16. malakai #3
I nodded once. My hands settled on the railing behind me because that was the only place that felt safe.
Echo shoved her own pants and panties down far enough to free one leg, kicked the fabric free of her boot, and then she was climbing me.
One hand stayed on my throat; the other guided the head of my cock between her thighs.
She was already soaked—hot, slick, dripping enough that the first drag of the piercing through her folds made a wet sound that echoed off the concrete.
She didn’t ease down. She dropped her weight in one smooth, mean motion and took every inch until I was buried to the root and the barbell was pressed tight against the front wall of her.
The sound she made was short and vicious. I felt it vibrate through the hand still wrapped around my throat.
She didn’t give either of us time to adjust. She braced one boot on the step beside my hip, the other foot planted on the landing, and started riding me hard—short, sharp rolls of her hips that forced the piercing to drag against her with every downward stroke.
The wet slap of skin on skin filled the stairwell.
Every time she rose I saw the shiny stretch of my cock disappearing back into her, the metal glinting, and every time she dropped I felt her walls clamp down like she was trying to keep me exactly where she wanted.
I kept my hands on the railing. My knuckles went white.
“Fuck—Echo—”
“Shut up.” She squeezed my throat for emphasis and fucked herself down harder. “You don’t get to talk your way through this one.”
I still talked. I couldn’t help it. The words came out rough and half-laughed between the punched-out breaths she was forcing out of me.
“You’re dripping down my cock and still looking at me like you want to put me through the wall. That the attachment problem talking, or do you just hate how much you like this?”
She answered by grinding down in a tight circle that made the piercing catch and drag until my vision narrowed. A broken sound left my throat. She felt it under her palm and smiled—mean, satisfied—and did it again.
I lasted longer than I expected only because she was using me for her own pace, not letting me thrust up the way I wanted.
When I tried, she tightened her hand in warning and slowed just enough to make the denial hurt.
So I stayed still and took it: the wet heat of her sliding up and down my cock, the way her inner walls fluttered every time the barbell scraped that perfect spot, the sting of her nails starting to dig into the side of my neck, the smell of sex and leather and the faint copper of the blood still on my lip.
She came first. I felt it in the sudden, vicious clench around me, the way her rhythm stuttered and her thighs shook against my hips.
A low, guttural sound tore out of her throat and she kept moving through it, milking every pulse, using my cock to ride the orgasm out until she was oversensitive and still not stopping.
The second those rhythmic squeezes hit I was done.
My head dropped back against the wall and I came hard—thick, heavy pulses that flooded her while she was still grinding down, forcing every drop deeper.
She didn’t climb off immediately. She stayed seated on my cock, breathing hard, hand still loose around my throat while the aftershocks kept fluttering through her.
Come was already slipping out around the base of me every time either of us shifted, warm and messy down my balls and the inside of her thigh.
Only when her breathing evened did she ease up.
She lifted off me slowly, the wet sound of my cock leaving her filthy in the quiet stairwell.
Come streaked the inside of her thigh and the front of my trousers.
She looked at the mess, then at my face, and the anger had burned down into something sharper and more satisfied.
I stayed against the wall while she tugged her panties and pants back into place, then fixed my own clothes with hands that weren’t quite steady.
By the time we were dressed again the only evidence left was the faint red marks of her fingers on my throat and the way both of us still smelled like what we’d just done.
As we dressed, Echo had recovered enough energy to glare at me while fixing the hem of her shirt. She looked less angry than before, which did not mean the argument was finished. I knew better than to mistake sex for resolution, especially with her.
“You’re still an asshole,” she said as she checked that she had everything she came down with. “And if you jump in front of me again when I have something handled, I’m going to make you regret it.”
“I heard you the first time.” I picked up the jacket she had dropped and held it out rather than trying to put it on her. “I’ll try to give you the second it takes to decide for yourself. That’s what I can actually promise.”
Echo took the jacket but did not put it on immediately. The threat in her expression eased just enough that I knew she understood the difference. “That’s marginally less irritating,” she said.
“I’ll take it.”