Smack.
His hand came down hard on my right cheek, the sting blooming hot and fast.
“Ah!”
“You like that?” Cal growled against my skin, the vibration running through me. “You like prepping for me like that? Stretching yourself so you can take every inch?”
“Yes,” I sobbed, my hips rolling instinctively back against him. “Fuck, Cal. Use me. Please.”
Something in Cal snapped. He pushed me back down in line with his waist. His cock was so rigid beneath me now, hard as stone through his underwear. I let out a faint moan at the sensation, wanting nothing more than to feel skin on skin.
“Don’t move,” he commanded, his voice dark.
Hepulled the thin red strap back over my sensitive, still gaping hole. The feeling of the fabric rubbing against the over-sensitized skin sent shockwaves through my body. I was aching for him, dripping for him, and he knew it.
Before my brain could process, I heard it, the clicks of his camera on his phone. I swung my head to look over my shoulder at him.
“Are you taking pictures right now?” I said with fake annoyance, though the thought of him capturing me like this, open, desperate, wearing his clothes, made my own cock ache in agony.
“Yes. Stop moving. I want to get the back of the jacket in the picture,” he said as he nudged my lower back with his hand, making me lean forward. “I want to remember exactly how much of a slut you are for me.”
Cal shifted underneath me, tugging his underwear down. Then I felt it, the heavy, hot smack of his cock resting against one of my cheeks.
“One more for the secrets folder,” he said with a devious edge to his voice.
“Aren’t they all for the—”
My thoughts were obliterated as he pulled the thong aside and thrust inside me in one powerful, brutal motion. He filled me completely, no resistance, just wet, heavy heat invading every corner of me. The stretch was immense, even after the plug. He felt different, alive, pulsing, real.
“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ!” The words came out like I was babbling, the feeling sending bursts of pleasure blinding me.
He grabbed my waist and hauled me backward, forcing me upright so I was sitting on his cock, impaled. “Take all of it,” he growled, slamming me down onto him until his hips met mine with a bruising force.
He didn’t let me settle. He kept his hands locked on my waist, snapping his hips upward with a violence that knocked the breath out of me. We stayed there for what felt like an eternity, him driving deep and me riding it down, my thighs burning as I tried to keep the pace. I looked down, watching the way the red thong strained against my skin with every thrust, it was overwhelming, the feeling of being completely possessed, of being filled so deep I could taste it.
“You take it so well,” Cal groaned, his hands bruising my hips. “You were made for this. Made to sit on my cock.”
After a few minutes of that relentless, impaling rhythm, Cal decided he was done letting me have any control.
He nudged me off of him, maneuvering my body exactly how he wanted. He pinned my legs back until my knees were by my ears. This angle was devastating. He was hitting so deep I felt it in my throat, a frantic, messy rhythm that made me feel like I was being torn apart and put back together all at once.
Then he flipped us again.
“Turn over,” Cal barked. “On your stomach.”
He flipped me onto my stomach effortlessly. He flattened his body over mine, his weight crushing me into the mattress, pressing the air from my lungs. He wrapped one arm around my chest, anchoring me, and drove in again.
He was fucking me into the sheets until I didn’t know where I ended and he began. The hoodie was bunched around me, soaking up sweat. The thong was rubbing against my skin with every thrust, teasing and overstimulating me. He kept up a steady, punishing pace, his hips slapping against my ass with a wet, rhythmic sound that filled the room. He leaned down, his chest pressing me flat, whispering filthy things into my ear, claiming every inch of skin he touched.
“I own you,” Cal promised, biting the back of my neck hard enough to leave a mark.
He drove into me, deeper and harder than he had ever gone before. He stayed there for a beat, pinning me to the mattress, just breathing against my neck, letting me feel the weight of him.
“Mine,” he panted, his breath hot against my ear. “All fucking mine.”
He pulled out suddenly, leaving me gaping and whining at the loss.
“Flip over,” he barked. “I want to see your face.”
