5. Wendy #3
My inner walls spasm around his thick shaft, instinctively clenching, trying to milk the sheer size of him.
He groans loudly, his teeth biting down hard on the sensitive curve of my shoulder. The sharp pain spikes through my bloodstream, immediately followed by the wet, soothing glide of his tongue over the bite mark.
He pulls his hips back. The thick head of his cock drags against my slick, swollen walls, threatening to leave my body. Before the panic can set in, he violently snaps his hips forward again, driving his length deep into my core, burying himself back to the hilt with a wet smack.
"Oh God," I sob, my hands gripping the edge of the thin mattress.
"Mine," he commands, his voice dropping into a dark register. He pulls back and thrusts again, setting a ruthless, driving pace. "You hear me? You're mine."
He drives into me with the force of a battering ram.
The position—lying on my side, my back pinned to his chest, my leg hooked over his thigh—allows him incredibly deep, angled penetration.
Every single thrust hits the right spot, grinding the thick shaft of his cock against my G-spot, sending lightning strikes of pleasure to my clit.
The sound of our bodies colliding echoes in the small room.
The smack of his hips hitting my ass. The wet, slick squelch of my pussy taking his length.
The low grunts tearing from his throat. It all mixes with the crackling bassline of the B-side record, creating a filthy, driving rhythm that blocks out the rest of the dying town outside these walls.
I surrender. I let go of the steering wheel. I stop fighting the current.
Tyler's arm slides back around my stomach, locking me tight against his body. His large hand moves down, his rough fingers finding my swollen clit. He presses his thumb down, grinding the sensitive nub in a tight, wet circle perfectly timed with his brutal thrusts.
The combination is devastating.
My vision blurs. The yellowed light of the lamp fractures into stars. The friction of his thick cock sliding in and out of my tight, wet walls, combined with the relentless assault of his thumb on my clit, launches me into the stratosphere.
"Tyler!" I scream his name, my voice completely untethered. "Please! Tyler, please!"
"Give it to me," he snarls against my ear, his thrusts accelerating into a violent, rapid-fire pounding. "Cum for me. Break for me."
My body bows backward against his solid chest. My internal walls violently contract, clamping down hard around the thick steel of his erection.
The orgasm hits me like a freight train, a shattering wave of white-hot pleasure that rips through my nervous system.
I sob his name, my hips bucking wildly against his driving pelvis, my pussy milking his cock with violent, involuntary spasms.
The aftershocks roll through me in long, ragged jerks.
His thumb stays pressed against my clit through every one of them, dragging more pleasure out of my body than I knew it could hold.
His cock twitches inside me with each contraction of my walls.
The slick floods over the base of him, soaks the thin mattress under my hip, smears the inside of my thighs.
Tyler lets out a deafening roar.
He grips my hips with bruising force, pulling me flush against his grinding pelvis. He drives himself impossibly deeper, burying his cock to the hilt. His frame goes rigid behind me. I feel the violent pulse of his climax deep inside my core.
He pumps his hot, thick seed into my womb. The jets of his cum scald my internal walls, filling me to overflowing. He empties himself inside me like he’s signing his real name somewhere no one else will ever read it.
We stay locked together on the narrow mattress. My chest heaves, gasping for the dusty, oak-scented air of the back room. My legs are trembling uncontrollably, my muscles liquid. The protective weight of his body pressing me into the mattress is the only thing keeping me anchored to the earth.
He doesn't pull out. He stays buried deep inside my wet, slick core, his thick cock remaining semi-aroused.
His face is buried in the curve of my neck, his hot breath fanning across my sweat-dampened skin. His arm is still wrapped around my stomach, holding me flush against him. The scent of our sex, rich and dark, mixes with the black coffee radiating from his pores.
His mouth drops to the bite mark on my shoulder. He licks it slowly. Soothing the raised skin where his teeth claimed me earlier.
On the milk crate, the needle hits the runout groove of the vinyl. The B-side is over. A rhythmic, hypnotic scratch, scratch, scratch fills the silent room.
I’m exhausted. I’m ruined. I’m his.
I reach down and place my trembling hand over the thick fingers wrapping around my stomach. I interlock my fingers with his. He immediately tightens his grip, squeezing my hand, solidifying the lock.
No covers. No lies. The trap is sprung, the Syndicate is closing in, and I’m lying naked in the back room of my mother's record shop with a broken man buried deep inside me.
And for the first time in four years, I’m safe.