Chapter 62 #4
He grits his teeth and then he growls, avoiding my question. “Do you fucking understand, Countess? I’m not in the mood for your mouth right now.”
I look him in the eyes, unafraid. Moaning, I bite my lip and bring my hand down to his cock and squeeze. He grunts above me, his eyes glittering. “Yes, I understand. But just like I can’t fuck anyone else, neither can you or I’m done.”
He stills. “I don’t do ultimatums, Countess.”
I remove my hand and shrug, looking away. “Then go find someone else, and I’ll find someone else.” He pinches my chin, bringing my face back around. His free hand slides up to my throat, encircling. There’s a moment of fear, knowing how strong he is, but I won’t let him see it.
“And he’ll die. You want that on your conscience, Countess? You let another man get anywhere near you, and I’ll kill him. I’ll leave his body to rot between the trees.”
Knowing what I know about him, I don’t doubt it. I’ve seen those decaying bodies and smelled the horror of it. Instead of answering him, I stare into his black eyes. “So you get to fuck around and I don’t? Is that it?”
He laughs cruelly, mockingly amused, adding more pressure as he bites my chin. “The only pussy I want happens to be yours.” He says it against my lips, and the tension I was holding in my shoulders dissipates. “Every other woman can fuck off.”
“Good,” I say back, biting his lip, feeling his dick still pulsating inside me.
My legs unhook from his hips, and he pushes me back, pulling his cock out of me.
I look down at him, still somewhat erect, shiny with me and him.
A gush of cum escapes from between my legs, dripping down my thigh.
I brace one hand on the wall, wobbly and shocked over what I just did. I feel wrung out.
He stuffs his dick back in his pants and bends, picking up my shorts.
I’m mute, moving sluggishly as he helps me dress, lifting each foot before guiding it into my shorts.
He fastens them, and I feel the stickiness coating the seat.
Next comes my shirt. He slides it over my head, sans my bra, while I watch him stuff it into his back pocket.
He lifts me into his arms and walks through my gallery and takes the back stairs, climbing quickly.
I recognize his apartment from the last time I spent the night in his bed.
Without stopping, he heads to his bathroom, turning on the water.
“What are you doing?” I utter, still drained from the sex and the showdown with my father.
He undresses me and lifts me into the shower.
“I need to lock up,” I mutter, shivering a bit at the cool temps in his apartment and the warm water cascading down my back.
“Stay under the water.”
He turns his back and walks out, leaving me to stare at his retreating back.
“Why did you draw the mural?” The question bursts from my lips as soon as I step out of my small bathroom.
Stone sits in my new bed after we had sex against the beautiful headboard. I’m still in awe of it.
He’s fucked me twice since we left the gallery, roughly taking me from behind in my new bed and then later again on his haunches, my legs pushed back until they rested on my chest, his palms behind my knees as he stared down between my legs.
Each time was better than the last. I’m sore and depleted.
He looks like some sort of conqueror in my bed, corded muscles, sweaty and dominating, tattoos on full display.
His piercings glint in the soft lamp light.
He reaches over, bending down and picking up his pants. He searches and pulls out one of his brown cigarettes, along with a small box of matches. He lights it, and I frown when he blows up.
I frown deeper, and he chuckles. He must recognize my sour expression because he takes another drag of the cigarette and then pinches the end with his bare fingers. I wince at the action. It doesn't seem to bother him.
He curls one arm behind his head, exposing the underside of his arm and the sexy tuft of black hair. His eyes seem to glow in my room.
“Come here.”
I shake my head, knowing that if I go anywhere near that bed, it’s over.
The talking will stop, and I want to know.
I have to know because I’m in love with him.
The news isn’t shocking. It’s just the reality.
I want him in my bed. In my body. In my life.
I can’t imagine another man in those places, and that’s scary because I don’t know what will happen with us.
“You’re telling me no?”
“Yes.” I lift my chin, feel bolder. “You won’t answer my questions.”
He doesn’t move a muscle, but his face changes. His eyes narrow, and I recognize the determination, the purpose. He crosses his ankles under the thin sheet, looking amused.
The thicker duvet is discarded on the ground, falling to the wayside from being shoved in every direction by our intertwined bodies.
The bed yields to him. Fitted sheets loosen from their rounded corners, exposing the mattress beneath.
Sex with Stone means we use the entire surface.
He constantly changes positions, manipulating my body anywhere he wants, controlling my pleasure.
“What questions do you want to know?”
Everything comes to mind, but somehow I can tell he won’t like that answer.
His cock twitches under the thin sheet, rising up. Soon, it creates a tent, and I wonder why. I’m not sure what I’m doing that’s making him erect.
“You’re breathing.”
My eyes shoot up to his. “What?” I mumble, not sure what he means. I was too busy looking at his penis.
“You asked why I’m getting hard. Because you’re breathing.”
I said it aloud? Shit. “Me breathing turns you on?”
“Everything about you turns me on. Your arousal starts with your breath. You start breathing faster. Then your eyes widen, and your toes curl. And when you start to shiver I know your pussy is drenched, soaked.”
He kicks down the sheet, exposing his dick.
Fucking hell. It’s fully hard now, straight, leaning toward his belly.
The underside shows the ladder of silver hoops.
The head with his crossed piercings draws my eyes, and as usual, having it inside me is indescribable.
He spits in his hand and watches me as he applies his wet palm to the head, before moving his hand downward.
Curling his hand around the thick shaft, he starts pumping, stretching his scrotal piercings with each tug.
I watch, entranced as he pays special attention to the head, playing with the metal bars.
He constricts the crown, making it an angry red.
The piercing glints in the light. The same piercing he mentioned was the most painful, and required an expert to perform it, and took almost a year to heal. It’s one of the rarest.
He strokes himself, studying me. My toes curl inward, and my breathing speeds up. All the things he describes happen one by one. I curl my fingers inward, refusing to move. “Don’t distract me. Tell me about the mural.”
“I drew it because I wanted to.”
“That’s not an answer.” Disappointment fills me.
“I drew you the way I see you.” He shrugs, continuing to stroke himself.
“I thought you said I was a little girl, living in a tower.” I throw his words back at him.
“Things change.”
“What things?”
“I wanted to walk in to see my mark. Your walls were just the beginning. I’ll paint the entire gallery because you’re my canvas now, Camryn.
Your walls. Your skin. Your mouth. Your pussy.
Your ass. All of it is mine to be primed, then decorated with paint, my mouth, my cum, my cock.
It’s been that way since the moment I touched you. Now, come here. I want to create.”
His answer leaves me rooted to the floor. I want to be his artwork, the way he has become mine.
I walk toward him, and the powerful words that cast a net, pulling me in.
Once I get to the side of the bed, he stops pumping his cock.
“Use your hand.”
I know what he wants, and I do it. I spit in my palm and reach for the thick shaft standing tall between us.
Stroking, I use both hands to alternate my movements.
Stone’s face is impassive. I see the look in his eyes.
He’s testing me, punishing me a bit for denying him earlier.
Releasing him, I climb over his legs and straddle his thighs, opening my legs wide.
Those inky black eyes of his go right to my center, and I let him look at my pussy.
Let him see how wet I am. I keep my face just as expressionless as his.
Two can play at his game. Confident in myself, in the blinding desire between us, I resume stroking and lean over until my mouth is right above the tip of his cock and spit, right on the head.
When I look at him. His eyes are animalistic. I spot the telltale tic in his jaw.
Not so unaffected now, are you? I do it again until my fingers are covered in my saliva, I milk him, squeezing.
A small grunt escapes his mouth, and I hide my smile.
Using my thumb, I play with his piercings, pushing the bars in the head.
His chest heaves. His eyes lower even more until it looks like he’s asleep.
But I know he’s awake, taking in every minute detail.
My fingernails scrape the chain of metal hoops on the underside.
I’ve learned it’s the one that gets him going the most, especially when I tug on them.
More beads of pre-cum escape. One after the other, coating my hand.
“I need more. Give me your mouth.”
I shake my head, pulling on his scrotum. “You said you wanted my hands.”
“Fuck, Camryn.” His neck arches, and he grips the sheets in his tattooed hands.
I’ve gotten used to him calling me Countess, but when he uses my name, it changes things. I tremble at the beseeching tone.
He sits up and reaches forward, but I dodge him.
“Your mouth, Countess.”
“What’s the magic word?”
“Now.”
I shake my head playfully, resting my hands on my thighs. “No. I don’t think that’s the word.”
His cock is bigger than before, shiny with his arousal and my spit.
“Your. Mouth. Now. Please.”
I fit my head over his cock and suck. One of his hands holds my jaw, smoothing a finger around where my mouth caps the tip.
“More.”
Before I can move my mouth down to take more of him, Stone lifts me up and drags me to his mouth, kissing me.
“Ride me, Countess.”
The urgency in his voice matches mine. I reach between us and find his dick, positioning it so that I can steer him inside me. I slide down, wiggling my hips, forcing him inside me. Each inch disappears inside me until I feel his pubic hair against my clit.
The fullness of Stone inside can never be explained. It’s beyond comprehension. I no longer care that I’m still sore and will probably need ice after this. I press against the headboard with one hand, holding on as he rocks into me from below.
I dig my nails into his chest with my other hand, using the firm muscle to help me grind my pussy right on his pelvic bone.
I want his blood. I want to pierce his skin, imprint on him the way he has on me.
I scrape my nails down his chest and over his tattoos, leaving behind dark pink streaks. His chest is my canvas, too.
We don’t speak because there is no need to.
We’ve communicated enough in the last few days for me to know.
I lean down and kiss him back, pulling on his lip piercing.
Our kiss is sloppy, and seconds later, both of his hands hold my ass cheeks.
The slaps that follow make me cry against his lips.
Each blow is timed with the moment my clit hits bone under skin.
“Fucking telling me no. You come to me when I tell you to.” He leans up, growling into my face.
“Yes. Yes,” I sob, the familiar tension and pleasure spreading inside me. I know I’ll tell him ‘no’ again because I like him this way. I want him unhinged. I like each thing he gives me.
“Give me your nipples. I want them in my mouth.”
I shake my head. “No. They’re sore, Stone.”
A slap hits my ass at the same time the pad of his thumb finds my clit.
“Now, Countess.”
I let go of his chest and guide my nipple to his mouth, looking into his eyes.
He sucks intensely, and I cry out. Pain, as always, is a part of sex with him.
He switches it up, then softens his suction.
His thumb presses on my clit, and with one last rotation of my hips, I explode, screaming into his mouth.
Stone lifts me off his dick and holds it as his cum spurts all over my belly and mound.
“Help me paint, Countess.”
Understanding what he means, I reach down and gather up his cum, smearing it on my clit, my belly, then up to my breasts and nipples, and lastly my neck. I grab hold of his dick and gather more, painting my lips, before sucking my fingers, tasting us.
.