Page 19 of After the Chase

"Don’t move,” I say. I focus on his hole as I strip quickly. My cock is hard and flushed, aching with need. I cover my dick with lube, and I position myself between his legs, my hands gripping his thighs.

"Now I'm going to fuck you," I say, my voice rough. "And you're going to take every inch of me. You're going to feel me for days, I guarantee it."

Like an animal without control, I slam inside his perfect ass and he cries out at the intrusion. I'm bigger than the candle, but I don't give him time to adjust.

"Ahhhh" he yells out, but in utter bliss.

"That's it, you can feel me. Feel who owns you."

I fuck him with punishing intensity, my hips snapping forward, my hands bruising on his thighs. Each thrust drives deeper, harder, claiming him in ways that blur the line between pleasure and torture. His juicy ass bounces as his body accepts me, yields to me, and surrenders completely. The only noise in the room is the sound of my hips hitting his ass, the crude sound of the lube and our mingling groans.

“I need more…”

"More what?"

"I don’t know," he cries and I start to become dizzy. My face and back start to sweat with the pace. I reach under him and wrap my hand around his cock, which is somehow already hardening again despite his recent orgasm. The overstimulation must be almost unbearable.

"You're going to cum again," I say, my voice nothing but gravel. "You're going to cum with me inside you."

"I can't do it again."

"You can and you will." I stroke him in time with my thrusts, as the dual sensation pushes him toward another impossible edge.

Suddenly his ass clenches around me as he cums again, weaker this time but no less intense. The feeling of him tightening around my cock pushes me over the edge with him, my hips stuttering as I cum inside of him in a never ending fountain.

I pull out slowly, and I watch my release drip out of him with another mark of ownership, another claim. I disappear into the bathroom and return with a warm cloth and a balm for the wax burns.

The wax has cooled and hardened on his skin, so using the balm, I peel it off carefully, revealing red marks beneath that are temporary brands that will fade in a day or two. But for now, they're visible proof of what happened here. Of what he allowed me to do.

"Beautiful," I murmur, tracing the marks with my fingers.

When I'm finished, I pull him against my chest, my arms wrapping around him possessively. His body fits perfectly against mine, like he was made for this. Made for me.

"Are you alive?" I ask quietly.

"Yes, just wanna sleep."

His breathing evens out gradually, his body relaxing into sleep. But I lie awake, listening to his heartbeat. Steady. Calm. Utterly certain of what we are and what we've become together. Jessica won't be back, as it was clear she sensed some danger and was uncomfortable. Besides, we leave New Zealand in two days and that annoying busybody can be left in the past.

Somewhere in Europe

We're in a rental car, driving through countryside I haven't bothered to identify as I haven’t got a fucking idea about wherewe are and I don’t care. We arrived in Lyon a week ago and decided to do a road trip with no direction to where we are going. Chase is navigating, his phone propped on the dashboard. It's late afternoon, the sun low and golden.

"Turn left at the next intersection," Chase says.

I do and the road narrows, trees pressing close on either side. That's when I see them. Two men standing in the middle of the road. One is holding a tire iron and the other has a gun, a small caliber, probably a 9mm. I slow the car, but I don't stop.

"Shit," Chase says quietly.

"Stay in the car, whatever happens."

The men approach. The one with the gun taps on my window, and I lower it halfway.

"Out of the car," he says. "Both of you. Now."

I assess the situation. The gun is real but poorly maintained. The man holding it has his finger on the trigger, which is an amateur mistake. The other man is larger, more confident, but his stance is wrong. He's used to intimidation, but I doubt he has ever thrown a punch, successfully anyway.

"No," I say.