Avery pants, her tits heaving under the shirt. "More," she begs, her hips bucking against my thigh.
I grip the hem of the t-shirt and rip it upward. The sound of fabric tearing is the only music I need. I bunch it around her neck, exposing her bare tits. Her nipples are hard, tight pebbles of pink, aching for me. I don't touch them yet. My hand slides down her stomach, over the soft curve of her belly, and hooks into the waistband of my boxers.
I drag them down her legs. She kicks them off, her socks sliding on the wood until she’s bare and open on a workbench covered in the scars of my labor. I look down at her pussy. It’s glistening, soaked. Her juices coat her thighs, shiny under the harsh overhead lights. The sight of her dripping for me snaps the last of my control.
I unbuckle my belt, the heavy leather snapping like a whip. I shove my jeans down, freeing my cock. It springs free, thick, heavy, and throbbing, the head already weeping a trail of pre-cum. I grab her hips, my fingers digging into her skin, and I lift her slightly to position the head of my cock at her soaking entrance.
I drive into her, burying myself to the hilt in a single, devastating thrust.
Avery screams, her back arching off the workbench as she takes all nine inches of me. "Fuck." The sensation nearly drops me. She’s so fucking tight, her internal muscles clamping around my girth, milking me. It’s overwhelming.
It’s home.
I hold myself still for a heartbeat, buried deep, letting our bodies fuse. I rest my forehead against hers, our breath mingling in ragged gasps. "You fit," I whisper, my voice broken. "You fit so perfectly."
"Move. Please, Oliver. Move." Her nails draw blood from my shoulders.
I withdraw until only the tip of my cock remains, then I slam back in. The impact jars the heavy oak bench.
We find a rhythm that isn't gentle—it’s a hammering. A claiming. The wet, rhythmic slap of my balls hitting her skin echoes off the metal tools on the wall. I grind into her, punishing her cervix with every thrust.
"Look at me," I command. Her eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused. "Who owns this pussy?" I snarl, watching my length disappear inside her wet pussy, stretching her to her limit.
"You," she sobs. "You do."
"Who keeps you safe?" I drive deeper, hitting that spot that makes her toes curl.
"You. Only you."
I reach down between our sweating bodies, my thumb finding her engorged clit. It’s hard, swollen. I rub it in circular, punishing motions while maintaining the brutal pace of my hips. She unravels instantly. Her head thrashes as she screams my name—a high, shattered sound. I feel her pussy spasm, clamping down on me in frantic waves as her release rips through her.
The feeling of her climaxing around me is the end.
I let the beast off the leash.
I grab her ass with both hands, anchoring her against me, and piston into her, fast and furious.
I roar as I let go, emptying a heavy load of seed deep inside her. I breed her with everything I am, giving her every drop of my cum until I am empty and she is completely mine.
I collapse forward, catching my weight on my elbows so I don't crush her, burying my face in her neck again. I pant like a dyingman. My heart slams against my ribs like it’s trying to break out and get to her.
We stay like that for a long time. The only sound is our ragged breathing and the wind outside, which seems to have picked up, howling around the corners of the garage.
Slowly, the world starts to seep back in. The smell of sawdust. The cold draft. The hardness of the concrete under my boots.
I pull back, looking down at her.
She’s a mess. Her lips are swollen, her hair a tangled halo around her head, and a dark, purpling bite mark on her neck stands out like a flag. She looks thoroughly, completely ravished.
And she smiles.
A slow, sleepy, satisfied smile.
"Hi," she whispers.
I let out a breath that is half-laugh, half-groan. I kiss her forehead, gentle now. The storm inside me has settled. The Vanguard is quiet. "Hi."
I pull out of her slowly. She makes a noise of protest, a little whimper of loss that tugs at my chest. I grab a shop rag—a clean one—and clean us up as best I can. Then I adjust her shirt, pulling it down to cover her, though it does nothing to hide the mark on her neck.
