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Rather than pushing me away, Valentina instead reaches around my back and pulls me into the kiss deeper. Her breasts push up against my chest as our breathing merges as one. My pants-covered cock presses up against her panty-clad pussy, and I dry hump her like a man dying of thirst in the Sahara.
I need her. I fucking need her. I need to be buried so deep inside of her that we both forget who we are and what we do. Enemies in a constant war. But right now that hate is turning to heat. Rage turning to lust. Fury morphing to animalistic passion.
“You’re an asshole,” she murmurs against the kiss.
“Not denying that fact.” I thrust my tongue into her mouth and dance it around, tasting, claiming.
“I hate you,” she says as she nips at my lip.
“Good,” I say as I pull up so that I can unfasten my pants. “Because we’re going to hate fuck until you scream out my name.”
In a blur of fabric being shed, we both lie on the bed completely naked. Ready… A match about to ignite the fucking flame.
I’m not going to caress. I’m not going to whisper loving terms of endearment. There won’t be any warmup because this vixen beneath me is as hot as one can get. I only take a brief moment to tear the condom wrapper open with my teeth as she watches my every move. Then, not waiting another second, I thrust my cock deep inside her with enough force that I spread her tight little pussy to a maximum which has her mewling out and arching her back in a mixture of pain and pleasure.
Balls deep, I pause briefly so I can take in the sensation of having her walls constrict around me. But not being able to hold back, I begin driving in and out at a rapid pace. In and out, listening as her moans grow with each push and pull.
“You’re so fucking tight,” I groan as I feel my balls tighten and my orgasm near.
“You’re so fucking big,” she counters.
“Does my cock hurt you, baby?” I ask as I pound hard inside of her, my intention doing just that.
“Yes,” she breathes out. “But hurt me more. Hurt me deep and hard.”
“I’m spreading this tight little pussy of yours until you take all of me.”
“Yes, yes…” Valentina digs her nails into my back and scrapes them down, no doubt drawing blood as she does.
The pain on my back mixes with the intense pleasure of my cock, and the two sensations nearly have me come undone.
“Come for me,” I demand, knowing I don’t have much longer to go. Her pussy is milking my cock and commanding my completion, and I’m tempted to listen to the order.
I bring my lips to her neck and bite. I suck. I mark. I drink from her flesh as her moans grow, her body tightens, and her pussy constricts even tighter around my dick. As her body quivers beneath me, I drive deep one last time before completely letting go.
“Atlas…” Her voice strokes the final waves of ecstasy out of me.
“Fuck,” I roar as I thrust over and over, completely emptying inside of her. “Fuck…”
Chapter Nine
VALENTINA
Every last cell in my body is buzzing with the remnants of the electricity Atlas and I just generated. I’ve always assumed I’d been romanticizing my memories of how explosive our one-night stand in Boston had been all those years ago, but holy shit, what this man just did to my body should be illegal. His cock isn’t even fully out of my body yet, and I already crave more.
Despite him crushing me, I’m grateful he’s collapsed the weight of his body on top of me if for no other reason than it keeps me from having to look into his eyes. I’m not sure I’m strong enough right now to handle watching him gloat about how easily he’d mastered my body.
As my brain reboots from the explosion, I try to grasp onto a scrap of anger that Atlas had forced himself on me, but the thought falls away. As big and strong as he is, I know I could have stopped him if I really wanted to, which leads me to an uncomfortable truth.
I hadn’t wanted him to stop. I’d wanted him inside me, and God help me, if he didn’t stop nibbling at my neck, I was going to beg him for round two.
His softening cock slipping out of my punished pussy finally douses my fire just enough to allow me the willpower to push up against his shoulders. As his body lifts off mine, I have a front row seat to the perfection that is Atlas Giannopoulos. His body is chiseled, muscular, tan—not an ounce of fat hidden underneath the masculine patch of dark hair sprayed across his chest. My fingers itch to reach out to touch him, but I won’t give him the satisfaction.
