His pain turned to devious intent. Cruel intent even, since he withdrew and smacked back into her so brutally she was thrust backward, her bound arms sliding on the polished but damp timber.
“You are a fucking…” He slammed in again. “Hellion.” Another pussy-destroying slam hit with a squelch, spreading her wetness, and he ground in endlessly deep. “Cock-tease.” He growled that last insult.
Though her fingers had scrabbled at her back for purchase, she arched, gasping at the pleasure. She tried to be a snarkybitch for one… more… second but gave up at his repeated slams into her. This was an onslaught, an assault of hard spearing, of sliding, invading thrusts. Her amusement vanished in the heat of a passion so rough it made her cry out.
Oh god. Yes. Do it to me.
Where her defiance had come from, she knew not, cared not.
She craved this new fire in him as he screwed her on the desk. His fingers shifted, painfully clamping onto her thighs then her ass, digging in. The sounds of her moans and gasps echoed the slap of his solid muscle into the fleshy back of her thighs.
He held her down, didn’t release her, took what he wanted. It was magnificent.
Her sodden shirt ended up pushed high at her neck, her breasts were grabbed, squeezed, used as anchors so he could hold her down. He paused now and then, to suck and bite her tits, lick her nipples, or tease her clit with his tongue before he penetrated her again.
He shifted positions, dragged her off the desk, so she must stand on tiptoes while he fucked her from behind. Or he fingerfucked her. Or tongued her cunt and clit, made her come twice while she moaned protests and babbled swear words into the desk under her mouth.
He only laughed at those curses and impaled her again with his big cock then ground in deeper than any cock should ever go, and he kept… on… grinding. His hand wrapped in her hair, fingers winding as he twisted it. Beautiful pain possessed her scalp. With her hair and hip held and her arms bound, she couldn’t move at all to get away, and how she loved it.
The desk legs squealed as they scraped across the submerged floor in bursts of movement, and every squeak punctuated a new monstrous thrust into her.
He stopped again, so very deep.
After a moment of discomfort, she caught her breath and groaned at the throbbing pleasure.
She felt him lean over her to tell her with zero uncertainty, with his mouth breathing hotly into her ear, “Your cunt is fuckin’ mine.”
Then he smacked her ass and began a litany to fucking, a manifesto of the art of sex, while she balanced precariously on her toes, face-first, cheek squashed, drooling and panting from her last orgasm. It only ended when he came. Still inside her, he collapsed over her with his forearms planted to either side on the watered desktop. He kissed her back.
Her eyelashes smeared across the wet timber as she blinked. Her tongue played on her teeth. Her chest struggled for more air.
Nirvana.
They lay together, half on the desk, in that state of sensual fragility, hair wild, bodies sated, muscles and throats raw, as well as her pussy. Oh my, her pussy.
“Am I still alive?” she murmured, knowing they had to rise soon, or risk death or worse.
He chuckled from behind her and she felt him move and begin to undo the bindings on her arms.
“That’s his shirt—Rutger’s.”
“Hmmm.”
Just that simple syllable made him sound unhappy. Her mind tinkered with thoughts. Clearly Vargr was jealous. The problem was she was unsure if it was justified. She couldn’t remember much of what had happened before he arrived.
“It was the Lure again.”
“I figured that.” He plucked at the last of the cloth and released her.
Slowly she brought her arms to the front, rotating her shoulders. Despite the violence of the sex, she felt close to finewithin seconds, because of course her flesh was no longer plain ol’ human flesh.
Vargr kissed her back again then slid off to dress, and to fetch her leggings that he’d pulled off fully at some stage in the middle of lovemaking. Make that the middle of fucking. She drew herself into a sitting position at the edge of the desk, too aware of the waterfall at her back, and the lack of much building.
It was thrilling. Again, not normal. She wasn’t even shivering and all of her was soaked. Including between her thighs. Slipping off into the water, she bent to wash herself there, using scoops of water.
“Want these? The jeans are worse.” He held out the tentacle leggings.
“Oh.” Close to thoroughly wet. Though the upper parts had escaped. She waded to the doorway and stepped out before pulling them on. No panties but those must have gone missing somewhere, sometime?
