“Then die,” he whispers, leaning down to bite my earlobe hard enough to draw blood. “Die for me. Stay right on that edge. Feel how much it hurts to want me this bad. I want you so desperate that you forget how to breathe.”
He starts to thrust his hips, his cock sliding in and out of my mouth in a slow, torturous rhythm. Each shove is deliberate, hitting the back of my throat, forcing me to take the full, heavy weight of him. I’m making pathetic, muffled noises, my hands clutching his thighs so hard my nails are drawing white marks in his skin.
“You’re dripping all over the car, Darling,” he mocks, watching me struggle. “I can smell you. You’re so fucking turned on by how much I’m hurting you. My own personal, filthy little Darling.”
He speedsup, his breath coming in short, harsh stabs. “Fuck. You’re so wet. I should make you lick the seat clean when we’re done. Show you exactly what a mess you are for me.”
I’m sobbing now, my body shaking with the effort of not cumming. The edge is a razor, and I’m balanced right on the tip of it. Every time his cock slides past my lips, I feel a jolt of electricity shoot straight to my clit, but there’s no release. Only the ache. Only the hunger.
“Suck it harder,” he commands, his hand fisting in my hair and pulling my head down with a jerk. “I’m close, Wendy. If you let me cum in your mouth, maybe I’ll let you touch yourself. Maybe.”
The challenge is enough. I redouble my efforts, my tongue working frantically, my throat opening up as I take him as deep as I can. I’m working him like my life depends on it, the taste of him filling my senses, the heat of his body radiating over me.
“Fuck… yes… right there,” he groans, his hips snapping forward in a sharp, violent motion. “That’s it. You fucking brat. You perfect, filthy little bitch.”
The car screeches to a halt in front of the massive, dark silhouette of his estate. The engine cuts, leaving us in a silence so heavy it feels like it’s pressing the air out of the car.
Peter pulls out of my mouth with a wet, haunting sound. He looks down at me, his cock red and glistening, his eyes cold and triumphant. I’m gasping for air, my lips swollen, my pussy throbbing so hard I can feel my heartbeat in it.
“Out,” he says, his voice devoid of any warmth. “We’re going inside. And if you think this was bad? Youhave no fucking idea what I’m going to do to you in a bed.”
The car dies, but the air inside is screaming. I’m collapsed in the footwell, my bare knees digging into the grit of the floor mats, my body a frantic, weeping mess of unspent friction. I can’t help it—I start to grind. I’m rubbing my aching, swollen pussy against the edge of the leather seat, a pathetic, rhythmic hitching of my hips because the pressure in my gut is so high I think I’m going to go into cardiac arrest.
A low, mocking chuckle vibrates above me.
“Look at you,” Peter sneers, his voice dripping with a dark, cruel amusement. “Clara’s little princess, humping the floor of my car like a bitch in heat. You look fucking pathetic, Wendy. Does it hurt? That hollow, empty ache screaming for me to fill it?”
“Please,” I sob, my forehead pressed against his thigh, my hips moving faster, desperate for even a ghost of a release. “Peter, just… give me something. Anything.”
“I’ll give you exactly what you deserve,” he murmurs.
He doesn’t reach down to help me up. He reaches down, fists his hand in my hair, and hauls me out of the car. I let out a yelp of pain as my knees scrape the gravel of his driveway, the cold rain hitting my bare, exposed tits like a thousand tiny needles. He doesn’t stop, dragging me by my hair until I’m slammed back against the hood of the sedan.
The metal is ice-cold, biting into the skin of my back, a brutal contrast to the furnace of his body as he looms over me. He looms like a fucking god, the rain slicking his tattooed chest, making the ink look like it’s squirming under his skin.
“You’ve been begging for the monster,” he says, his voice a lethal whisper over the downpour. “Now you’ve got him. Don’t you dare close your eyes.”
He grabs my ankles and jerks them apart, pinning my legs wide over the edge of the hood. I’m completely open to the storm, my pussy bared, dripping slick and rain. He looks down at me, his gaze scanning the wet, swollen folds, and his smirk sharpens.
“You’re a goddamn fountain,” he mocks, his voice raspy. “I bet the neighbours could smell you from the gate. You’re so fucking desperate it’s offensive.”
He doesn’t rush. He takes his cock—thick, heavy, and steaming in the cold air—and presses the head against my entrance. He doesn’t go in. He just circles it, the hot, velvet tip dragging through my own cream, teasing the opening until I’m sobbing and bucking my hips up, trying to force him inside.
“Stay. Still,” he commands, slapping my thigh hard enough to leave a stinging red handprint. “I told you. I decide when you get filled.”
He leans in, his mouth hovering over mine, the scent of rain and masculine sweat overwhelming. He slowly—agonisingly slowly—pushes the head of his cock past my lips. I gasp, my back arching off the cold metal as I feelhim stretch me, the thick, ridged head forcing its way into my tight pussy.
“Fuck, you’re so small,” he growls, a flicker of genuine hunger breaking through the mockery. “So fucking tight. It’s like you were made to be broken by me.”
He pushes another inch. Then stops. He waits for my muscles to clench around him, for the realisation of his size to sink in. Then another inch. It’s a slow-motion execution. I can feel every vein, every ridge of him sliding against my walls, claiming territory that’s been vacant for too long.
“Is that it, Darling?” he whispers, his breath hot against my wet cheek. “Is that the ruin you wanted? Me sliding into you while you shiver in the rain?”
He finally drives his cock into my pussy, his pubic bone slamming against mine with a wet, heavy thud. I let out a long, broken wail of relief and agony, my hands clutching the wipers of the car just to stay grounded.
He doesn’t start a fast, frantic rhythm. He keeps it slow. Brutally slow. He pulls out until he’s almost gone, the tip of his cock teasing the very edge of my opening, and then he thrusts back in, deep and deliberate, hitting my cervix with a force that makes my vision go dark.
“I’m going to fuck the defiance right out of you,” he rumbles, his hands coming up to grip my throat, not to choke, but to keep me looking at him. “I’m going to go so slow you’ll feel every second of your undoing. You’re going to remember the way I feel in your bones every time you try to look Clara in the eye.”
