't slow down. Doesn't give me a chance to recover. Just keeps fucking me through the orgasm, drawing it out, making it last impossibly long.
"Too much," I gasp. "Wesley, can't—"
"Yes, you can." His voice is strained now. Close. "Give me another one."
"Can't… Just came… Need a second—"
"No seconds. Your body can take it. Give me another."
He changes the angle slightly, rocks his hips toward me and somehow, it's even better. Another orgasm already forming even though my body is still trembling from the first.
How is this possible? How can I come again so soon?
But I am. The pressure builds faster this time. My pussy clenches around him, trying to pull him deeper.
"Close again," I whimper. "Oh fuck, I'm close again!"
"Good. Come with me this time." His thrusts are getting erratic. Less under control. "Where do you want it?"
"Inside," I say immediately. "Come inside me."
"Hannah—"
"Fill me up."
He groans. "You sure?"
"Yes. Mark me. Make me yours completely."
That does it. His rhythm breaks completely.
He slams into me three more times and then I feel him pulse inside me.
The sensation of him coming triggers my second orgasm.
My eyes roll back again as pleasure crashes through me even harder than the first time.
My whole body convulses. I scream into the desk, hands scrabbling for purchase, finding nothing.
Wesley's grip on my hips is the only thing keeping me from collapsing completely. He holds me steady while we both shake through our orgasms.
For a moment, there's nothing but the feeling of being completely connected to another human being. Then slowly, gradually, we both come back to earth.
Wesley pulls out, and I feel his white gooey liquid drip down my thighs. It’s filthy, possessive and I love it.
Strong arms wrap around me from behind. Pull me upright against a solid chest. I lean back against Wesley, my legs still shaking too badly to support my own weight.
"I've got you," he murmurs against my hair. "I've got you."
We stand there breathing hard. Both of us wrecked. Both of us satisfied in a way that goes beyond just sex.
"That was..." I can't finish the sentence. Don't have words for what that was.
"Yeah."
I turn in his arms to face him. His eyes are soft. Content. Happy in a way I've rarely seen.
"Welcome home," he says.
Tears prick my eyes. "Home?"
"This is your home now. Here. With me. With Theo. With the club. You're home."
I press my face against his chest and let the tears fall. Not sad tears. Relief tears. Joy tears.
Home. I'm home. After thirty-four years of searching, I finally found it.
Wesley holds me while I cry, one hand stroking my hair, the other wrapped around my waist. He doesn't shush me or tell me to stop. Just lets me have this moment. Lets me feel everything I've been holding back.
When the tears finally slow, I pull back enough to look at him. His beard is damp, and his eyes are docile and understanding.
"Sorry," I say, voice thick. "I don't usually—"
"Don't apologize. You needed that."
I did. God, I really did.
We stand there for another moment, both of us naked, sweaty and thoroughly fucked. Then Wesley steps back and starts gathering our scattered clothes.
"We should probably get cleaned up before Theo gets back," he says, handing me my shirt. "Pretty sure the whole clubhouse heard us."