“I’ll never stop,” I gasp, broken. “I’ll never stop dripping for you.”
His smirk is feral. His voice a vow. “Good. Because from tonight on, Butterfly—this bridge belongs to us. Every time you walk past it, you’ll remember whose cunt you are.”
The necklace digs in when he yanks me forward, snapping the chain against his throat like a leash, dragging me down. My knees slam the boards again, wood cutting into skin, and he kicks my thighs apart until I’m spread, exposed, trembling.
“On all fours,” he snarls. “Face down. Ass up. Show me.”
I obey, palms flat, cheek grinding into the dirty wood, tears streaking hot down my face. The night air bites at my skin, every bruise, every wet patch of me on display.
He crouches behind me, spit hissing when it hits my asshole, cold and filthy. His thumb smears it in, rough, unforgiving, pressing until my body jerks.
“Yeah,” he growls, voice low and savage. “This hole’s mine too.”
I whimper, shaking, but he doesn’t stop. Two fingers slam into my pussy—slick, wet, obscene—before he drags them out and shoves them against my other hole, stretching, forcing, until I’m gasping, clawing the wood for something to hold onto.
“You’re not just my Butterfly,” he hisses, forcing me wider. “You’re my fucking toy. Every hole, every bruise, every drop—mine to use. Mine to ruin.”
“Dax—” My voice cracks, shame and heat tangling.
“Say it,” he snarls, slapping my ass hard enough the sound cracks into the night. “Say this ass belongs to me.”
“It’s yours,” I choke. “It’s only yours.”
He laughs, cruel and hot, pushing deeper until my body trembles around him. “That’s right. Good little whore.”
He pulls his fingers free, smearing slick mess over my skin, dragging it up my spine, marking me everywhere. Then his cock grinds between my cheeks, heavy and hard, sliding over both holes until I’m whimpering like an animal.
“You’ll remember this bridge,” he growls, pressing the tip against my ass, just enough for my body to seize. “Every time yousit. Every time you walk. You’ll remember who split you open here.”
I sob, broken and aching, but my body clenches, craving, begging without words.
“Dirty little Butterfly,” he snarls, yanking my hair until my throat arches, chain burning my neck. “Beg me for it.”
The head of his cock breaches me before I can breathe. White-hot, brutal, splitting me open where I’ve never been taken, burning through every nerve.
I scream. The sound rips through the night, echoing off the water, raw and broken.
He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow. His grip on my hair tightens, chain sawing into my throat as he forces every savage inch into me, tearing a sob from my chest.
“Shut the fuck up, Butterfly,” he snarls, hips snapping forward until his balls slap against me, deep, too deep. “Cry louder and I’ll make them all hear how I own you.”
The burn sears, relentless, my body trembling, fighting, failing. He drags out halfway, then slams back in, harder, vicious, his cock punching through resistance until I’m shaking apart.
“God—Dax—” My voice splinters, shattered.
“Say it.” His hand smashes across my ass, the sting mixing with the stretch until I sob harder. “Say this ass is mine.”
“It’s yours,” I choke, cheek grinding into the wood. “Only yours.”
He growls, feral, pounding me faster, deeper, each thrust bruising, obscene, the slap of skin loud against the quiet night. “Fucking right. My hole. My whore. My Butterfly.”
Every movement drags fire through me, but beneath the pain there’s a brutal, dark ache twisting into need, tearing me open in more ways than one.
His breath scalds my ear as he bends low, still driving into me like he’s carving his name inside. “You’ll never forget this. Every time you sit, every time you move—you’ll remember my cock splitting your ass on this bridge.”
And God help me—he’s right.
His thrusts get rougher, reckless, like he’s trying to hammer me straight through the wood. My nails snap against the planks, throat strangled by the necklace chain, tears streaking down my cheeks.
