six -Brynn- #2
He keeps his lips over my wound as he drives further, another piercing, ripping me apart.
My mind completely unravels. “Ares,” I whimper, or moan, or beg, or I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing while I feel another of his piercings, and I swear to God, I’m gonna name them soon, like Santa‘s reindeer—Dasher, Dancer, Prancer and … fuck, there goes “Vixen.”
“What?” Ares groans, his eyes burning into mine like I’ve committed a capital sin.
“Just cursing,” I barely let the words out, trying my best not to make a bigger fool of myself than I already have. I quickly distract him by arching against him... claiming Comet too.
His tongue trails against the cut, the pain spreading through my body like a spiritual awakening, and I feel myself claiming his cock fervently. Twitching to take all of him.
He feels it too, since he’s the one cursing this time.
“So fucking tight, little curse.” He takes a second, breathing through his nose like a damn racehorse on a cold night, then drives himself deeper, another two piercings sliding in at the same time.
Now I feel him so deep inside of me, I fear my internal organs would rip if I move.
That was Cupid and Donner, and I’m pretty sure if Blitzen existed, I wouldn’t be able to function by the time he’d be done with me.
I still doubt I’ll be able to function the next few days, as it is.
I cry out as he starts moving, each thrust a full-blown body impact, like I’m too full and it feels too fucking good to be real. I can’t help myself from calling out his name again. “Ares.” Like the true god he is. “Ares,” like a god I want to pray to.
“How the fuck did you come after me, when you enjoy being my little slut so fucking much?” he grunts, his hand fisting my hair, pulling my head back while he moves to trace my collarbone with his dirty mouth.
I’m not holding onto the stairs anymore, but to his back, my nails dragging against his flesh, a trace of blood marking his inked skin, his tattoos shifting beneath my fingertips.
“Now show me how much you want me, how much wetter this little cunt can get for me.” His hand slips between us, and he pinches my clit.
The sensation spreads like wild fire inside my body, and I instantly hear the wet sound his cock makes as he drives inside of me, slamming my sensitive nub against his pelvis and turning that shock into an echo.
An echo that leaves from my lips in a hum for long seconds, maybe even minutes. I can’t breathe. I can’t function. I can only feel, and it’s too fucking much.
“Tell me,” he presses with more anger. “How could you possibly dare to come after me when you’re such a slut for my cock?”
I can tell he’s growing angrier, but I just can’t speak. I can only hum like a fucking helpless bee as his fingers start rubbing my clit.
Fucking hell.
“Answer me!!!” he demands with a kind of madness I’ve never heard before. He’s hurt, but that’s only because he doesn’t know the whole story.
Maybe he deserves to be hurt. And I deserve to be hurt by him.
I don’t answer him. Answering him would mean I’d put a stop to all of this, and my damn slut of a cunt won’t let me.
“Answer,” he demands again, his hand wrapping around my throat. The pressure too much, almost enough to knock me unconscious. Then again, his hand on my clit never stops. Neither do his thrusts.
Still no answer, but if I’m going to die here tonight, I want to come on his cock before that happens, and I have only seconds to do so.
I can’t breathe, and that intensifies pretty much everything else.
I want to moan, but I’m afraid I’d be so loud I’d shake down the walls, so I bite my lip.
I don’t even focus on searching for air.
I just bite down hard, until I know they’re bruised, as something violent, perfect rips through my body.
I clamp around his cock so tightly that it erases every single one of my thoughts. I come begging and praying and calling out his name until I can’t breathe—or even talk. Until I can only murmur “Ares… Ares” over and over again.
I know he’s shaken by it, because the grip on my throat loosens, but not the movement on my sensitive skin.
The feeling so strong it should be forbidden, turning everything else into a haze.
It’s just pleasure—defined and undefined, raw, dirty pleasure.
I want him to stop and go on, I don’t want his hand to leave me ever again, but I can’t have it there a second longer. If he keeps this up, I might go mental.
His groans mingle with my pulse, the violent contractions of my pussy growing infernal as he drives me to orgasm after orgasm, until my breath becomes still, then turns erratic.
So does my mind. I can’t bring myself to ask him to stop, but I can’t take any more either.
My damn cunt purrs for him like a V8, while I’m breathless, knowing he won’t stop and there’s not much longer before I break.
That’s when another orgasm hits me, and my ears ring like a bomb just went off, my eyes heavy, my limbs heavier.
It’s then that I want to calm his anger, not because I can’t handle him anymore, but because he’s poisoning himself with it, and against everything I ever stood for, I bring my hands around his neck, gently lifting his head from my chest, and kiss him.
It’s not slow, like in the movies. It’s violent like him, like me, like everything around us.
But it’s pure. Pure love. Pure hate. Pure desire. Fucking pure.
His rhythm doesn’t subside, but his anger does. I can feel it. I can feel him closer than ever before, and yet farther away.