Chapter 10 #2
Her walls are incredibly tight. They clench around my knuckles, sucking my fingers deep into her hot, wet heat. I thrust my fingers in and out of her, matching the frantic rhythm of my tongue on her clit.
Her eyes flutter closed. I want them on me.
I curl my fingers inside her, and her gaze snaps back to mine.
"You’re so fucking wet for me," I tell her. My thumb joins my tongue, pressing against her clit while my fingers continuously stretch her tight walls. "You are dripping all over my hands. Give it to me. Come for me. Now."
Her body goes rigid. Every muscle in her core locks down.
She screams, a raw, primal sound of total surrender.
Her internal walls violently contract around my fingers, pulsing with the force of her climax.
She gushes hot slickness over my hand, soaking my skin.
I drink her down, swallowing her orgasm, refusing to let a single drop go to waste.
She collapses backward against the oak table, ribs heaving.
I pull my fingers out of her wetness. They are coated in a clear, glistening shine. I stand up slowly. The blood is pounding behind my temples with the force of a jackhammer.
I stare down at her. She is a ruined, beautiful mess, sprawled across my workbench.
Now it is my turn.
The cold air of the vault hits my bare torso. My skin is covered in thick, black geometric and tribal sleeve tattoos that run down both arms. Violent scars crisscross my ribs and stomach, a roadmap of decades of warfare. I'm not a beautiful man. I'm a machine built for killing.
She doesn't look away. She doesn't flinch. She looks at my scars like they are medals.
I reach for the tactical belt at my waist. I pop the metal cobra buckle. The belt, loaded with extra magazines and a combat knife, drops to the ground. I unzip my pants and push them down my thighs, kicking them off along with my boots.
I’m naked. The gold watch at my wrist catches the fluorescent light, gleaming brightly against my tattooed skin.
My cock is agonizingly hard. It points straight up at my stomach, a heavy length of rigid muscle.
A drop of clear precum leaks from the blunt head, shining in the harsh light.
The ache in my balls is a deep, heavy throb.
I’ve been consumed by the need to bury myself inside this woman since the moment she walked out of her clinic.
I step flush against the bench.
Her hands reach out. Her soft palms wrap around my cock.
The friction of her warm skin sliding against my aching flesh makes my vision go black. A harsh, animalistic grunt tears out of my throat. My hands slam down on the scarred oak, gripping the edge of the workbench hard enough to splinter the wood.
"Fuck," I hiss. The word is ripped from my lungs. "Priya."
She strokes her hands up and down my length. She smears my own slick precum down my throbbing shaft. The pleasure is sharp. Blinding. It borders on physical pain.
"You talk too much for a soldier," she whispers, a breathless, sassy smirk curving her kiss-swollen lips.
A sound tears out of my throat.
I grip her hips and pull her flush against me. Her ass hangs slightly off the table. Her thighs bracket my waist.
I grip my throbbing shaft, dragging the swollen head of my cock through her dripping folds before I notch against her entrance.
"Take it all," I command.
I thrust forward.
The impact is brutal. I bury myself to the hilt in one single, violent strike.
She gasps loudly. Her fingernails instantly dig into the heavy muscle of my shoulders.
The tight, scorching wetness of her walls stretches to accommodate my thickness. Her internal muscles clench viciously around my thick crown, sucking me deeper into her core. She is so incredibly tight. The friction is madness.
I freeze. My jaw locks tight enough to crack my own teeth. I have to fight the overwhelming, primal urge to just empty my balls right there on the first thrust.
"Nico," she breathes out. Her hands slide up my back, her fingers tracing the raised ink of my tattoos. "Don't stop. Please."
I pull back, dragging my length out of her slick folds. Then I slam forward, burying myself balls-deep.
The oak workbench groans loudly in protest under the violent impact.
I pull back and thrust again. Harder. Deeper.
A ragged rhythm takes over my body. I’m no longer thinking. I’m pure instinct. Pure possession. I fuck her with the relentless, punishing drive of a man trying to physically embed himself into another human being.
Smack. Smack. Smack.
The sound of my hips slapping forcefully against her wet thighs cracks off the concrete walls of the vault. The scent of our sex overwhelms the smell of gun oil and cordite.
Her head falls back. Her hair spills over the scarred wood. She moans loudly with every thrust. Her legs wrap around my waist, ankles locking behind the small of my back. She pulls me deeper.
I reach down and slip one hand between our frantically grinding bodies. My thumb finds her swollen clit. I press down, grinding the sensitive nub in time with my violent thrusts.
My hand finds her jaw. I drag my thumb across her bottom lip until her gaze locks on mine.
Her eyes flutter open. They are glazed over with pure, blinding pleasure.
"You’re fucking mine, " I tell her. My hips snap forward, burying my cock so deep I feel my pelvic bone grind directly against hers. "Say it."
"Yours," she gasps. "God, Nico. I'm yours."
The words are the final trigger.
I lean over her. My forearms drop to the scarred wood beside her ribs, my weight pinning her hips to the bench.
I fuck her with unhinged savagery. Short, jagged breaths tear through my lips.
Sweat drips from my forehead, landing on her collarbone.
The muscles in my arms and back cord with extreme tension.
Her internal walls suddenly start to spasm.
"Nico!" she screams. Her nails drag violently down my back, leaving deep, stinging red scratches across my tattoos.
Her pussy clenches down on my cock with crushing force. She milks the heavy length of my shaft, convulsing around me as she hits her second massive climax. The tight, wet contractions of her walls squeeze me with agonizing pressure.
I cannot hold back anymore. The need to claim her completely takes over.
I pull back one final time and slam my hips forward with everything I have. I bury my cock to the hilt inside her screaming wetness.
A deafening roar tears out of my throat.
My balls clench tight. I pump a massive, boiling flood of seed deep into her clenching walls.
The hot jets of cum shoot into her, filling her.
I empty every ounce of the obsession that has owned me since the day I first saw her.
Marking her from the inside out. Claiming her down to the cellular level.
I hold myself buried deep inside her, riding out the shuddering aftershocks of the climax. I collapse forward, crushing my sweat-slicked body directly over hers. I bury my face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her.
The oak workbench creaks as we slowly come down from the blinding high.
I do not pull out. I refuse to pull out. I stay buried to the hilt inside her tight, wet heat. My arms wrap around her, anchoring her securely beneath me. She strokes the salt-and-pepper hair at the nape of my neck. Her heartbeat thumps against my own.
She is here. She is alive. She is mine.
For the first time in twenty years, the phantom image of the empty chair at my father’s table doesn’t flash behind my eyes.
There’s only her.
We stay locked together in the cold, harsh light of the armory. The silence of the safehouse wraps around us. I’m ready to stay in this vault forever. I’m ready to lock the steel door, weld it shut and let the Costa-Bellanti war annihilate itself in the streets above us.
Then, the sudden, piercing shriek of a klaxon rips through the quiet.
My head snaps up.
The blaring sound comes from the surveillance war room down the hall. It is the high-decibel proximity alarm wired into the encrypted street-level sensors outside the safehouse.
Red emergency lighting begins to flash wildly in the hallway beyond the open vault door.
The perimeter has been breached.
The lover between her thighs vanishes. The soldier takes his place. I pull out of her. The cold air hits my wet flesh.
I grab the loaded AR-15 off the ready rack and chamber a round.
The war just followed us home.