10. Tyler #2
"Keep your legs wide," I command, my voice a dark, low scrape. "Don’t move an inch. Take it."
I increase the pace of my fingers driving in and out of her slick walls while my thumb brutally works her clit.
The friction is agonizing. The sheer sensory density of the wet sounds, the smell of her arousal, the cold moonlight on her pale skin, and the tight grip of her pussy short-circuits every thought in my skull.
I’m wiping the Syndicate out of her mind. I’m overwriting four years of isolation and fear with undeniable pleasure. I’m branding her with the Ignition.
Her thighs tremble violently against my waist. Her hips jerk forward with every thrust of my fingers. The slick coats my knuckles, running down the back of my hand. She’s sobbing out my name, the syllables fracturing into wordless moans.
"Tyler... please... Tyler..."
The begging shreds the final thread of my restraint.
I pull my slick fingers out of her pussy. The sudden loss of pressure makes her whine, a desperate, needy sound that feeds the monster inside my chest.
I reach down and unbuckle my leather belt. I tear the metal buckle through the loops. I pop the button of my jeans and rip the zipper down. I shove my denim and my boxer briefs down my thighs, kicking them away onto the floor.
My cock springs free, snapping against my stomach. It’s thick and agonizingly hard. A thick drop of clear precum leaks from the blunt head, gleaming in the pale moonlight. The ache in my balls is a physical weight, demanding to be emptied deep inside her womb.
I grab Wendy's hips. I drag her forward across the scratched oak counter. Her bare ass slides over the cold wood until she’s perched right on the very edge. Her legs hang off the side.
I step into the V of her spread thighs.
Her knees rest against my narrow hips. I reach down and grab the thick base of my cock. I line the blunt, swollen head against her slick, dripping opening.
"Look at my face," I command, the words tearing out of my throat.
Wendy opens her eyes. Her irises are blown wide, the pupils swallowing the gold. She stares up at me, completely surrendered, trusting the lethal weapon standing between her legs.
I drag the blunt head of my cock through her slick folds.
Once. Twice. Coating myself in her arousal.
The wet, obscene drag of skin on slick skin echoes against the brick walls of the empty shop.
I let her feel how much I want her before I take her.
I let the threat of me sit against her opening until she sobs my name out loud, the syllables fracturing against the empty space.
I drive my hips forward.
The blunt head of my cock breaches her tight opening. The scalding heat of her pussy swallows the first two inches. The resistance is incredible. She’s so tight, her walls clamping down around my thick girth like a vice.
I groan, the deep, animalistic sound vibrating in my chest. I wrap my hands around her bare thighs, gripping the soft flesh tight enough to leave bruises.
I pull her hips forcefully against my pelvis while simultaneously driving my body violently forward.
I penetrate her completely, burying my thick cock hilt-deep inside her tight, slick walls.
The physical impact is catastrophic. The dull thud of my pubic bone slamming against her pelvis echoes in the empty shop. The sheer depth of the penetration stretches her to the limit. Wendy screams, throwing her head back, her spine bowing rigidly off the counter.
"Mine," I roar, the claim erupting from my lungs. "Only mine."
I don’t give her a second to adjust. I don’t hold back. The deep-cover operative who practiced endless restraint and careful patience is dead. I’m a fully ignited Broken Halos prospect claiming my fated mate.
I pull my hips back, dragging the thick, slick length of my cock almost out of her tight walls. The friction is mind-numbing. The suction of her pussy tries to hold me inside, the slick folds gripping the sensitive head of my shaft.
Then I slam my hips forward again, driving deep with a brutal, punishing force.
The oak counter groans violently under the weight of the impact.
I set a relentless, punishing pace. Pulling out, driving in.
Pulling out, driving in. The repetitive, wet slap of my flesh hitting her body is the loudest sound in the room.
The thick, viscous squelch of her slick coating my shaft provides the perfect lubrication for the violent friction.
She leans all her weight back on her hands, her palms flat against the scratched wood of the counter. She lifts her long legs, wrapping her thighs tightly around my waist. She crosses her ankles at the small of my back, locking herself to my driving hips.
The sustained position gives me total leverage. I’m standing on the solid floorboards, balanced, pouring all of my body weight into every downward thrust. The angle is punishing. The thick head of my cock batters against her deepest wall with every deep stroke.
Every stroke pulls a fresh wave of her slick onto my shaft.
Every withdrawal drags a wet, audible suction from her cunt.
The smell of her sex saturates the empty shop, undercutting the cedar-and-paper smell that’s lived in this room since her mother held it open.
I’m replacing every breath she’s drawn alone with the scent of me.
I’m rewriting her senses from the inside out.
The counter rocks on its base. The wood creaks and protests the violence of the fated claiming.
I drop one hand from her thigh and reach between our connecting bodies. I find her swollen, throbbing clit right above the base of my driving shaft. I press my thumb hard against the sensitive nerve, grinding down as I thrust my cock deep into her tight walls.
The dual stimulation shatters her.
Her head rolls on her shoulders. Her mouth falls open in a silent scream of pure pleasure. Her fingernails dig viciously into the wood of the counter, gouging fresh tracks into the oak.