I’m close already. Too close. The sight of her–writhing beneath me, desperate to get off, trusting me to use her like this–it’s too much.
I pull back, flip her onto her stomach, and yank her hips up. She scrambles to her knees, ass in the air, back arched perfectly. Taking a deep breath because I don’t want this to end too soon, too fast, I distract myself by spreading her cheeks open with my thumbs, taking in the perfect little hole begging to be touched.
“One day we’re going to take you here,” I tell her, licking my thumb and running it over the tight entrance. She bucks forward at the intrusion, but then guides herself back, wanting more. “We’re going to fill your cunt, your ass, and your mouth all at the same time.” I squeeze my balls, trying to hold off. “You want that, Doll Baby? To be filled up by all of us at once?”
She nods, clearly just wanting me to finish this off, let that orgasm roll over her, and prove she can give me what I want.
“But not tonight. Tonight I just want to feel your tight little pussy wrap around me.”
I notch myself at her entrance and slam home in one brutal thrust.
She cries out, “Oh my God.” Her hands fisting the sheets.
I don’t give her time to adjust. I fuck her hard with deep and punishing strokes that rock the headboard against the wall. One hand wraps in her hair, pulling her head back so I can see her face–eyes glassy, mouth open.
“You feel that?” I growl, hips snapping. “You take every fucking inch. Every time. You’re not weak. You’re not broken. Tell me you know that.”
“I’m not,” she inhales, then spits out, “broken.”
“That’s right.” I reach around, fingers finding her clit, rubbing fast,rough circles, and tugging the piercing. She’s shaking, thighs trembling, walls fluttering around me like she’s already close.
“Come for me,” I order. “Come on my cock and throttle me with that wicked little pussy.”
She shatters, back bowing, a moan tearing from her throat as she clamps down hard. I fuck her through it–relentlessly chasing my own orgasm, punching in harder and harder until the pressure in my balls snaps. I bury myself deep, spilling inside her with a guttural groan, hips jerking through every pulse.
We collapse together, and I roll us to the side. We’re sweaty and breathless, limbs tangled. I stay inside her a moment longer, softening, feeling her pulse around me. I kiss the back of her neck, her shoulder, the curve where neck meets spine.
“You’re not weak,” I whisper against her skin. “You never were. You are exactly how I need you to be.”
She turns her head just enough to meet my eyes, and they’re filled with such an intensity that I feel a flicker of guilt for how much she trusts me. What I’m after isn’t some kind of long-term connection. No love match or perfect pairing like the other houses. That’s not how I operate. That’s not why I went to the King and chewed his ass out. Arianette needs stability to be stable. I get it. I’ve spent enough time in and out of detention, group homes, programs and jail to understand how the transition can be hard. Arianette needs something concrete.
I lick her lips open, kissing her lazily. I pull out and roll us so she’s tucked against my chest. My hand rests low on her stomach, possessive and gentle at once, and I marvel at how I love this woman’s body. I love the way she lets me mark her up, threading her with my metal and jewels. I love how tight her pussy is, how she’s ready for me every time I get in and out of this bed. In and out of the car. Whenever and wherever. She wants to be wanted. To be used, and that’s perfect by me, but I know one thing for certain: I’m not letting anyone–not even the King–fuck this up for me.
39
Arianette
I wakethe next morning to Damon’s heavy arm around my waist and his hard dick pressing into my ass. It’s familiar and comforting, enough to take away the soreness in my eyes from crying last night over the King.
“Feeling better?” Damon asks, lips hot on my shoulder.
“I think so.”
“Good.” He pushes up and stretches, giving me an early morning eyeful of his bare chest and stiff morning erection. He climbs over me, planting a sucking kiss between my breasts, and gets out of bed. He’s halfway to the bathroom when a knock raps on the door.
Fumbling for the hoodie on the floor, I zip it on and answer, “Come in!”
I sling my legs over the side of the bed, bare feet hitting the cool floor. My head feels heavy, body worn out in that bone-deep way that comes from too much emotion, sex, and notenough sleep. Graves pushes the door open with his shoulder, a long black dress bag draped carefully over one arm.
“What’s this?” I ask, eyeing the dress bag.
“For the Mercer party,” he says simply, crossing to the closet and hanging the bag on the door hook. The hanger clicks softly into place.
“But he said–”
Graves hesitates, lips pressing together like he’s weighing words he isn’t supposed to say. He gives me a small, apologetic smile, but stays silent.
I don’t. “The King was very clear about how he felt about me attending the par–”
