I gagged, my throat constricting around him as he hit the back of my throat. He didn't give me time to adjust, immediatelystarting to roughly fuck my face. His hips pistoned, his cock thrusting in and out of my mouth with a brutal, punishing rhythm. My pussy was dripping, so wet from the sheer force of him, from the taste of him on my tongue. Tears streamed down my face, mingling with the saliva that dribbled down my chin, but I loved it. I loved the feeling of being used by him, of being completely at his mercy. I wanted to make him feel good, to show him how well I could take him.
He thrust deep into my throat one last time and held it there, buried to the hilt. "Look up at me," he commanded, his voice strained.
I blinked up at him, my vision blurred by tears, his cock still lodged deep in my throat. "Who do you belong to?" he asked, his voice a low growl.
I just blinked, unable to speak, unable to do anything but submit to the overwhelming presence of him. He slowly pulled his dick all the way out of my mouth, and I collapsed forward, coughing and gagging, desperately trying to catch my breath.
He grabbed my hair, pulling my head back again. "I don't like repeating myself," he said, his voice dangerously low.
I looked up at him, a defiant glint in my eyes. "No one." I loved firing him up, loved seeing how unhinged, how feral, he got for me.
He shuddered, a violent tremor running through his body. With a guttural roar, he shoved his cock deep down my throat again. This time, his movements were long and slow, deliberate. He pulled almost all the way out before sliding back in, giving me no time to get a proper breath. I was gagging and coughing, my lungs burning, but the sounds I was making seemed to only spur him on. He was moaning, his head thrown back in ecstasy.
"Fuck, yes," he groaned. "You take my cock so well. Such a good little whore for me."
He held my face against him again, my nose pressed into his skin, his cock buried deep in my throat. "Who. Do. You. Fucking. Belong. To?" he asked, his voice a desperate, demanding plea.
When he finally pulled out of my mouth, I looked up at him, my eyes wide and my lips swollen. I took a ragged breath and whispered the words I knew he'd been waiting for. "You."
That was it. That was the breaking point. A raw, untamed look entered his eyes, and he seemed to lose all control. He hauled me to my feet, lifting me as if I weighed nothing, and threw me onto my bed. I landed on my back with a soft bounce, and before I could even process what was happening, he was on me.
He didn't waste a second. He dove between my legs, his mouth finding my clit with an unerring accuracy. He sucked hard, his tongue flicking and swirling, driving me wild with pleasure. I was so wet, so on edge from the denial and the face-fucking, that the sensation was almost too much to bear. I screamed, my hands fisting in the sheets as my hips bucked against his face.
Just as I felt the familiar coil of tension tightening, ready to snap, he shoved three fingers inside me, curling them upwards to rub against my g-spot. The dual stimulation was my undoing. I screamed, a high, piercing sound of pure ecstasy, and my body convulsed. I squirted, a gush of fluid that coated his face and hand as I orgasmed violently on his face.
He stood up, his face glistening with my cum, a triumphant, feral grin on his lips. He grabbed my legs, pulling me to the edge of the bed until my ass was hanging off. He immediately stuffed his cock into my still-spasming pussy, and I cried out at the sudden,fullness. He started to rail me, his thrusts hard and deep, his hips slapping against mine with a wet, rhythmic sound.
He reached forward, his fingers finding my nipple and pinching it hard. The sharp pain mixed with the pleasure, pushing me closer to the edge again. He was talking dirty to me, his words a litany of filth that only fueled my arousal.
"You're mine," he growled, his voice a low, possessive rumble. "This pussy is mine.”
Eighteen
Emma
The room is still warm when everything finally settles.
My breathing hasn’t quite evened out yet when Hawk’s hand slides along the back of my neck. The touch is so different from moments ago that it makes my chest tighten. Before, everything about him was rough, consuming, overwhelming.
Now his hand is gentle.
Careful.
“C’mon,” he mutters.
His voice is deep and gravelly, like he’s still catching his breath too.
He takes my wrist loosely and guides me toward the hallway. I don’t question it. I just follow him, my legs still a little shaky as he leads me into the bathroom.
The light flicks on above us.
Hawk reaches past me and turns on the shower, adjusting the handle until the water runs warm. Steam slowly starts to rise.
Then he looks at me again.
Something in his expression softens.
“Inside,” he says quietly.
