Chapter 20 #2
I moan something messy and useless, all vowels and fucked-out air, because Jesus Christ, I’m not even human anymore—I’m just this trembling, ruined thing slick and soaked on his cock. Still fluttering around nothing, greedy cunt still twitching like it needs him.
And then—fuck me—he pulls out.
I whimper. Instantly. Desperate, high-pitched, fucking feral.
“Shhh,” he murmurs, voice a sin against my neck, and before I can even mourn the loss, he’s already got me flipped.
Smooth, strong, decisive. Puts me on my side like he owns the goddamn bed—hell, owns me.
His chest slots to my back, warm and firm, his hand curves low on my waist, the other hooks under my knee and pulls it up, opening me for him, and oh my God—
He’s sliding back in.
Slow and deep, like he’s tucking me into him. Like I’m home, like he’s never letting me go again. And I swear I almost black out, because the angle is criminal—he’s deeper than ever, hitting that plush little spot at the front of me with lazy, brutal precision.
I choke on a moan. “A-Alex—fuck—”
“Yeah, baby,” he groans into my hair, hips grinding slow but hard, like he’s carving me open on every stroke. “Still so fucking tight. Still hungry for me.”
My toes curl, my hand grips the sheets, the other clawing at his forearm locked around me like a belt. He’s everywhere. On me, in me, under my skin. The heat, the scent, the fuck of him. His cock dragging in perfect friction while his teeth graze my neck, his breath hot and filthy against my ear.
“I’m not stopping,” he growls, dragging a thrust that has me whining like a bitch in heat. “You wanted Crash? You got him. You wanted Alex?” He bites the soft skin where my neck meets my shoulder. “You fucking got him too.”
And holy shit, I’m gonna lose it all over again.
His thrusts slow but deepen—dragging inside me, obscene and slick, every push stretching me open like I was made for him. Like this position, this moment, this man—Alex, Crash, whatever name he goes by—was carved into my bones before I ever laid eyes on him.
“You feel that, baby?” he grits against my ear, his voice like gravel and sex. “How full you are? How I fit just right?”
I can’t even speak. Just nod, trembling, choking on gasps, tears streaking hot down my cheeks as the pleasure coils again—already. My pussy clenches hard around him like it’s trying to trap him, milk him for everything he’s got.
He moans—low and wrecked—as my body squeezes down on him, and then he’s fucking snarling, hips jerking harder, faster now, his fingers digging into my thigh and his teeth dragging down my throat.
“You gonna come again, sweetheart?” he rasps, all heat and sweat and fucking hunger pressed against my back. “Gonna soak me, make a mess all over again with that tight little cunt?”
“Yes—f-fuck—yes, I can’t—” My voice cracks, so needy it’s pathetic.
His hand snakes down, finds my clit, rubs fast little circles that send me straight into the goddamn stratosphere.
“Come on then,” he commands. “Fucking show me.”
And I do—God, I do—my body locking up like a live wire, every nerve alight, pleasure blinding and vicious as I break on him all over again, shaking like a leaf, sobbing his name into the silk sheets like a prayer and a curse.
“That’s it,” he growls into my neck, voice ragged, hips pounding through the flood of my orgasm. “Fucking knew you had another in you.”
I’m trembling, broken open, his cock still deep, still working me like I’m his personal fucking obsession. And he is—he is. There’s no slowing down in him, no mercy, just this relentless, beautiful brutality of being taken by a man who’s starved for me.
I can feel it in the way he holds me, the way his mouth skims up my throat, how he mutters into my ear like he can’t get close enough.
“Two fucking months, Carol…” he hisses, voice cracked, “I thought about you every fucking night. Came to the thought of your mouth, your voice, that messy little whimper when you start to lose it—fuck—like that.”
He hits me deep, that exact spot that makes stars pop behind my eyes, and I arch into him, fingers clawing at the sheets as another orgasm licks up my spine, impossible and fucking cruel.
“Jesus Christ—” I sob, and he’s right there with me, groaning, shaking, holding me tighter.
“I’m not done,” he rasps, dragging my leg higher, deeper, grinding in brutal little circles. “Gonna make up for every goddamn night I couldn’t touch you.”
His cock’s a weapon, and I’m the willing casualty. My body doesn’t know where one orgasm ends and the next begins—just trembling waves, wet sounds, filthy words and the feeling of being ruined.
And then I feel it—him twitching, losing rhythm, his grip faltering just enough.
“Say it, baby” he pants, lips hot against my jaw, “Tell me you’re mine again…”
“Yours,” I breathe, so far gone, so fucking gone. “Just—don’t stop, Alex—please— I’m always yours”
That’s all he needs. One more thrust, deep and shaking and desperate, and he comes with a strangled moan of my name, his whole body tensing, cock throbbing deep inside me, filling me with heat as he collapses against my back, breath wild, hand locked tight on my hip like he’ll die if he lets go.
We stay like that. Wet, trembling, fucked raw and filled with something feral.
Our bodies are wrecked. Twined together, soaked in sweat and slick and the kind of fucked-up euphoria that only comes when you’ve been buried in longing for months and finally got to fuck it out like animals in heat.
I can’t even breathe properly, lungs shuddering against the thrum of my own pulse, my thighs sticky with him, with me, with us.
My leg’s still crooked over his, bent in that angle he left it while he emptied himself inside me like he was staking a goddamn claim.
Like he could mark me from the inside out.
His hand’s still clamped to my hip, and I don’t think he could let go even if he wanted to. His breath is hot against my neck, one kiss—then another—and he murmurs again, hoarse and low like a vow sealed in sweat and cum.
“You’re not getting rid of me, Carol,” he growls again, almost delirious now, like the words are a promise and a threat in one. “You hear me? I’m yours too, baby. Every fucking inch.”
I try to say something back. Something equally filthy or romantic or whatever this fever dream deserves—but all I manage is a noise. Just a pathetic, punched-out whimper and the brush of my lips against his.
That’s it. That’s all I’ve got. My body is done, a puddle of nerve endings and ruined thighs, and holy fuck, I’ve never felt so good and so goddamn wrecked.
Alex chuckles softly against my hair. Smug. Spent. Smug again. “Guess that’s a yes,” he mutters, tugging the blanket up lazily over both our ruined, naked bodies.
I think I mumble something, but I don’t remember what. Because I black out—hard—one hand still gripping his forearm like a goddamn lifeline, body folded into his like we were carved to fit like this.
And I fall asleep to the scent of expensive shampoo, silk sheets, and the man who crashed into my life and refused to leave.
----
When morning breaks, it breaks like a goddamn SWAT raid through the floor-to-ceiling windows of this obnoxiously luxurious bedroom.
Sunlight floods the space like it’s trying to roast me alive for my sins—sins which, to be fair, included getting absolutely wrecked by a billionaire heir with a god-tier dick and emotional baggage stacked like a Manhattan high-rise.
The bed is absurdly big. Like, borderline obscene.
I swear it’s custom-built for either orgies or minor royalty.
Black silk sheets—of course—and they smell like money, sex, and the kind of cologne that probably costs more than my rent.
Behind me, Alex is dead to the world, arm still heavy across my waist, breathing slow and steady into my hair like we didn’t just fuck each other halfway to the ICU.
I inch out like a fugitive—slow, criminal, careful not to wake the beast.
My scrubs are wrecked, my panties are hanging on by a thread—literally, the elastic is so done, they’d be more useful as a scrunchie.
I glance around for something, anything that won’t scream walk of shame with a side of class anxiety.