Page 31 of Branded

His smile is dark, triumphant, like he’s been waiting for me to beg.

He spins me around, pressing me against the cold stone wall. I gasp at the shock of it through the thin fabric of my dress. He doesn’t wait for me to step out of it. He rips the seam open and pushes it off my body in one rough motion, exposing me fully to him. My bra also ends up with a similar fate. The rip of the lace, the light sound as it’s tossed to the floor, is almost too much.

“Hands on the wall,” he orders, and I comply immediately, palms flat against stone.

Behind me, I hear his belt buckle, the rasp of his zipper. Then his hands are on my hips, and I am already arching back against him, wanting him inside me, unable to stop.

“Look at you,” he growls. “So fucking eager. So wet for me, you’re dripping down your thighs.”

“Stop talking and fuck me already.”

“You’re awfully demanding today.” He crashes into me, and I cry out at the perfect brutal intrusion of his cock splitting me open. Yes. This. This is what I need.

“Fuck yes,” I gasp, bracing my hands on the wall, pushing back to take him deeper. “God, yes.”

“Still sore?” His hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back as he starts moving, deep, punishing strokes that make me slam forward with each thrust.

“I don’t care any more.” And I don’t. The burn just makes it more intense, more raw, more real. “Harder. More, Sebastian,” I beg.

He obliges, fucking me with brutal efficiency against the wall, one hand in my hair, the other gripping my hip hard enough to add new bruises to yesterday’s collection. The rough stone scrapes against my cheek, my hands, my breasts, and it all just feeds the fire burning through me.

“This what you want?” he pants. “My cock buried deep inside you? Using you against this wall?”

“Yes.” It is the truth, even though I hate it. “Yes, fuck, yes.”

His hand snakes around to find my clit, and the second his fingers make contact, I nearly come apart. I am so close, I have been since the entryway, since this morning, since last night when he made me come too many times to count before finally letting me sleep.

“Come on, I need…” I whimper, not sure in this moment what I actually need.

“I know what you need.” His fingers work my clit in tight circles, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside me with every thrust. “Come for me, Lennox. Show me how much you need this. How much you need me.”

The orgasm slams into me, ripping a scream from my throat as my pussy clenches around him in spasms I can’t control. My entire body shakes with pleasure so intense it borders on pain, and I can hear myself babbling his name, begging, thanking him.

“That’s it,” he groans. “That’s my fucking girl. So perfect when you let go.”

He fucks me through it, prolonging it, making it endless until I’m sobbing with overstimulation. Then his rhythm falters, his grip on my hip tightens, and I feel him come deep inside me, claiming me, again.

We stand there for a long moment, both breathing hard, his body pressing against my back, his cock still inside me. I can feel his cum starting to leak out, can feel the evidence of what we did.

When he finally pulls out, my legs nearly give out. His hand on my waist is the only thing keeping me upright.

“Fuck,” I breathe, my forehead pressing against the cold stone.

“Yeah.” His voice is rough with satisfaction. He turns me to face him. “You okay?”

His question catches me off guard.

“Um…” I don’t know how to answer that. I’m sore, overwhelmed—confused about why I want him so desperately when I should hate him. “I’m fine.”

He studies my face for a moment, then kisses me softly. So different from the brutal way he’d claimed me seconds ago that it makes my chest ache.

“Go shower,” he says. “Get ready for dinner. We have a bit of time before we need to leave.”

I nod, not trusting my voice, and head toward the bathroom on unsteady legs. Behind me, I hear him moving around, probably changing his clothes, making himself presentable like he didn’t just fuck his wife into oblivion against a stone wall.

The bathroom is a sanctuary, a blend of stone and modern luxury. I don’t have any clothes left to take off, and I wince at the tenderness between my legs, the ache in my hips. But underneath the discomfort is satisfaction. My body is sated in a way I didn’t know was possible.

I hate that he could do that to me and that I want it. Even more, I hate that as I stand in his shower with his cum still inside me, I’m already anticipating the next time.