Chapter 25 #3
His upper lip curls with pleasure before he’s clamping his teeth into his bottom lip.
He drops his gaze to my center and groans deep in his chest. The veins snaking from his neck, down his arms, to his massive hands swelling beneath his skin as he grips me harder, harshly tugging me against him, as if to fuse us together.
It’s effortless how sexy he is, and if I wasn’t already wet before, my pussy is fucking drenched now.
“Do you think this pretty little cunt is going to be enough?” he questions. “What makes you think it’s not like any other pussy I’ve had?”
I try to ignore the twinge of hurt in my chest or the taste of ash on my tongue, as if I licked the brick beneath me.
He wants to tear me down—to make my confidence falter.
But if Dread didn’t consider sex with me different, I’d already be a pile of ash.
He’s not trying to convince me I’m just like any other girl, but himself.
“Because it’s the only pussy you can’t stay away from,” I say boldly.
His jaw tics, confirmation despite keeping his teeth stubbornly glued together.
I arch my spine as he peers at me intently from beneath long, black lashes, thick brows, and those stubborn pieces of hair that always fall forward. It’s a terrifying sight, but also a breathtaking one.
Slowly, I trail my fingers over the planes of my stomach and up to my bare breasts, pointedly ignoring the fine layer of dust coating my hands. I refuse to touch anywhere sensitive, but I can handle ten minutes with the ash on my skin.
“I can’t make you come if you’re not inside me,” I push, just wanting the timer to start so this can be done with. I’m turned on, nervous, and irritated all at once, but even more, I want out of this fucking oven.
One side of his lips curls, the grin almost condescending as he shoves down his joggers and reveals his cock. His size deepens my anxiety, and I pray he doesn’t rip something. There aren’t enough minutes for him to take his time stretching me.
He clicks the red button on his phone, officially starting the countdown. My heart dips, and I have just enough time to inhale before he’s shoving inside me.
I’m plenty soaked, but the intrusion still burns. A strangled noise from my throat mingles with his moan. Pinching my eyes shut, I inhale deeply through my nose, only for him to withdraw and sink inside me deeper, taking my breath away.
Truthfully, when I was convinced Dread and I would never fuck again, a tiny part of me was relieved I wouldn't have to deal with the initial discomfort of him stretching me again. As much of a masochist as I seem to be, this is the type of pain I could live without.
He continues to work himself in, little by little, while I pant heavily, each short breath accompanied by an equally short, rough thrust until he buries every inch inside me.
Normally, I’d want a few seconds to adjust, but the descending numbers blare bright red in the back of my mind, urging me to just get through it.
Swallowing down my discomfort, I cup both breasts in my hands, squeezing them firmly as I bow my spine with a low moan.
Streaks of dark gray ash mark my skin, and I wrestle with my brain to just ignore it for now.
If I spend too much time fixated on how I’m dirtying myself with human remains, I’ll end up spending the entire night with them.
Dread offers a gracious half second before he’s retreating and slamming back inside me, pulling a sharp whimper from my throat. The brick scrapes against my back, but the little pricks of pain travel straight to my core.
He sets an even, steady pace, chasing away the discomfort and coaxing out the pleasure in its place with ease.
“Fuck, Kellan, that feels so good,” I whimper, my lashes fluttering as my chin tips back.
I grapple with the decision to just let him fuck me like normal or attempt to speed up the process and find something different to say. If I don’t, I risk him holding out for longer than ten minutes, but if it sounds fake or overdramatic, I risk turning him off completely.
One idea comes to mind—one confession. Even the thought of sharing it agitates the butterflies in my stomach, but Dread is fucking stubborn and will do whatever he needs to win. I quickly lick my lips, hesitating to let the words rise on my tongue.
I glance at the timer on his phone and see a minute and a half has already passed, my heart surging with adrenaline.
“The first time I came while fantasizing about you was freshman year,” I admit, my voice small and shaking.
His hips freeze for a moment, and his stare snaps to mine. Shock with a hint of suspicion swirls within, as if he isn’t sure if I’m lying. I don’t pretend to be lost in the throes of pleasure and instead allow him to see my shame and embarrassment. I give him the truth.
“I-I was in my room and using my vibrator,” I continue.
After another second of hesitation, he moves again, his gaze locked on my face. The previous burn in my core relocates to my cheeks, making it feel like my head has burst into flames.
I’m fucking nervous as hell, but a euphoric buzzing beneath my skin overwhelms my entire lower half, down to the tips of my toes. I want to grind back against him, beg for more, but I force myself to focus on a secret I subconsciously swore I’d take to the grave.
I suppose I’m not breaking that promise, considering I am in my grave.
“Earlier that day was the first time I’d actually watched you swim on TV.
Th-they were going over your highlights from a national championship, and I saw the clip of you s-standing by the pool, waiting for your t-turn.
” A small moan interrupts the last word, and his jaw clenches while the veins in his body seem to swell further.
I gasp, losing focus as he slams into me roughly, clearly affected by my words. It’s enough to convince me to keep spitting out the confession.
“I-I hated how beautiful you looked, and I couldn’t get the image out of my head. So, I pictured you between my legs, watching me use my vibrator.”
“Fuck,” he curses beneath his breath, and his grip on my hips surpasses bruising.
Again, he roughly slams inside me, earning a sharp whimper from my throat.
His reaction spurs me on, giving me the confidence I need to tell him the details.
“You had just said s-something cruel to me that morning, but I-I didn’t care at that moment. All I wanted was for you to see how wet I was.” I moan again, my hands squeezing my breasts as he fucks me harder. “H-how I str-struggled to keep the tip on my clit because I was so slippery.”
Growling, he releases my hips and leans forward enough to plant his closed fists on either side of me. His chin drops, and the muscle in his jaw pulses, seeming to struggle himself as he pounds into me, making it nearly impossible to think straight. To get a sound out that isn’t a cry of pleasure.
“I moaned your name,” I squeak out, one hand flying to his strained forearm before digging my nails deep until crescent moons form in his skin, needing something to anchor me while he threatens to send me flying.
“Over and over, while I imagined you l-leaning down to lick the inside of my pussy, then up to m-my clit.”
“Rev,” he snarls, and it sounds like a warning. One I don’t dare heed.
“I tried to pull it away, but I came t-too quickly and couldn’t s-stop it.”
He squeezes his eyes shut, tilting his head away as if to shut me out. It only makes me talk more, spilling the sordid details of a moment that haunts me to this very day. It was the day that began a fucked-up habit I desperately tried to shake.
Except I never fucking could, and now that I’ve had him inside me, I don’t know if I ever will.
“It wasn’t enough,” I breathe out. “So I g-got my dildo—”
“Fucking Christ, stop,” he hisses beneath his breath.
“—and I fucked myself with it, pretending it was y-you.”
He shakes his head as if to physically throw my words out of his brain. He forces himself to slow his pace, retreating slowly and then slamming inside me with a punishing thrust. Each time, a sharp cry releases from my throat while his grunts border on a growl.
He glowers down at me, wild black strands falling over his eyes, wide lips parted.
“Did I say dirty things in your ear?” he rasps, unable to help himself. He needs me to stop, but he can’t stand to make me.
I nod eagerly, my eyes rolling when he hits a spot that has my pussy clenching.
“Tell me what I said,” he demands roughly, his voice sounding more beast than man.
He looks like he doesn’t want to know so he can hold out, but it doesn’t seem like he can help himself.
I lick my lips, the confession coming out easier now that his control is slipping.
“You told me how good my—my pussy feels wrapped around you.”
“It feels so fucking good,” he moans, though I’m not sure he meant to respond. The words tumble out faster than I can think.
“I-I tried to tell you to slow down, and you told me I need t-to take it like a good little slut.”
“You are my fucking slut,” he spits.
My stomach flips wildly as my vision darkens. “S-so I told you how much I hate you,” I say, my voice cracking. “And it made you fuck me f-faster.”
“And do you, baby? You hate me?”
“Yes,” I groan. “I hate you so much.”
He hums, a deep, rumbling sound from his chest, and his pace quickens again. Just like in my fantasy, the proclamation spurs him on.
“Is that what you think?”
“Uh-huh,” I whimper, pinching my nipples and sending a jolt of electricity down my spine that has it arching off the brick. “I hate you even when you make me come, and you’ve made me come so much more than you’ll ever know.”
Cursing beneath his breath, he grabs my hips to jerk me closer, earning a sharp squeal when the brick scrapes against my back again. Then, he pins my knees against my chest, hitting a new angle. My mouth drops open, my cries pitching even higher as he relentlessly pounds into me.
He settles a fiery glare on me, though it’s not anger in his eyes, but something far more intense.