Chapter 8 – Mike #2
I grab her thighs, my grip firm and unyielding, and spread her legs wide. I move between them, my heart hammering against my ribs. I want to know every part of her. I want to mark her with my tongue until she’s convinced she’ll never belong to anyone else.
I lean down, my breath hot against her inner thigh, making her tremble. I don’t go for the center right away; I tease the edges, kissing the soft skin of her lap, moving closer and closer until the scent of her nearly undoes me.
“Mike…” she whimpers, her fingers clenching the bedspread.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper against her skin. “Just feel this.”
I press my tongue to her clit in one long, wet stroke.
She screams, her back arching off the bed as I settle in to devour her.
I use one hand to pin her hips to the mattress, keeping her exactly where I want her, while my other hand reaches up to her breasts.
I find her nipples, slick with my spit, and begin to flick them with a relentless, punishing rhythm.
The double assault is too much. She starts to thrash, her head rolling back as she lets out a high, thin wail.
“Mike, please! Oh, please,” she begs, her voice breaking.
I don’t stop. I ignore her pleas, my tongue lashing against her clit while my fingers continue to pinch and pull at her peaks. I want her completely undone. I want her mind to go blank, leaving nothing but the sensation of my mouth and my hands.
“Please, Mike…I can’t…I’m going to—”
“Do it,” I growl against her wet skin, my voice a dark, vibrating command. “Come for me, Ellie. Let me taste it.”
I increase the pressure, my tongue moving faster, my hand on her breast growing more demanding.
She’s sobbing now, her fingers clawing at my shoulders, her inner thighs trembling with the effort to stay open for me.
I suck her deeper into my mouth, my thumb joined in the friction, until I feel the first violent tremor of her release.
She screams my name, her body arching into a bow as she shudders through a climax so hard it leaves her breathless. I drink every drop of her, my tongue moving through the waves of her pulsing muscles, refusing to let her go until the last vibration fades.
I slowly kiss a path back up her trembling body, lingering at her breasts before resting my forehead against hers.
We breathe the same air, her chest heaving as she slowly comes down from the peak I just gave her.
Her nipples are still painfully hard, and my cock is throbbing, engorged to the point of agony.
She shifts beneath me, her hips rolling instinctively against my erection. I bite back a primal smile at her eagerness. I reach into the bedside drawer, my movements steady despite the fire in my blood, and grab a condom. I roll it on, the snap of the latex loud in the quiet room.
I position myself between her legs, the head of my cock teasing her heat, sliding through the slick creaminess I left behind. She’s soaking wet and ready for me.
“Ready?” I ask, my voice nothing more than a gravelly whisper.
She nods, her eyes wide and dark with a need that matches my own.
I enter her slowly.
I don’t rush the descent. I want to feel every millimeter of her stretching to accommodate me.
She’s so incredibly tight, her muscles clenching around me in a welcome that nearly breaks my resolve.
I watch her face as I sink deeper, seeing her eyes flutter and her lips part.
I push until I am buried to the hilt, my hips locking against hers, finally making us one.
She locks her legs over my hips, pulling me deeper, and the last shred of my control snaps. I’m no longer the protector; I’m the predator she’s been begging for.
I use one hand to press her chest into the mattress, pinning her down as I start to fuck her like a madman.
I drive into her with a raw, savage power, my hips slamming against hers with a rhythmic, bone-deep force.
I don’t go slow. I don’t hold back. I let my hunger take over, my breath coming in ragged, animalistic growls as I claim every inch of her.
She’s tight, hot, and slick, her body meeting every one of my punishing thrusts with a desperate arch of her own.
The sound of our bodies colliding fills the room, a frantic, messy percussion that matches the thundering of my heart.
I’m devouring her from the inside out, my movements becoming a blur of friction and heat.
“Mike!” she cries out, her voice breaking as she clings to me, her nails digging into my back.
I don’t answer. I can’t. I just drive deeper, harder, my teeth bared as I lose myself in the feel of her.
I’m a starving man, and she’s the feast, and I’m going to keep taking until there’s nothing left of either of us.
Every shove is a mark of possession, every groan a testament to the fact that she has absolutely ruined me.
I pound into her for a few more minutes, the rhythm becoming a blur of friction and heat. I’m relentless, driving into her with a raw, primal force that makes the bed creak beneath us. Every time my hips slam against hers, I feel her walls clenching tighter, pulsing around me as she nears the edge.
“Mike…I’m—I’m coming!” she cries out, her voice a frantic, breathless sob.
The sound of her peak is the final blow to my restraint. My own climax hits me like a tidal wave, hot and violent. I drive into her one last time, buried as deep as I can go, and let out a guttural growl as I spill into the condom.
She screams my name, her body arching and trembling as she’s swept away by the force of her orgasm.
We cling to each other, our heartbeats thundering together, lost in a storm of pure, blinding sensation.
I stay buried in her, my forehead pressed against hers, both of us gasping for air as we slowly drift back to earth.
I try to pull her closer. Instinctively, I reach for her, wanting her against me. But Ellie pushes away.
The movement is subtle, but firm enough that I have no choice but to release her. She slips out of bed without looking back.
I feel it immediately, the shift.
The walls going back up.
“Ellie,” I call softly. “Ellie?”
She ignores me.
She walks straight into the bathroom and shuts the door behind her.
I remain where I am, staring at the empty space she left in the bed, feeling something twist painfully in my chest. The rejection is quiet, almost casual, but it lands harder than any confrontation ever could.
Minutes pass.
When the bathroom door finally opens again, she steps out, composed. She picks up her nightwear and slides it back on with careful, deliberate movements.
Then she returns to the bed and lies down.
Her back to me.
The message couldn’t be clearer.
I want to reach for her. The urge is immediate, almost instinctive. But the way she holds herself—the rigid line of her shoulders, the deliberate distance—tells me everything I need to know.
She doesn’t want me to.
So I don’t touch her.
I let the silence stretch between us.
I’ve forced obedience from people my entire life. Compliance has never been difficult for me to obtain. Fear, loyalty, respect—those things come easily when power is involved.
But this is different.
And somewhere in that silence, a truth settles uncomfortably in my mind.
I don’t want compliance from her anymore.
I want willingness.
The realization is as dangerous as it is undeniable.
After a while, I slide out of the bed and head toward the bathroom. The cool tile under my feet grounds me slightly, but my thoughts are anything but calm.
As I close the bathroom door behind me, another truth settles into place with unsettling clarity.
This is no longer strategic.
It stopped being strategy somewhere along the way.
Now, it’s personal.