I was squirmy and hot and wet and achy and so, so impatient for more.
There was no holding back this time. No ropes around his hands to prevent him from hitching up my gown. His touch messy and jerky as he gathered handfuls of satin, up, up, up, billowing around my waist, letting air kiss my thighs and hipbones. No chains to stop his fingers from clawing at the garters and blood red lingerie the two women from Social Art had dressed me in.
Nothing to tamper his incredible touch or slow down our manic pace. This wasn’t making love or even the crude term of fucking—the same term I’d thrown in his face as a dare and demand.
No, this was urgency at its finest.
It infected him and me.
It was all around us, blocking us from the world, turning this room into ours and this moment into forever.
As Elder yanked at the lace between my legs, snapping off garters without caring, tearing pantyhose without looking, growling at the miles of fabric between us, I fumbled with his clasp and zipper on his trousers.
There were no sweet words or whispered sentiments. No gentle kisses or sensual seduction.
We had one goal.
One need.
Join.
Join.
Join.
The metal clasp came away; his zipper caught on my dress only for him to grab it and yank it down with a rip of cloth.
I had no idea what broke. I didn’t know if my dress was in pieces, or his trousers were in shreds, but it didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered.
All that mattered was
him
inside
me.
Nothing else was in my mind; no other thought permitted in my body.
I needed him more than I needed water or food or air.
I needed him to stretch me, fill me, bruise me.
I needed him to claim every dark part of me and bring it into the light because I wanted this. I wanted to be sexual. I wanted to be a deviant. I wanted to be wanton and abandoned and utterly free to scream as he entered me and bite him when he thrust.
The overpowering lust thickened and heated and burned.
God, it burned.
Faster.
Quicker.
Hotter.
Our hands fumbled to the same command, tearing off clothing, pushing away barriers.
I couldn’t explain it or even bother to understand it, but if I didn’t have him inside, connected and joined, I would die.
Literally and spiritually die.
I’m dying.
I’m gasping.
I’m so...so...
“Elder...now.” I arched, seeking his cock, revelling in the pure pleasure of being myself. Of not second-guessing or censoring. Of not worrying about fists or abuse. Of not being afraid of rape or molestation.
Elder was perfect.
He was mine.
He’s not inside me.
“Elder...” I clawed at him, opening my legs wide, my head falling back as I moaned my desperation. Please...”
“Fuck, little mouse. You’re driving me insane.” His voice mingled with kisses as his mouth latched on mine. My lips turned raw from his five o’clock shadow. The sting of his affection righteous with the pain in my core demanding to be addressed.
Now.
Now.
God, now!
My fingers worked on his trousers, pushing and shoving them down his waist. My fingernails scratched him in their rush. My temper snapping at my insides at how much longer I had to wait.
His back bowed as I pushed faster, messier, completely out of my mind with need. The moment his trousers were mid-thigh, I battled the elastic cotton of his boxer-briefs.
He groaned as his cock sprung free.
I cried out as I finally, finally touched hot skin. Finally, finally caressed naked and hard him.
He shuddered as I grasped his erection, pumping it hard. A primal growl fell from his lips as he kissed me mercilessly, ripping my knickers to my knees then contorting himself to drag them off one foot.
They caught on the heel of my blood red stilettos only for him to tear off the shoe along with the lingerie. Both vanished over his shoulder, never to be seen again.
Once, I’d believed I was Sleeping Beauty awoken by his kiss and Snow White freed from the poisoned apple. Now, I was Cinderella missing a glass slipper, but unlike that fairy-tale, I knew exactly who my prince was and precisely what I intended to do with him.
I wriggled deeper beneath him, spreading my legs unashamedly as he pressed heavily on top of me.
His hips scorched my inner thighs.
His lips never stopped kissing.
His hand disappeared under my dress.
His tongue never stopped dancing.
His fingers latched around his erection.
His mouth never stopped claiming mine.
His knuckles bruised my tender skin as he arched his hips and searched for my core.
And then we both froze.
Indescribable moment.
Blissful. Breathtaking. Brutal.
We hovered in that second with the tip of him at the entrance of me.
A second where nothing and no one could hurt us.
And then he thrust.
I moaned.
He groaned.
The world fractured in two.
I was used to violence. I was used to being taken quickly. I was used to being empty then full. Alone then ridden hard and fast.
What I wasn’t used to was the lightning bolt of perfection as Elder stabbed inside me vicious and completely unapologetic. I wasn’t used to my reaction as my legs scissored around his hips, and I arched up to meet him, brutalising us with bruises, demanding more, commanding him to go harder, faster, deeper.
It felt so right.
So good.
So true.
More.
More.
More.
Our mouths spread wide against each other, struggling to breathe through the indescribable pleasure of joining, struggling to stay alive with oversensitive flesh and scattered minds.
We ceased existing as our bodies adjusted to being joined and heat rushed from him to me in the form of heartbeats and understanding that we were together now, but this wasn’t over.
The race had just started.
If I didn’t have my suspicions about Elder’s addiction, I might’ve become scared. Terrified at the black gleam in his gaze and the determined set of his brow. This wasn’t just sex to him. This was a competition to be bested only to be undertaken again and again.
I was willing to be that competition—to allow him to use me to find his release with the hope of proving him wrong.
I believed he could stop.
He believed he couldn’t.
At this point, I didn’t care who was right.
He thrust again, and all my thoughts turned to willow-the-wisps.
He drove into me, burying me into the soft cushions, clamping his teeth into my neck.
I rode with him, flying up, tilting my throat so he could bite me harder. At no point did I suffer panic or terror or anything but the overwhelming sensation of being owned by Elder and being utterly contented by it.
His pace turned frantic.
Thrust.
Thrust.
Thrust.
The couch bumped and scraped on the carpet. My dress fluttered around us, spilling to the floor in red and blue waves. His black hair clung to his forehead, sweat decorating his brow as we fucked each other with rage and frenzy.
His hips trapped a bunch of my dress against my clit and every thrust made sparkling promises build in number.
My spine tickled.
My hips loosened.
My legs tightened for the release they whispered.
I was close.
So close.
So fast.