“Are you going to prove him wrong?”
Her lungs strained, pulse ticking against my blade with each breath. “I don’t know what you mean.” The blade dug in, leaving a faint indent on her skin as she tried to shake her head.
“I’m going next.” My head lifted to the words, and I threw the knife in the direction from which they came.
Sylvia jumped out of the way, the knife landing in the doorframe behind him. The pointed blade would need to be pried from the wood later.
My eyes moved back to my gift, her ass still exposed by my position. She deserved another slap for that. And I fucking gave it, harder than the last. She screamed, loud enough to hurt my fucking ears.
I pushed her head down, painfully against the wood, as she tried to look up. Pleading eyes closed when she realized there was no point in begging me. I positioned her where I wanted her, parting her legs wider, so I could get deeper.
The depth had her tensing, causing us both unnecessary pain. . . but somehow, I fucking enjoyed it. Enjoyed her feeling every fucking inch of me violating and stretching her tight cunt.
I shuddered, loving it. She shivered, hating it.
I shifted onto the table, my knees taking my weight. I pulled her ass into the air, slipping out of her for a brief moment. I drove back into her, watching her pussy open as I pushed all the way in. I liked this view, liked her bent over like a whore for me. The wood below hurt my knees as I thrust my hips faster and faster. I pulled back farther, sliding my cock in deeper. I could feel it coming. Feel my balls tightening and my cock twitching inside her warmth.
She moaned, and it sounded too much like the sound of someone enjoying the feel of my cock sliding in and out of them.
“You’ve almost done it. Prove him wrong. Come for me. Show me he’s wrong.”
Part of me genuinely wanted to believe he was.
“Even if she comes, it proves—”
“Shut. Up,” I cut off my father, words slurring amongst the sound of my balls slapping against her wet heat. The wet clapping sound of her pussy sucking me in drove me on.
She moaned again, like she actually wanted this. Or, she just wanted to prove my father was fucking wrong.
I shoved him from her hair, no longer tolerating his touch on her. I wrapped the pretty coils around my fingers and tugged, bending her body into a position that she had to support with her own hands.
I became a blanket to her, my thrusts getting more aggressive, making it hard for me to fucking breathe, with whatever the fuck was causing more pain than usual in my throat.
But I didn’t stop.
“I’m gonna come. I’m gonna fill you with it.”
“Do it,” she told me, her head low, muffling the words. “It changes nothing. I’ll still love him.” Her words vibrated with each thrust, traveling straight to my ears as she said, “I accept all of him. Of you. Do it.”
Her words had me fucking high, and I knew I had to finish this soon, before I fell from the fucking table. My little doll was making my knees weak, for multiple fucking reasons. “You fucking do it. Come for me. Now!”
My teeth sunk into her flesh, sucking at her neck until a blot of blood clung beneath her skin. Another mark on her. I searched for the other—my initial—and I allowed my fingers to brush it before I pinched her clit, forcing a scream through her lips.
My cock grew wetter and wetter, her body tightening beneath mine. I pulled my teeth away to whisper, “Good fucking girl. You proved him wrong.”
With one last brutal thrust, I came. Milky cum dribbled out of her slit. I didn’t bask to enjoy it, pulling out before I’d even finished spurting at her wanton hole.
I looked down at her, at the mess I made between her legs. There was less blood this time. I rubbed the sticky white liquid, rubbed her overly sensitive folds, and I pushed it inside her, where it fucking belonged.
Then I slapped her, the sound reverberating off her fleshy ass and around the room, shaking the dustfrom ornaments that held no value or purpose.
“That’s for not taking it all. You were meant to take it all.” I flipped her over. The look on her face told me she was scared, thinking she’d displeased me, but. . .
My body language told her otherwise. My attention and my still naked body, shifting to my father on fast legs.
“Women fake things, Son.”
“And men lie.” I wrapped the cleaver in my fingers, finding it near the sink, where it had been left for cleaning, loitering in a red stain.
