Chapter 7
Rosomon
Tipping me over his shoulder, Zogar carries me out of the club onto the street.
One of his strong arms straps across my lower thighs, and he tucks his other hand between my legs.
Held like this, I’m secured against his shoulder but, with each of his heavy, long strides, my upper body rises and falls against his back.
He’s angry.
As we move down the sidewalk, smirking faces turn toward us.
Not wanting to see them, I close my eyes and grab onto the fabric of Zogar’s stretchy chemise—he called it a t-shirt—to lessen the bouncing of my upper body.
As we continue, his hand between my legs slides, getting closer and closer to my sex.
His fingers encounter my overflowing dampness, and he grunts.
Is he angry that I’m aroused? Or is he angry at Lucian.
Before I can consider those questions, his thumb slips inside me, and I draw a sharp breath. As he strides, his thick thumb slides, creating delicious friction, and I’m not certain whether he’s purposefully moving it, or if it’s just shifting with each strong step. He must be aware it’s inside me.
The details don’t matter. And I no longer care who’s watching us, or what they might think. His thumb is giving me what my body craves, but also increasing my aching need, and I groan against his back.
His thumb exits, quickly replaced by two fingers, able to probe me more deeply. And it removes any question about whether he knew his thumb was inside me.
As Zogar strides down the street, his fingers fuck me—they fuck me vigorously—and if feels so good I don’t care if he’s doing it out of arousal, to punish me, or to show me who’s boss.
Draped over his shoulder, I moan as his fingers drill me, then he presses his thumb against my button.
Suddenly remembering we’re in public, I squeeze every muscle I can. Do I dare let myself hit a climax out here on the street? Can I avoid it? My body squirms in his tight hold as I try to fight the apex of the mountain I’m climbing.
The air and sounds around us change, and I squint open my eyes. We’ve entered a building. We’ll be alone, soon.
My cunt tightens around his fingers, and mercifully, his thumb releases its pressure on my button.
He carries me into a small box—an elevator cab, I assume—and the moment its doors close, the box starts to rise. Zogar shifts me off his shoulder to hold me facing him, and I sink more deeply onto his fingers. I grab onto his shoulders, trying to control the depth.
I can see his eyes now, and relief floods me.
He’s angry, but not at me, and he too is very aroused. I look deeply into the evidence of his lust as his fingers move strongly inside me. His thumb returns to my button, and my body shatters, bucking in his hold and squeezing uncontrollably around his fingers.
My release is beyond intense, and I pull up, tugging against his shoulders and pressing my forehead against his. My insides convulse, and the rest of me can’t decide whether it wants to sink further onto his fingers, or crawl up and over his back to escape pleasure so fierce it hurts.
A high-pitched bell rings. The doors open, and Zogar’s fingers slide out from inside me. Shifting me onto his hip, he strides down a hallway, which has what looks like one continuous rug underfoot. He presses a small thin rectangle against a box. A green light shines, and he kicks open the door.
Striding into the space, he sets me down on the back of what looks like a very large piece of thickly padded furniture.
“I need to fuck you.” His voice vibrates inside me, and his need consumes all the air in the room. “Right now!”
I nod.
He cups my face. “To be clear. I need to fuck you, but not to rebuild my powers.”
Unexpected joy spreads inside me. Not only at the meaning of his words, but that he wanted to express them. Zogar wants me. And he wants me to know that he wants me. In his own way, he’s asking my permission.
I nod again, because there is no chance I can speak at this moment.
My bottom perched on the back of the furniture, my legs are parted, one on either side of him, and his arm steadies me, as he fumbles with the strange fasteners at the waist of his trousers.
I help him, and together we undo a button and then slide down a device with interlocking metal teeth.
A zipper. He told me the word, when he put on the trousers.
Right now, I don’t care about the new things I’ve seen here. The only thing that matters is the large rod that escapes from behind that zipper.
Its head glistens with Zogar’s seed, and the weight of it strikes my belly with the promise of powerful pleasure. My need intensifies. I only just reached a climax, but I need so, so much more.
His fingers stroke through my cleft, and he parts my folds to position his rod against my eager entrance. The moment his fluids meld with mine, pleasure captures my entire being, and my head snaps back. Struggling to breathe, I push my sex against his hardness.
“Easy.” His hand rises to support my head. “You’re okay, my queen. I know what you need. Calm down. I’ll soon be inside you.”
I look into his eyes. Even if he stopped right now—even if he just stayed right here, pressing against me—I’d be satisfied. The sensation of my body opening against his hard thickness is so overwhelming, I’m no longer sure I need more. But I want more.
His hand shifts to my lower back and holding me steady, he presses the head of his thick cock inside.
I cry out at the intense stab of pain, but this pain is sweet and welcome and growing familiar. Within seconds it melts into pleasure.
Moving both hands to my hips, Zogar lifts me off the furniture to hold me in front of him, and his strong arms slowly lower me, letting me sheath more of him.
Even though only the top few finger widths of him have entered, the fullness and pleasure are more powerful than I remember from the other times we’ve been together. Each time he’s been inside me, it gets better.
His arms hold me still, as if I weigh nothing, and his legs and hips work to guide him in deeper and deeper. I gaze into his eyes, loving the obvious pleasure reflected there, and his gratification grows as his invasion gains depth. So does mine.
Excruciatingly slowly, Zogar works himself deeper and deeper, and every moment of progress fills me with delight so powerful I fear my head and my heart will burst.
He reaches a depth that feels past my capacity, and I cry out, gasping to breathe. My body no longer has room to expand my lungs.
Stopping there, he holds us both still. The only movement between us comes from his cock pulsing inside me. Slowly, my body absorbs him, adjusting to the staggering thickness. I’m shaking, vibrating inside and out.
Seeking stability, my legs wrap around his body, but before I’m secure, he starts to pump.
Using his arms and hips in tandem, he drives fully in and out of me, and my entrance repeatedly submits to the stunning thickness of his head and his base, both ends of him shocking me, with each pass.
My body bounces and shakes, fighting to fully consume each strong thrust.
Each time Zogar’s fucked me, I’ve felt sure he’s delivered the most pleasure possible, and yet each subsequent time exceeds the last. And thinking of the last time, I remember that I’m still angry at how he fucked me in front of Saxon and Tynan, but my physical needs have pushed that issue aside for the moment.
“Oh, my queen.” His face has turned red, his veins and tendons pulsing. “Forgive me. I must take you harder.”
There is harder than this?
Turning us, he presses my back against a wall, and I catch a glimpse of the rest of the room, including a fire that’s burning without smoke.
But then the room blurs and melts away, as he starts driving into me with more vigor.
Each of his hammering stabs threatens to crush my spine against the wall, to crush all my bones and split me in two.
Even if he kills me, I don’t care. The pleasure is too great to consider the consequences.
One word from me, and Zogar would stop or slow down—I’m sure of it—but I’m not sure I can form words, and it’s a strange thrill to realize I have no way to stop him.
His body is four times the size of mine, ten times more powerful, and his massive rod occupies so much of me I have no control over what little strength I do possess.
But instead of making me feel trapped, Zogar’s utter power, his undeniable dominance, heightens my pleasure.
We’re both so fully overcome, I’m no longer certain he’d be able to stop, even if I found my voice.
“Fuck!” His body shudders, as he continues to thrust. “Fuck!”
He lifts me, pulling right out as he slides me higher on the wall, leaving my cunny empty and pulsing.
His seed arcs forward, scalding my skin as it paints my belly and chest. He lowers me far enough for our mouths to meet, and he kisses me deeply, holding me tightly, even as his rod continues to erupt more of his scalding seed between us.
Using the added slickness, I slide against his body, loving the feel of his still hardened rod rubbing through the slippery dampness between us, and he groans into our kiss, his body shuddering, as more eruptions paint our bodies.
His shuddering eruptions cease, but he continues to kiss me. Holding me tightly, his fingers knead my backside as my damp and overstimulated sex rubs his rod that’s standing, albeit not quite so stiffly, between us.
After what might be minutes or hours—perhaps days—Zogar breaks our kiss and carries me back to the piece of furniture on which I was perched. It’s the longest and largest settee I’ve ever seen, and it forms an open rectangle around the strange fire.
Setting me on his lap, he sits and caresses my body as we both recover.
“I’m sorry.” He breaks the silence.
“There’s no need to be sorry.” I stroke his cheek. “The sex was very rigorous, but…” I shake my head. “I feel great pleasure, when you thrust with so much force inside me.”