He just positions himself between my spread legs, one hand wrapped around his cock, pumping slowly while his eyes stay locked on my exposed pussy with a hunger so raw it makes my breath catch.
He'smassive.
Thick, and long, and not even fully hard yet—still swelling in his fist as he stares at me like I'm the first meal he's seen after weeks of starvation.
The head is flushed dark, precum already beading at the tip, and watching him stroke himself while studying every glistening fold between my legs, sends another vicious pulse of arousal straight through my core.
Oh god. Oh fuck.
I should be scared. Should be calculating whether something that size will even fit inside me after seven months of nothing.Should be doing the responsible thing and asking about condoms or at least slowing this down enough to think.
But I don't.
I can't.
Because I'm dying for this—dying to feel something real, and brutal, and overwhelming enough to drown out every careful, controlled moment I've endured since leaving Story Island.
Ryan's other hand comes down to my hip, gripping hard enough that I know there'll be finger-shaped bruises tomorrow. He angles himself, positioning the thick head of his cock at my entrance—not gently testing, not easing in slowly—just lining himself up like he's preparing to claim what he's already decided belongs to him.
Then hejamsinto me.
No warning. No gradual stretch. Just one brutal thrust that splits me open around his thickness and makes me cry out—a sharp, broken sound that echoes off the walls of this hidden room.
Pain.
It hits me first—searing, and immediate, and so intense my entire body locks up around the intrusion. He's too big. Too thick. My body hasn't been used like this in months and it's fighting the invasion even as my pussy floods with more wetness, trying desperately to accommodate him.
But underneath the pain—woven through it like a thread of gold in dark fabric—is something else.
Delicious.
The word surfaces in my mind unbidden, shocking in its accuracy.
This hurts. This is exactly what I need. This is everything I've been craving without knowing how to ask for it.
Ryan doesn't stop. Doesn't give me time to adjust or breathe or process what's happening. He pulls back slightly—just enoughthat I feel the drag of his cock against my sensitive inner walls—then slams back in deeper, forcing another few inches inside me with a grunt of satisfaction that sounds almost feral.
"Fuck," he breathes, voice gone ragged. "You're so fucking tight."
I can't respond. Can't form words around the sensation consuming me.
My hands fly up instinctively, grabbing at the edges of the table, fingers scrabbling for purchase against the padded surface as he fucks into me again. And again. Each thrust brutal and claiming and exactly what my body has been screaming for.
The pain starts to shift. Morphing into something deeper, more complex—still there but now threaded through with pleasure so intense it makes my vision blur at the edges.
This. This is what I've been missing.
Not gentle lovemaking. Not careful exploration with someone who treats me like I might break. But this—raw, and desperate, and so physically overwhelming that there's no room left in my brain for the constant spiral of self-judgment and shame.
There's only sensation.
His cock stretching me impossibly wide. The obscene wet sounds of him fucking into my drenched pussy. The way my legs tremble uselessly in the stirrups as he uses me exactly how he wants.
I force my eyes open—didn't even realize I'd squeezed them shut—and look down the length of my body.
The sight nearly breaks me.
My sports bra still covering my breasts. My legs spread wide and locked in place. Ryan between my thighs. And his cock—thick and glistening with my arousal—disappearing into my body with each brutal thrust.
