Chapter 6 — Natalie
His mouth on mine is demanding, not asking but taking what he wants.
His tongue slides against mine and I make a sound that's half gasp, half moan. His hands fist in my hair, holding my head exactly where he wants it while he kisses me like he's been starving for days.
I'm pressed against the full length of him, skin to skin with nothing between us anymore.
I can feel every inch of him, hard muscle, the rough texture of scars under my palms, heat radiating off his body.
And his cock, thick and hard against my stomach, making my breath catch.
He walks me backward until my legs hit the bed and I sit automatically. He follows me down, covering me completely with his body.
The weight of him drives the air from my lungs. He's heavy, solid, real in a way that makes everything before this feel like a performance I was watching rather than living.
His mouth moves to my neck and there's nothing gentle about it. Biting, sucking hard enough I know it'll leave marks tomorrow.
The scrape of his teeth makes heat flood between my legs so fast I gasp.
"You're going to have bruises," he says against my skin, not apologizing but stating fact.
"Good."
He pulls back enough to look at me. "Good?"
"I want marks. Want to feel where you touched me tomorrow."
Something in his eyes goes darker, hungrier, more intense.
"Fuck." His hand slides down my body in one rough stroke, cups my breast, squeezes hard. "You have no idea what you just said yes to."
I arch into his hand, pressing my breast more firmly into his palm. "Show me then."
He makes a sound low in his throat, almost a growl. His mouth closes over my nipple and he sucks hard, teeth scraping immediately.
The sensation shoots straight to my clit and I cry out before I can stop myself.
His other hand is already moving down my stomach, over the softness there that I spent years trying to hide.
His palm spreads wide over my belly, fingers splaying like he's trying to touch as much of me as possible all at once.
"So fucking soft," he mutters against my breast before biting my nipple. "Every inch of you. Makes me want to put my hands everywhere."
His hand keeps moving, over my hip, gripping my thigh where it's thick and heavy.
He squeezes hard enough that it borders on painful and the pain somehow feels good.
"Spread your legs for me."
I do it immediately, no hesitation, no second-guessing.
His hand slides between my thighs and his fingers drag through my wetness roughly.
I'm soaked, have been since he walked in covered in blood, since he kissed me in the kitchen, since I watched him stroke himself.
"Jesus Christ." He pushes one finger inside me without warning.
The sudden intrusion makes me gasp sharply. He's thicker than my fingers, rougher in his movements.
"Still tight," he says, working that finger in and out without gentleness, testing how much I can take. "Tighter than you should be after what you did to yourself last night."
The crude reminder of me touching myself while he watched makes me clench involuntarily around his finger.
He feels it immediately and groans. "Yeah, you like thinking about that. Like remembering how you fucked yourself on your fingers while I watched and stroked my cock."
"Yes," I manage.
He adds a second finger and the stretch burns immediately. I make a sound that's half pleasure, half pain.
He doesn't stop or slow down, just keeps pushing in until both fingers are seated as deep as they'll go.
Then he starts moving them, in and out, rough and steady and relentless.
"Does that burn?" he asks, though his tone says he already knows.
"Yes."
"Good. Need you to feel it, need you to remember tomorrow that you chose this, that you wanted it exactly like this."
His thumb finds my clit and presses hard, circles with pressure that borders on too much.
I'm going to come already, too fast, can't help it or stop it.
His mouth is back on my breast, sucking hard, biting. His fingers moving fast and rough inside me, thumb working my clit with relentless pressure.
"Come on my hand," he says against my skin. "Want to feel you squeeze my fingers."
Three more hard thrusts and I break completely.
Come hard, clenching around his fingers rhythmically, making sounds I've never made before. He works me through it without stopping, doesn't let up until I'm actually shaking beneath him.
He pulls his fingers out and brings them directly to his mouth, sucking them clean while looking straight at me with dark, hungry eyes.
"You taste good," he says, then moves up my body and kisses me deep. I taste myself on his tongue, unfamiliar and musky and not unpleasant. "Going to spend hours with my mouth on you later, make you come on my tongue until you can't remember your own name. But right now I need to be inside you."
Yes, that's exactly what I want too.
He positions himself between my legs, kneeling there, looking down at me spread beneath him completely open and vulnerable.
His eyes track over my entire body, lingering… My breasts, heavy and full. My soft stomach. My wide hips. My thick thighs spread open for him.
"Look at you," his voice is rough and strained. "Fucking perfect like this."
"I'm not..." I start to say.
"Don't." He cuts me off sharply, his hand wrapping around his cock to stroke once, slow and deliberate. "Don't tell me what you're not. You're perfect, soft everywhere, real. This..." He grips my thigh hard, fingers digging into the flesh. "This is what I want. All of you, exactly like this."
The words hit different than anything Tyler ever said. Not compliments designed to make me feel better about myself. Just raw want expressed directly without filter.
He leans down over me and lines himself up.
The head of his cock presses against my entrance and the pressure is immediate, intense, so much more than fingers could ever be.
"Breathe," he says.
I breathe in slowly, trying to relax every muscle.
He pushes forward and just the tip breaches me. The stretch is sharp and burns immediately. I gasp at the sensation.
He stops moving. "You okay?"
"Yes."
"The second you tense up I stop, understand?"
"Don't stop," I tell him.
He watches my face for another moment, then pushes in another inch. My body is actively resisting this intrusion, too tight, too much pressure all at once. I make a sound I can't control.
"Breathe through it," his voice is strained like holding still is physically costing him. "You can take it, your body can take it."
I breathe, concentrate on relaxing around him, around the feeling of being stretched wider than I thought was physically possible.
He pushes deeper, slow but relentless, not rough but absolutely not stopping either.
The burn shifts into actual pain, sharp and immediate. I gasp and tense automatically.
He stops immediately. "Natalie..."
"Don't stop, please don't stop," I beg.
"You're in pain."
"I know, I don't care, keep going."
He holds my eyes for three long seconds, searching my face. Then he pulls out slightly and pushes back in, deeper this time.
I cry out because I can't help it.
The pain is real, undeniable. But underneath it is something else entirely, the overwhelming feeling of being filled, stretched, taken, claimed.
"Halfway," he says through gritted teeth, his voice wrecked. "You're taking me so good, doing so good."
Halfway. There's still more. I genuinely don't know if I can take more.
He pushes deeper and the pain sharpens considerably. I grip his arms hard, nails digging into his skin without caring if I leave marks.
"Almost there," he's shaking now, visibly holding himself back from just slamming in. "Almost... fuck."
He bottoms out completely, fully seated inside me. I'm so impossibly full I can't breathe properly, can't think, can only feel.
He holds perfectly still, letting me adjust, and his arms are trembling with the obvious effort of not moving.
"You okay?" he asks quietly.
I can't speak, can only manage a nod.
"Need a minute?"
"No. Move, please move."
"You absolutely sure?"
"If you ask me that one more time..."
He pulls out halfway and thrusts back in hard without warning.
I cry out sharply, the pain and pleasure mixing together until I genuinely can't tell them apart anymore.
"Like that?" He does it again, even harder.
"Yes."
"You want it rough?"
"Yes."
Something in his tightly held control snaps audibly.
He grips my hips with bruising force and pulls almost all the way out, then slams back in with real force behind it.
The impact drives me up the bed. I grab for something to hold onto, find his shoulders, dig my fingers in and hold on desperately.
He sets a punishing rhythm immediately, deep and hard and fast, not holding anything back anymore.
The pain is still there but it's fading rapidly, being replaced by intense pressure and pleasure building underneath all the stretch and burn.
"Fuck, you feel so good," his voice is completely wrecked now. "So tight around me, so fucking perfect."
He's rough with me, not remotely careful, taking me exactly how he wants to. His fingers dig into my hips hard enough I know there will be finger-shaped bruises tomorrow.
His hips slam into mine with force that should hurt but somehow doesn't, somehow feels exactly right.
I'm making sounds constantly, desperate and needy, completely beyond my control.
"That's it, let me hear you, want to hear every sound."
His hand slides between our bodies and finds my clit, rubbing rough circles with calloused fingers.
The pressure builds impossibly fast, overwhelming everything else.
"Come on my cock," he commands, not requests. "Want to feel you squeeze me."
Two more hard thrusts and I break completely, come harder than I ever have in my life, clenching around him rhythmically, crying out so loud I'm briefly grateful we're alone. Seeing actual stars behind my eyelids.
He fucks me straight through it without stopping or slowing down at all, just keeps moving relentlessly until I'm completely boneless and shaking beneath him.
Then he pulls out suddenly. "Turn over."
"What?" I'm too dazed to process immediately.
"On your stomach, right now."
I turn over without questioning it, too far gone to question anything he tells me to do.
He grips my hips roughly and pulls them up. "On your knees."
I get on my knees shakily, face pressed into the pillow, ass in the air, completely exposed and vulnerable.
He makes a rough sound in his throat. "Fuck, look at you like this."
His hand slides over my ass, squeezing the flesh hard, then moves down between my legs.
His fingers slide through the wetness there, his come and mine mixed together.
"You're dripping," he says, pushing two fingers inside me suddenly. I'm so sensitive now that I whimper into the pillow. "Think you can take more?"
"Yes," I manage.
He pulls his fingers out and lines himself up again, then pushes back inside in one single hard thrust without warning.
This angle is completely different, so much deeper. I cry out directly into the pillow, muffling the sound.
He doesn't give me any time to adjust to the new position, just starts moving immediately, hard and deep and rough. Using my hips as leverage to pull me back onto him with every powerful thrust.
It's rougher than before, more desperate, his control completely gone now.
"Wanted you like this since the bathroom," his voice is ragged and raw. "Since you stood there in that fucking wedding dress looking at me. Wanted to bend you over and fuck you until you forgot his name completely."
The crude words make me clench hard around him involuntarily.
"Yeah, you like that, like hearing how badly I wanted you from the start."
"Yes," I gasp out.
His hand comes down on my ass without warning, a sharp slap that echoes in the room.
I gasp at the sudden sting that spreads across my skin, mixing with pleasure in ways I didn't know were possible.
"You like that too," he says, doing it again on the other side. "Fuck, you're so perfect, take everything I give you."
His rhythm is getting erratic now, losing the steady pace, and I can tell he's close from the way he's gripping my hips, from the way he's moving.
"Where?" he grits out between thrusts.
"What?" I'm too lost to understand.
"Where do you want it, where do you want me to come?"
Understanding finally hits. "Inside, I want you inside me."
He groans low and desperate, three more hard thrusts and then he comes. I feel it clearly, feel him pulsing inside me, filling me completely.
He stays buried deep for a long moment while we're both breathing hard, then he pulls out. I collapse forward immediately, can't hold myself up on my shaking arms anymore. He collapses next to me on the bed.
We lie there side by side, not touching yet, both desperately trying to catch our breath.
My body is singing, sore in places I didn't even know could be sore, but satisfied in a way I've genuinely never felt before in my entire life.
That was sex, real sex. Not the careful quiet thing I thought it was supposed to be. Raw and rough and animalistic and exactly what I needed without even knowing I needed it.
I turn my head on the pillow to look at him. He's on his back with his eyes closed, chest rising and falling rapidly.
"You okay?" he asks without opening his eyes.
"Yes."
"You're going to be sore tomorrow."
"I know."
"Probably going to be sore tonight too."
"I know."
He turns his head and opens his eyes, looking directly at me.
"Any regrets?"
I actually think about it. About the pain that was real. About how rough he was with me. About the fact that I've known him for only a few hours and just let him fuck me exactly like that.
"No," I say clearly. "No regrets."
Something in his expression softens just slightly, barely visible but definitely there.
"Good," he says quietly.
We lie there in silence for a while longer. My body is still humming, still processing everything that just happened.
Between my legs I'm wet and sore and throbbing. I can feel exactly where he was, where he marked me from the inside, where he's left evidence of himself.
"I should probably clean up," I say eventually, though I don't actually move yet.
"In a minute," he says.
"Okay."
More comfortable silence, neither of us rushing to move or speak or define what just happened between us.
"Natalie?"
"Yeah?"
"You chose this. Remember that tomorrow when you're sore and second-guessing everything. You chose it, you wanted it, you asked for it."
"I know I did."
"Good. Don't forget."
He reaches over and takes my hand, just holds it simply.
We lie there with our hands linked loosely, both still trying to catch our breath properly.
This is what choosing feels like, I realize. Raw and real and completely mine.
And I don't regret a single second of it.