twenty-four -Brynn- #4
He’s moving faster, fucking me into the statue, and the friction inside is so intense I almost black out. By now, my head is lolling, my hands just trying to hold on to anything and only succeeding in slipping on the marble in useless hope of any kind of anchor.
My pussy spasms around the statue, my ass spasms around Ares, and the waves of pleasure are so huge I don’t even know if I’m coming or just dying. I’m starting to think I’m disintegrating, though it’s too painful and too blissful to make real sense of it.
Yet I soon realize that’s only just a drop in an ocean when Ares’ hand finds my clit again and starts circling it like he’s performing a resurrection. My eyes snap open, and I moan in a voice I’ve never heard before. I don’t even sound like an animal anymore. I just sound like I’m possessed.
His hand wraps around my throat, yanking me upright, holding me against his chest as he pounds into me from behind, while the other doesn’t stop abusing my swollen nub even for a second.
His teeth find the silken spot where neck meets shoulder, biting down hard enough to mark but not break skin.
The pain sneaks in, a contrast with the pleasure building inside me, creating a perfect storm of sensation that tears what's left of my rational mind to shreds.
His pace never falters, and the sound of flesh meeting flesh echoes through the chamber, punctuated by my desperate gasps and his guttural growls. If anyone were listening, they’d think we were killing each other.
Tears stream down my face as I start calling his name. Anything to get him to stop, or maybe get him to ruin me completely. “Ares… Ares,” I gasp, like it’s my safeword. But we never established one. And it doesn’t get him to stop.
His satisfaction comes as a dark growl, his movements becoming even more aggressive, more possessive. The pressure inside me builds to impossible heights, tightening with each thrust, each brush of his fingers against my most sensitive point.
“You don’t just belong to a god now. A god belongs to you.” And with these words, something in me snaps, a final spasm that sends me crashing over the edge. "Come for me," he commands. "Come while taking both of us."
I come so hard I can’t see, can’t think, can’t do anything but convulse around everything inside me and scream for air that won’t come.
Ares’s rhythm breaks, his cock swelling impossibly thick as he empties himself inside me, growling in my ear like a wild beast. The sensation is overwhelming, the heat of him feels like another branding iron after all that cold.
He stays inside, holding me in place as his breath is ragged at my neck.
We’re frozen like that for long minutes. The marble is slick with my juices, my legs are shaking so hard I can barely stay upright, and yet, in the tornado that lives in my mind, I want nothing more than for him to do it again. To break me further. To fill every hollow space in me with himself.
He finally pulls out, slow, and the loss of him is almost as painful as the invasion. Then he turns me around, lifting my limp body and draping me across his lap so that my ruined pussy is on full display, his cum and my own leaking out of me without shame.
I want to cover myself, at least with my hands since there’s nothing around us, but he stops me.
“You are the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. Perfect,” he says, each word like another branding, this time, on my mind. “I’ll take care of you,” he whispers, running a hand through my hair, then pulls me into his arms.
I want to protest, show him I’m strong, but there’s not much fight left in me. I just collapse against his chest as he carries me back into the house and into his bedroom, without bothering to put on clothes.
I’m half asleep by the time he lays me on his bed, grabs a wet towel from the bathroom, and cleans my thighs of the remnants of our orgasms. When he’s done, he lies beside me, pulling a sheet to cover me, but even with my eyes almost closed, I can feel his heavy breath brushing across my skin.
I force my eyes open completely to watch him towering above me, the darkness rising in his gaze as he examines a part of my outer thigh that remains uncovered by the sheet.
I want to ask him what he’s doing, but immediately I spot that his fingernails have sharpened, and I press my lips back together, waiting breathlessly for him to fulfill his promise.
He gives me a last glance, assuring himself I won’t stop him, then digs a nail into one of my scars, replacing my past with my future.
Then he repeats, another of Ezekiel’s marks gone in a second, and I can’t get enough.
“More,” I plead with him, knowing he’ll stop after the two.
He turns to look at me, then leans in to kiss his new marks, tasting the blood beading on each one.
“I will claim all before you’ll realize.
Every night, two. But those don’t matter anymore.
Only we matter now. What’s in here—” he leans in, placing a hand over my heart. “Not the scars we wear on our bodies.”