I shift over, back pressed to the wall, making space. She pauses, then approaches, awkward in that way she still gets when she’s not sure where she stands. She sits on the edge of the mattress, legs dangling.
I don’t give her time to overthink it. My hands find her waist, and I pull her in, guiding her down until her back is flush against my front, her ass nestled perfectly against my hips. The thin cotton of her pajamas is cool at first touch, soft as hell, warming fast between our skin. I bury my face in her hair and breathe her in–clean skin, faintly floral, something uniquely her that settles the noise in my head.
“Where were you?” she asks softly, voice barely above the hum of the house.
“Had some business to take care of.” Business that left a pit growing in my gut, old streets and older ghosts reminding me how easy it is to walk away. Business that makes me need to be close to someone tonight. “Heard you had an adventure with Hunt.”
She nods, a small movement against my chest.
I trail my hand down her arm. “He finally touched you?”
Another nod.
“Did he leave you wet for me?”
Her breath catches.
I slide my hand lower, under the waistband of her shorts, pushing her panties down just enough. My fingers find her slick, warm and sticky.
“Fuck, Doll Baby.”
Hunter clears his throat in the doorway. “She’s on her period. Her tits are extra sensitive.”
He’s shirtless, low-slung shorts riding his hips, the ink on his arm twisting over his bicep like black vines in the dim light. He takes in the way I’m already wrapped around her, eyes lingering a beat too long, then reaches back and flicks off the overhead light, dropping the room into darkness before the moon slats in through the arched window, bathing us in a gray glow.
Across the room, the springs on his mattress creak as he settles in.
Arianette hesitates for half a second, then relaxes back against me, her body fitting into the curve of mine like it was made for it.
I slide my hand up under the hem of her shirt, slow, giving her time to stop me if she wants. She doesn’t. My fingers find the bar through her left nipple first–cool metal, tight bud already peaked. I roll it gently between thumb and forefinger, then tug, just hard enough to make her inhale sharply.
Across the room, Hunter’s breathing changes–deeper, rougher. The mattress creaks once as he shifts. I know he’s still awake. Listening. Hand probably already fisting his cock.
I shift my hips forward, letting her feel me hard against the cleft of her ass. The Jacob’s Ladder piercings along my shaft drag against the thin cotton of those little shorts I’ve already shifted aside. The mixture of warmth, arousal, and blood lets the head of my cock slide across her pussy easily, coating the metal bars, making every small movement electric.
“Still wet from him?” I whisper against the shell of her ear. “Or is this for me?”
She makes a soft sound–half moan, half answer–and pushes back against me. “Both.”
I hook her top leg with mine, opening her just enough. No rush. I guide myself between her thighs from behind, not inside yet, just sliding through her folds, the piercings catching on her entrance, bumping that little ring in her clit every time I rock forward. Blood and arousal make it messy, filthy, perfect. Each drag feels like fire.
I keep one hand on her breast, alternating–pinch, twist, tug–until her nipple’s swollen and she’s trembling. My other arm bands under her, holding her tight so she can’t escape.
“You let him hurt you tonight,” I murmur, lips brushing her neck. “Let him pull these pretty piercings ‘til you cried. Bet you came all over his fingers thinking about how much worse I could make it.”
Her breath stutters. Her hips roll back harder, trying to take me in.
Across the room, Hunter lets out a low, shaky exhale. Therhythmic creak of his mattress sounds in the background. He’s stroking himself to this, to us, hand moving under the sheets while he listens to every word, every wet sound.
No matter how tight her sweet little pussy is clenching around me, I don’t let her take me yet.
I nudge inside–just the head, one bar popping past her entrance-then pull back out, leaving us both aching.
“Needed to feel you around me, Doll Baby. Needed to know you’re still mine even after he marked you up.”
I sink in with more control this time, inch by inch, letting every piercing drag along her walls. She’s tight, hot, and clenching like she’s trying to keep me there. When I’m buried to the root, I still, breathing hard against her hair, hand sliding down to find her clit ring. I tug it in time with the tiny pulses of my hips–barely moving, just enough friction to drive us both crazy.
“Tell me you’re still mine,” I whisper, desperate in a way I hate. “Even when I walk away. Even when he has his hands wrapped around your throat, or our King is dictating every move. Tell me this cunt still gets this wet for me.”
