A ragged groan tears out of my throat. I drop to my knees on the cold concrete floor.
My hands grip her hips, pulling her forward to the very edge of the scarred workbench. Her thighs fall open. I bury my face between her breasts. My mouth opens over her left nipple. I suck it into my mouth, rolling the tight bud across my tongue. She arches her back. A sharp, high moan escapes her lips. The sound echoes off the steel walls, driving the madness deeper into my brain.
I move to the right breast. I bite down gently on the swell. My teeth drag against her skin, leaving a damp red mark. Claiming her. Marking her. Every inch of her skin has to carry the evidence of my mouth.
My hands slide down her waist, clamping onto the bare skin of her thighs. I grip the backs of her knees, ruthlessly pushing her legs as wide apart as her anatomy allows.
Her drenched, swollen pussy is completely exposed to my gaze.
She is slick. The heavy, sweet scent of her arousal cuts right through the chemical smell of the armory. The pink folds of her sex are glistening with her wetness. She is leaking for me. Ready for me.
I look up at her. Her eyes are entirely glazed with raw lust, her breathing coming in rapid, ragged gasps.
"Mine," I growl against her skin, leaving no room for doubt.
I lean forward, slamming my open mouth directly against her wet pussy.
She screams my name, her hands crashing down onto my shoulders as her nails dig deep into the bare, scarred muscle of my back.
My tongue lashes out, dragging the rough muscle aggressively straight up her soaking-wet pussy slit. She tastes like pure, concentrated sex. I lap up her overflowing fluids, my fingers digging deep into the soft flesh of her ass cheeks, locking her lower body completely immobile against my face.
I lock my lips directly onto the hard, swollen clit at the top of her pussy. I pull a hard vacuum, trapping the hypersensitive cluster of nerves between my lips and sucking brutally.
Her hips buck violently off the wooden workbench. "Nico. God, Nico."
I do not stop. I flick my tongue rapidly back and forth across her clit. The friction is relentless. She thrashes against my grip, her thighs clamping down around my ears, trying to crush my skull in her desperation. I welcome the pressure. I want her to break me.
I slide two fingers from my right hand down to the slick opening of her pussy. I push them inside her.
Her walls are incredibly tight. They clench around my knuckles, sucking my fingers deep into her hot, wet heat. I thrust my fingers in and out of her, matching the frantic rhythm of my tongue on her clit.
Her eyes flutter closed. I want them on me.
I curl my fingers inside her, and her gaze snaps back to mine.
"You’re so fucking wet for me," I tell her. My thumb joins my tongue, pressing against her clit while my fingers continuouslystretch her tight walls. "You are dripping all over my hands. Give it to me. Come for me. Now."
Her body goes rigid. Every muscle in her core locks down. She screams, a raw, primal sound of total surrender. Her internal walls violently contract around my fingers, pulsing with the force of her climax. She gushes hot slickness over my hand, soaking my skin. I drink her down, swallowing her orgasm, refusing to let a single drop go to waste.
She collapses backward against the oak table, ribs heaving.
I pull my fingers out of her wetness. They are coated in a clear, glistening shine. I stand up slowly. The blood is pounding behind my temples with the force of a jackhammer.
I stare down at her. She is a ruined, beautiful mess, sprawled across my workbench.
Now it is my turn.
The cold air of the vault hits my bare torso. My skin is covered in thick, black geometric and tribal sleeve tattoos that run down both arms. Violent scars crisscross my ribs and stomach, a roadmap of decades of warfare. I'm not a beautiful man. I'm a machine built for killing.
She doesn't look away. She doesn't flinch. She looks at my scars like they are medals.
I reach for the tactical belt at my waist. I pop the metal cobra buckle. The belt, loaded with extra magazines and a combat knife, drops to the ground. I unzip my pants and push them down my thighs, kicking them off along with my boots.
I’m naked. The gold watch at my wrist catches the fluorescent light, gleaming brightly against my tattooed skin.
My cock is agonizingly hard. It points straight up at my stomach, a heavy length of rigid muscle. A drop of clear precum leaks from the blunt head, shining in the harsh light. The ache in my balls is a deep, heavy throb. I’ve been consumed by the need to bury myself inside this woman since the moment she walked out of her clinic.
I step flush against the bench.
