“Shh, we haven’t even gotten started yet.” He slaps me again and thrusts three fingers inside me at the same time.
The friction from the pain creates a dizzying rhythm I can’t keep up with. A hurricane of emotions that starts where he’s touching me and spreads all over my skin.
His hold on my throat keeps me immobile so that he can do whatever he pleases.
I grab onto his bicep, not because I need balance, but more due to the inherent need to touch him. I’m as desperate for him as he is for me.
I want to be owned by him.
Only him.
“Do you feel how much your cunt is swallowing my fingers, little purple? Hear that sucking sound it’s making to welcome me home?” His rhythm intensifies. “Because this is my home, you are my home, and I’ll make you admit I’m yours.”
A moan is the only answer I give. It’s kind of hard to speak when spurts of pleasure shoot inside me, building, heightening, and wrecking me.
“You’ll have no other home but me.” He curls his fingers and thrusts. “You won’t belong to anyone else but me, are we clear?”
My eyes droop and I let go, chasing the orgasm, the pleasure, that only his ruthlessness can bring.
“Are we fucking clear, Annika?” he repeats, his face a few inches away from mine and his fingers stopping their maddening rhythm.
I breathe harshly, but still have enough brain capacity to mutter, “This isn’t the way to go about becoming my home, Creighton.”
“Wrong answer.” His eyes darken to become a deep hue of blue, a shade so terrifying, I’m rooted in place.
He wrenches his fingers out of me, and I resist the disappointing sound that’s trying to claw its way out.
And then he pushes me back with his hold on my throat. My calves hit the edge of the couch, and I stumble backward, but before I can hit the cushion, he pulls me over and whirls me around.
I yelp as I fall to my knees and my achy breasts meet the cold surface of the leather. With Creighton’s hand on my nape, fixing me in place. I don’t see him, but I feel his presence magnifying, becoming absolutely frightening.
My body goes limp, and I’m not sure whether it’s because of my survival instinct or due to pure unhinged anticipation.
The butt plug jostles before he wrenches it free, forcing a sharp moan out of me.
And then I feel something hard against my wetness. His dick. He’s lubricating his cock with my arousal and I don’t know why I find that so hot. More juices pour out of me, coating him and my inner thighs.
Creighton drives two fingers inside my back hole, causing me to scoot across the couch. I’m so stretched that I can hardly breathe or think.
“You’ve always been so tight, so small and breakable. No matter how many toys and plugs I shove inside this hole, it’s barely stretching.” He accentuates his words with merciless pounds of his fingers in my back hole and the up and down of his cock against my folds, teasing my opening but scarcely sliding in before coming back out.
Up.
Down.
Thrust.
Down.
Up.
Up—
I think I’ll come from the torturous sensation alone. The shallow thrusts in my core overlap with the ruthless ones in my back hole until I’m lightheaded.
He’s all I can focus on. His clean scent, large presence, and warmth.
It’s his hand, all veiny and strong. His cock, all hard and ready to wreak havoc inside me.
It’s everything about him.
Creighton keeps up the merciless, erotic rhythm. He thrusts, glides, strokes, and spanks. He grabs me in a figurative chokehold and I’m bucking my hips, writhing, panting, and whining.
Demanding that he take me.
Own me.
Make me feel alive the only way he knows how.
He removes his fingers and slaps my ass three consecutive times. A moan rips out of me as pleasure mixes with the mild pain.
And just when I think I’ll come, he drives his cock inside my virgin hole.
The world stills as my earlier pleasure dims to excruciating pain. It doesn’t matter that he’s been prepping me for this or that he spent a lot of time stretching my hole or lubricating himself.
The fact remains, Creighton is huge and his cock shouldn’t be anywhere near any back entrance.
It hurts, burns, and is downright suffocating.
Why do people love anal? This is torture.
I writhe and gasp and try to find reprieve from his savage hold on me.
Creighton doesn’t thrust inside me, but he doesn’t pull out either. His fingers dig into the flesh of my nape. “Relax. Don’t push me out.”
“I can’t.” Tears fill my lids as I strain. “It hurts. So much.”
“Shhh. Don’t fight me.” He soothes, grabbing my hip, stroking all the way to my side, then my stomach, then to my back. His fingers on my neck draw comforting circles, all gentle and caring.
A trait that’s not usual for him. Yes, he can be caring, but only after sex, not during.
He told me so himself once, that he knows how to take, and doesn’t know how to give, which is why he’s never considered relationships.
No clue if it’s that knowledge, the fact that he’s giving me this type of care so naturally or his appeasing touch, but I find myself relaxing, and my muscles loosen, slowly adjusting. I choose to focus on just how full he makes me.
So very full.
“Such a good girl,” Creighton’s deep voice might as well be touching me too. Or maybe it’s that word, because I’m dripping between my thighs.
He holds my nape with the hand that was stroking my side and lowers the other to tease my clit.
The arousal that I thought had disappeared earlier returns with wrecking force.
When he starts rocking his hips, I fall into the slap of his groin against my ass, into the sounds of grunting, moaning, groaning. Slapping and slapping and slapping.
Sweat coats my skin and I melt into his touch, into his presence.
“That’s it.” His rhythm is slow, pleasurable. “You’re taking my cock so well. You feel so good. So tight. So fucking mine.”
A moan rips out of my throat and all the tension from earlier disappears. Raw, gritty pleasure pools between my thighs and I rock my hips, demanding more.
“You want me to fuck you harder? Want me to take your ass and ram into your virgin hole until you’re unable to sit for days?” he asks, voice oozing with dark lust as his thrusts deepen. “Want me to tear into you and claim you as mine? Because that’s what you’ll always be, Annika.” Thrust. “You can shoot me and run. You can push me and leave.” Thrust. “But you are my girl, and you’ll remain my girl despite your fucking parents.” Thrust. “I’m the only home you’ll ever have. My bed is the only bed you’ll ever sleep in, so the next time I say you’re my home, you say I’m yours, too.”
I gasp and whimper and moan, unable to take in the load of emotions he’s arousing.
Lust, despair, and sadness.
Complete utter sadness that stabs my bones, but I choose to fall into lust instead.
I choose to fall into the feeling of having him completely owning me.
Body, heart, and soul.
Pleasure shoots inside me in waves, starting where we’re joined, where he’s torturing my clit, and spreads through my whole body. The harsh slide of my hard nipples against the leather heightens it to the point of eruption.