5. Wendy #2
The certainty in his voice annihilates the last four years of my life.
I’ve carried this shop, this town, my mother's legacy on my own narrow shoulders for so long. Every day a battle. Every Tuesday a humiliation. I’ve been drowning in independence because I had no other choice.
Now, this stranger is wrapping his body around mine, absorbing my weight, taking the burden from my bones.
The profound relief is a crushing ache in my chest.
His right hand sweeps down my stomach. His rough fingers bypass my belly button, sliding over naked skin where my jeans used to be, diving straight between my parted thighs. He finds my dripping wetness.
I moan loudly, my head falling back against his solid shoulder. His thick fingers coat themselves in my slick. He doesn't tease. He doesn't circle. He presses his thumb against my swollen clit and drags two thick fingers deep inside my pussy in one calculated thrust.
"Fuck," I gasp, my hips jerking backward, instinctively seeking the friction.
"You're soaking wet for me," he murmurs against my neck, his teeth scraping the tendon. His fingers stretch my inner walls, curling upward, hitting the sensitive bundle of nerves deep inside me. "Already dripping. Ready to take my cock."
"Tyler," I plead, my voice breaking. The combination of his name on my lips and his fingers violating my body sends a fresh wave of blinding arousal straight through my core.
He works his fingers inside me, pumping in a slow, agonizing rhythm that matches the bassline of the B-side spinning on the milk crate.
Wet, obscene sounds fill the small room.
The slick squelch of his fingers stretching me open, filling me, preparing me for the size of him.
My walls clench around his digits, weeping slick, begging for the real thing.
His arm tightens around my stomach, pulling my back flush against his chest. I feel the blunt head of his cock pressing hot and thick against the cleft of my ass through the cotton of his boxers.
"Take your shirt off," he commands.
I don’t argue. I blindly grab the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head, tossing it onto the floor. I’m naked now, nothing between me and the dim light but goosebumps.
His rough palm slides up from my stomach, his large hand swallowing my right breast whole.
He squeezes the soft flesh, his thumb dragging rough, merciless flicks over my hardening nipple.
A sharp cry escapes my lips. The dual assault of his fingers pumping inside my pussy and his hand bruising my breast pushes me terrifyingly close to the edge again.
He withdraws his fingers from inside me with a wet pop. I whine at the loss, my hips chasing his hand.
"Open your mouth."
My lips part before he finishes the order. His thick fingers, glistening with me, slide between my lips. The taste of myself floods my tongue—salt, dark heat, the proof of how wet I am for him. He grunts low at the sight, his cock pressing harder against my ass through his boxers.
"Don't move," he snaps, a dark warning.
I freeze. Behind me, the sound of fabric rustling fills the air. He shoves his boxers down his thighs, kicking them off the mattress. Skin meets skin. Bare for me, finally. The searing heat of him against my back is a blazing furnace.
He grips my top leg, lifting it slightly, hooking my knee over his thick thigh to open me up. I’m exposed, vulnerable, at his mercy.
The blunt, wet head of his cock presses against my slick opening. The sheer width of him pushing against my delicate folds wrings panic and desperate need out of me in the same breath.
He doesn't give me a warning count. He doesn't ease in.
Tyler grips my hips with both hands, his thumbs digging into my hip bones, anchoring me to the mattress. With a low growl, he drives his hips forward.
He goes deep—inch by ruthless inch—letting me feel every ridge and vein of him claiming a place inside me that’s been empty for years.
Every fraction of him stretches my walls tighter.
The wet, obscene sound of his cock pressing into my soaked cunt fills the small room and layers under the bassline of the B-side.
By the time his pelvis meets the curve of my ass, I’m sobbing against the thin mattress.
A high, broken scream tears from my throat.
The stretch is agonizingly beautiful. He fills me, pushing past every internal barrier until there’s nothing left of me that isn’t his. He hits the very end of me, his pubic bone grinding flush and deep.
I’m full. I’m packed so tight with the thick, throbbing heat of him that I can't draw a full breath. The friction of his cock expanding inside me obliterates every thought, every worry, every piece of armor I’ve ever worn.
He goes statue-still inside me. The only movement is the violent heave of his chest against my back and the tremors shaking his thick arms. He’s buried to the hilt, claiming me from the inside out.
He doesn't move yet. He lets the stretch land. The slabs of his pectorals press flush against my shoulder blades. His heart hammers against my spine. The dark scruff of his beard scrapes the side of my neck. His breath is hot and ragged against my pulse.
The Ignition is locked. I can feel it in my bones. The room behind the beaded curtain has narrowed to one mattress, one body, one wet, thumping bassline.
"Wendy," he grunts, his voice a harsh, shredded rasp. "Fuck. You're so tight. Squeezing the life out of me."