The shitty carpet burns against my knees, a delicious sting that grounds me in the moment, amplifying every touch. I lean forward, my breasts brushing his chest, and bite his lower lip, hard enough to make him hiss, his hands tightening reflexively.
"You’re fucking killing me," he sighs, but there’s a dark hunger in his voice now, no trace of the earlier hesitation.
I grin, wicked and triumphant, and start to move, slow at first, rolling my hips in a deliberate rhythm that makes his breath catch. "You love it," I taunt, my voice low and sultry, nails raking down his chest, leaving red welts across his scarred skin. "You love how I push you, don’t you? How I make you lose control?" I lean down, my lips grazing his ear, whispering, "Do you want to lose it on me? Take mine away and make me love it, too?"
His eyes flash, and his hand comes down on my ass with a sharp crack, the sound echoing in the quiet room. The sting radiates through me, mingling with the pleasure of him inside me, and I moan loudly, clenching around him. "Fuck, yes," I gasp, moving faster now, riding him with abandon. "Again. Harder."
He obliges, another sharp slap landing on my other cheek, the heat blooming across my skin, making me shudder. His other hand fists in my hair, pulling just enough to arch my neck, exposing my throat to his mouth. His teeth graze my collarbone, biting down hard enough to leave a mark, the pain sparking a fire that courses through my veins.
"You want it rough?" he growls against my skin, his voice thick with need. "You’re gonna get it, Delilah."
"Yes," I hiss, pushing back against him, meeting every thrust as he starts to move with me, his hips snapping up to drive deeper. The carpet is unforgiving, scraping my knees raw, but I don’t care—the pain only heightens the intensity, makes every sensation sharper. I dig my nails into his shoulders, drawing tiny beads of blood, and he groans, the sound primal, his hand tightening in my hair. "Fuck me like you mean it," I demand, my voice a breathless challenge. "Like the man who took down my father. Show me that side of you."
He flips us suddenly, pinning me to the carpet, the rough fibers biting into my back as he looms over me, eyes blazing. He grabs my wrists, pinning them above my head with one hand, the other sliding to my throat, fingers curling just enough to apply pressure—a thrilling edge that makes my pulse race.
"You want me unhinged?" he rasps, thrusting into me hard, the force making me cry out, my legs wrapping around his waist to pull him deeper. "You’re gonna feel every fucking thing I’ve been holding back."
"Prove it," I challenge, arching up to meet him, my voice breaking on a moan as he sets a punishing rhythm, each thrust deep and relentless, the slap of our bodies filling the room. His teeth find my shoulder, biting down as I whine about it, letting him claim me every way he can.
"Harder, Kent," I whisper, my lips against his ear, hot and taunting. "Make it hurt. Make me feel you."
He hisses through his teeth, releasing my wrists to grip my hips, angling me to hit deeper, the sensation overwhelming, teetering on the edge of pain and pleasure. His hand moves to my clit, rubbing in tight circles, and I’m lost, screaming his name as I come, my body convulsing around him, vision blurring with the intensity.
The air is thick with the scent of sweat and desire, our bodies slick and trembling on the rough carpet, every nerve alight with the intensity of what we’ve already done.
But I’m not done with him—not by a long shot. I want this moment, the first time we cross this line, to sear itself into both of us, to be a wildfire that consumes every doubt, every hesitation. I shift beneath Kent, my thighs still wrapped around his hips, his weight pressing me into the floor, the burn of the carpet against my back a sharp counterpoint to the heat of his skin.
His breath is hot against my neck, ragged, and I can feel the rapid thud of his pulse where our bodies meet, his cock still hard inside me, pulsing with the aftershocks of our frantic rhythm.
I tilt my head, catching his earlobe between my teeth, biting just hard enough to make him hiss, his hips jerking involuntarily, driving him deeper.
“Don’t tell me you’re done,” I whisper, my voice a low, taunting purr, lips brushing the sensitive skin below his ear. “I’ve been dreaming of this for months, Kent. Every letter, every night, imagining you fucking me until I can’t think straight. You’re not stopping now.” My nails rake down his back again, slower this time, vindictive, leaving fresh red trails that mingle with the faint blood from earlier scratches, the sight making my core clench around him.
He groans, a deep, primal sound that vibrates through his chest, his hands tightening on my hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh with bruising force. “Fuck, Delilah,” he rasps, lifting his head to meet my gaze, his dark eyes blazing with a mix of hunger and something almost feral, like I’ve unleashed something he’s kept caged for too long. “You’re relentless. You have no idea what you’re doing to me.” But his body betrays him, hips rocking slightly, a slow grind that sends sparks through my oversensitive nerves.
I smirk, arching up to press my breasts against his chest, the friction of my hardened nipples against his sweat-slick skin making me gasp.
“Oh, I know exactly what I’m doing,” I say, my voice dripping with challenge as I roll my hips to meet his, drawing a choked sound from his throat. “I want you to lose it, Kent. Fuck me like you’re claiming me, like you’re marking me as yours.”
I slide one hand between us, fingers brushing where we’re joined, teasing the base of his cock before circling my clit, the sensation making me moan loudly, my head falling back.
His eyes darken, tracking my hand, and he grabs my wrist, pinning it back above my head with a growl. “You want me to claim you?” he says, his voice low and dangerous, a thread of control fraying as he shifts, pulling out almost completely before slamming back in, hard and deep, making me cry out, my legstrembling around him. “Careful what you ask for, Delilah. I’m barely holding on.”
“Then don’t,” I shoot back, my free hand gripping his ass, nails digging in as I urge him deeper. “Let go. Fuck me like you’ve wanted to since you read my first letter. Like you’ve imagined in those dark moments you won’t admit to.” I clench around him deliberately, watching his face contort, his jaw tightening as he fights to keep control. “Come on, Kent,” I taunt, my voice breathless but sharp. “Make it hurt. Make it unforgettable.”
He snaps, a low snarl escaping as he releases my wrist to grab both my thighs, spreading them wider, hooking them over his shoulders. The new angle makes every thrust deeper, more intense, the stretch almost too much, and I scream, the sound raw and unrestrained, echoing off the hotel room walls.
His hands grip my hips, lifting me slightly off the carpet, the rough fibers scraping my lower back as he pounds into me, the slap of skin on skin loud and rhythmic.
“Like this?” he growls, his voice rough with exertion, sweat dripping from his brow onto my chest. “This what you wanted, Delilah? Me fucking you raw?”
“Yes,” I gasp, my hands scrabbling at his shoulders, nails drawing blood again as I arch into him, meeting every thrust with a desperate roll of my hips. “Fuck, yes, just like that. Don’t stop.”
His teeth find my collarbone, biting hard enough to leave a deep mark, the pain blending with pleasure so intense it’s dizzying. I tug at his hair, pulling his head back to kiss him, our mouths crashing together in a messy, bruising kiss, all teeth and tongue, tasting the salt of his sweat and the faint copper of my own lip where I’ve bitten it.
He pulls back suddenly, flipping me onto my stomach with a rough twist, the carpet burning my knees and palms as I brace myself. “You want unforgettable?” he says, his voice a dark promise as he grips my hips, yanking me back against him. His hand fists in my hair, pulling just hard enough to make me arch, my breasts lifting off the floor, the sensation sending a shiver through me. “Then take it.”
He thrusts in again, deep and relentless, the angle hitting a spot inside me that makes my vision blur, a high-pitched moan tearing from my throat.
