Epilogue - Lorcan #2
I'm watchin' carefully. Waitin' for the moment when her brain comes back online, then I give her a push. Hard enough to get her goin', light enough not to knock her down.
Then I'm pullin' her through the curtain and into the great room.
I give her one final shove, makin' her stumble straight to the windows.
Then I come up behind her and lean back into her ear. "This is Decimatio, a stór. This is what you've been begging for all these months. Are ya ready?"
She sucks in a deep breath, lookin' over her shoulder at me, and nods. "Yes, my Saint. I'm ready."
Without hesitation, I bend her forward at the waist. Then plant both palms flat against the cold surface, pressin' her cheek against the window. She opens her legs wide and rises onto her toes like she's little spread-eagle ballerina.
Beyond her reflection, the city sprawls endlessly.
I grip her hips without warnin', fingers diggin' into her flesh, and line my cock up with her entrance. I don't ask if she's ready. I know she is. I just slam into her. One brutal thrust, buryin' myself to the root.
Emmaleen moans, her hands makin' fists against the glass.
She's hot and slick, but also tight. her pussy is wrapped around my cock in absolute perfection. Grippin' me like a vice as I pull back and drive in again, settlin' into a punishing rhythm designed to obliterate any pretense of control she might be clingin' to.
Her palms squeak against the glass as she struggles to brace herself. The position gives her no leverage, no way to push back or adjust the angle. She can only stand there—bent, spread, exposed—and accept every brutal thrust.
I fuck her harder, hips slammin' against her abused ass with enough force to make her entire body jolt forward. Her breath comes in desperate gasps, foggin' more and more of the window until I can barely see the harbor through the condensation.
I change the angle slightly, drivin' deeper, hittin' that spot inside her that makes her whole body convulse. Her legs shake violently, threatenin' to give out, but she stays in position through sheer determination.
God, I love this girl.
My left hand releases her hip and tangles in her hair instead, yankin' her head back sharply. The angle forces her spine to arch even more, pushin' her ass higher, openin' her up further for my cock.
She moans—can't help herself—and I feel her pussy clench tight around me.
I fuck her relentlessly, chasin' my own release. The obscene sound of skin slappin' against skin fills the loft, mixin' with her gasps and my own ragged breathin' as my orgasm builds. Her entire body trembles against me—exhausted, overwhelmed, completely at my mercy.
My right hand slides between her legs, fingers findin' her clit immediately. She's absolutely soaked—her arousal coatin' my fingers as I begin circlin' that sensitive bundle of nerves with ruthless precision.
She shatters, pussy clenching around me as her body convulses against the window. Her palms squeak desperately against the glass as she breaks with a deep moan that echoes off the loft's high ceilings.
I grip her hair tight, yankin' her head back while my other hand wraps carefully around her throat—just enough pressure to remind her I'm in control, not enough to cut off air.
My own orgasm builds fast now, coilin' tight at the base of my spine. Her reflection in the glass is absolutely destroyed. Makeup smeared. Hair tangled in my fist. Lips parted and gaspin'. The city lights behind her make her glow like some sort of debauched angel.
"Fuck—" The word tears out of me as the orgasm starts buildin' to its peak.
I pull out at the last possible second, releasin' her hair and removin' my hand from her throat simultaneously.
She drops immediately, collapsin' in a heap on the hardwood floor at my feet.
I barely register her movement before I'm grabbin' her shoulder, rollin' her onto her back with rough efficiency. She lands sprawled beneath me, chest heavin', eyes unfocused and glazed.
I wrap my hand around my cock and stroke once, twice, before the orgasm hits.
I come hard, releasin' all over her body in thick ropes. The first lands across her breasts—paintin' white across skin still pink from the wax. The second hits her stomach. The third splashes lower, coatin' her hip and thigh.
I keep strokin', milkin' every last drop from my cock as I drop to my knees and spread the last of my come across her lips. She's completely ruined and utterly gorgeous.
When the last spasm finally fades, I release my cock and brace one hand against the floor beside her head, breathin' hard.
She's starin' up at me with those big eyes. Tears still trackin' down her temples from the intensity of her orgasm. My come decoratin' her skin like some sort of primitive claim.
Every debauched demon inside me purrs with satisfaction.
I push myself up to standin', cock still half-hard, and look down at her sprawled on the polished concrete.
Time to mark the occasion.
I prop Emmaleen against the floor-to-ceiling windows facin' east, her body leavin' smudged handprints and sweat streaks on the glass. She can barely hold her eyes open—lids heavy, pupils wide, consciousness floatin' somewhere between subspace and actual sleep.
I step back, pullin' out my phone, and start snappin' pictures.
A close-up of her face. Eyes half-closed, lips parted, tear tracks dried on her cheeks.
Another of her tits pressed against the glass, covered in the remnants of the wax from a punishment during Station Tertia. Nipples hard from the cold surface.
I circle her slowly. Artistic angles. Brutal close-ups. Her arse, still red from the spankin'. Her thighs, streaked with evidence of her own enjoyment. Her hands, fingers splayed weakly against the glass like she's tryna hold herself upright but her body won't cooperate anymore.
I crouch low and shoot upward—her entire body backlit by sunrise, silhouetted against Boston Harbor, lookin' like some sort of debauched religious icon.
She is an icon.
My icon.
I lower my phone and just look at her for a long moment, catalogin' the way dawn light makes her glow, the way her chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, the way she's completely surrendered everythin' she has left.
A stór.
My treasure.
Mine.