AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Jesus, Duchess—your pussy is so tight. I’m gonna tear you apart, do you know that?” I sucked in air like I was drowning, my lungs burning, pussy clenching around his finger.
“Not yet,” he said, his voice so low, so deep. “Not yet,” he whispered again, just before he opened his lecherous mouth and latched onto my hood.
A string of nonsense fell out of my mouth, all my weight shifting to my thigh on his shoulder as the other one gave out. He took it on, raising me up just a little, just enough to line his lips with mine so he could devour me at just the angle he wanted. The sweep of his tongue, the rapid tease, the hard pull that earned him a long whimper from me as I hung onto the dryer for dear life.
My eyes closed, my head lolling. A sharp, successive snap of fingers left me blinking at his hand, signaling me to look at him. And that was where I met my end—his eyes on mine, his tongue against my clit, the growl in his throat sending vibration all the way up my throat, escaping me as a scream. He stood, palming my pussy, slipping his finger inside, curling it as I came.
“Come into my hand, Duchess.”
Another hard pulse at his filth, a strangled cry.
“That’s right, don’t you dare fucking stop.”
I writhed against his hand as my orgasm continued long after it should have been through, his finger stroking me from the inside. Flashes sparked at the edge of my vision until his hand finally slowed, releasing me from the hold of the never ending orgasm, then disappeared only to grab my face. His lips met mine in a bruising kiss, a kiss that marred me in a way I wouldn’t soon erase.
I wasn’t sure if it was time that was broken or me, but things moved in flashes—Remy turning me around, bending me over the dryer, the metal against my fevered skin everything. I sighed, savoring the feel of cool metal on my flushed cheek.
“Don’t you fucking move,” he said, his voice raw.
Beyond my thundering heart and noisy breath, I heard him rummaging around in the kitchen before he was back and tearing open a condom. I wanted to watch him, but I was too languid to move.
Panting, he laid a hand on the small of my back, his cock in his hand. His silken crown hit my slick center with a slap, slap, slap, and just like that, my body came alive again with a gasp and a rush of blood.
“You make me like this,” he said, guiding his cock to trace the slit. “You do this to me. Once I fuck you, it’s only gonna get worse—I won’t be able to stop myself from wanting you.”
He slid into me with the slow flex of his hips and a grunt to match my cry, filling me up by increment, shifting once he was seated as deep as he could get.
I panted, gulping air, too full to breathe, my body on fire, not knowing what he was going to do to me. His hips were still, restrained and tight as he palmed my arse, squeezed. Took my hands, laid them by my sides. Arched over me to...reach past me to the dryer? Confused, I heard the click as he spun the knob, the slap as he hit the button to turn it on.
Later I would wonder if nerve endings could actually explode like fireworks and decided yes, they could, and yes, mine did.
My soul left my body as the vibration hummed through me at every point of contact, the most precious at my nipples, sending shocks racing to the point where our bodies met. My cunt trembled around his cock—he planted his hands on the top of the dryer for a moment, and neither of us moved. I whimpered and whined and whispered, but I didn’t move. After a second, or an hour, or a week, he retreated as he took my hands, pulled as he pumped his hips, not stopping until he was deep. Then again, again. The torture was sick and sweet as he fucked me, every roll and flex of his hips heavy with barely contained control. The emptiness when he drew back, the suffocating fullness when he entered me again. The tip of him teasing my trigger from the inside, pressed even closer to his cock thanks to the unholy appliance quivering beneath me.
My breath came faster, the world dimming.
“Fuck, Jessa,” his hips jerked as my pussy clenched, another orgasm close enough to taste the tang of it. “You’re so fucking tight.” The words were pained but my body didn’t care.
Until he stopped, trembling behind me, and I broke.
“Oh my God, fuck me right now. Don’t stop, I’ll die...I’ll die...” I babbled and cried and wailed and screamed when he gave me what I begged for, pumping his hips, his pace relentless.
I came with heart stopping pleasure-pain, but he didn’t stop, grunting and growling, the slap of my arse against his body clapping over the din. And when he came, he swelled, pulsed, but neither of us could move or he really would tear me apart. I snapped onto my forearms, back arched, feeling every throb as he emptied himself into me.
He collapsed, his arms winding into the space my arms made, slick and breathless and spent. When he could, he pulled out, pressing a kiss to my back. I suppose he cleaned up, but I wouldn’t have known. I lay down on top of the dryer deciding I lived here now, arse out and everything, forever and ever, amen.
“C’mere, Duchess,” he said with tenderness as he coaxed me into a position where he could pick me up. Thankfully, he didn’t even try to set me on my feet, just carried me to his room, unpeeled me from his chest, and laid me in bed, climbing in after me.
I rolled over as he opened his arms, our bodies coming together again, but this time to just breathe. I could feel his pulse still racing where my face touched his neck, our bodies sweaty and rain slicked and hot and careless. The only priority was to make sure as much skin was touching as possible.
He stroked my back with sure fingertips, my elbow cupped in his other hand, and for a long while, I lay curled up in his arms, wondering if he’d broken my brain. He’d definitely broken my pussy.
I giggled, and he leaned back to look at me.
“Yeah?” he said.
“I was just taking stock and think you might have broken my cunt.”
He groaned, squeezing me closer. “God, don’t fucking say that word right now.”
