AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He felt his cock bloat at that. He took a breath in. “For me,” he repeated in his barely there whisper.
He liked to play with his food. She was very close, he slowed slightly, eased off. She growled with frustration. He decided when it was time. He felt emboldened. He put his hand over her mouth, muzzling her. The roughness needing an exit from him. He’d been as gentle as he could be and he’d liked it, but now... She gasped against his palm. Hot breath. Then she opened her mouth and half bit, half sucked his palm. Fuck. He loved that. He needed that. She willingly gave it and he lapped it up.
He wanted to change things up. He spun her around again, so her back was to his chest, not facing her anymore. He pushed her forward so she almost head butted the wall. She caught it with her hands, and immediately bent over and arched for him, exposing her buttocks, her pussy for him. Yes, she had the same thoughts, too. He didn’t delay. He grabbed her hip with one hand, grabbed his cock with the other and thrust in.
One massive thrust.
Sophie screamed. Loudly.
Fuck, he’d taken his hand off her mouth. He grit his teeth and teetered on that edge with her.
Then, with Herculean effort, he pulled out entirely.
She growled with frustration, but he had his hand back over her mouth, and with it, he swung her around, to the bed.
She caught the edge of the bed with her flailing arms. He pushed forward, she had nowhere else to go but face first, straight onto the bed, collapsing on her front.
But before she had even sank down into the sheets, he dragged her back and immediately plunged himself back into her.
“Knees. Hands. Pussy up.” He heard his voice like it was someone else’s. A grating rasp. Like a man who had smoked sixty a day for the last twenty years. Like it hadn’t spoken for the last twenty years.
She gasped, riled up now from the physicality and the edging.
“Bossy,” she spat back at him. But he heard the smile in the mellow way she responded. She liked it. She got her hands on the mattress, she spread her knees and arched her ass up to him, so that her pussy was at a better angle for his cock to stay inside her. His cock piercing mocked him by halting his next plunge into her for a fraction of a second, as she stretched to accommodate it. Then, it popped in and her pussy swallowed him perfectly.
For a second, he wished they weren’t in the dark, so he could see. He wanted to see her, the wet pinkness opening up for him, welcoming him. But if he saw her it meant she would see him, and he didn’t want that.
He pushed her head down onto the mattress and ground into her, dipping his hips as he plunged in, scooping up as he pulled out. He knew he was pulling her toward that edge, faster than she was used to, probably. Not walking, but running, taking giant leaps. He liked that he was probably too much for her, but that she was clinging anyway. Letting him call the shots. Letting him take out his rage, his frustration, on her. Yes, she was getting it all from him tonight. She wouldn’t know what hit her. In the morning, he didn’t want her to be able to walk without feeling him all over her. Delicious soreness and bruising. He wanted her to moan even when he wasn’t here, still able to feel him, raw and tender from the maelstrom that he was. Ripping her away from the light and into his darkness.
He slowed his pace again. He wanted to go all night. He wanted this madness to continue, he didn’t want it to be over too soon. Could she keep going? He slowed his cock, and took a deep breath, bringing his hand to where they met. Fuck, it was wet, she was dripping wet, his cock was drenched. Her stretched lips were drenched. Fucking perfect. He felt as his cock pushed in, he brought his hand to her clit again, resting it there, almost mocking her with light pressure but no movement.
Fuck, she was perfect. Not many women would put up with his shit. She was, and reveling in it. He couldn’t pound her hard enough. He couldn’t bite her deep enough. He couldn’t hurt her. Fuck, even a knife at her throat hadn’t scared her off. She met him, thrust for thrust, she fed him, when he hadn’t realized he was starving. She quenched his very soul.
“Love my cock,” he growled a command to her.
“I fucking love your cock, Phantom, Eli, fuck,” she cried.
Her swearing was the crack in the dam. Her dirty little mouth, now that she was close, now that she was getting needy, greedy, out of her mind with want. It pushed him past the point of no return. It spurred him on. He found himself racing to his limits faster than he’d realized. He’d been close, but holding back and edging so far, now he felt the intensity plowing through him.
And through it all, he held her close. Very close, scared she’d disappear, melt away. He knew he couldn’t have that, because he would melt away, too.
He spoke. He must speak when he is close to coming. Only when he is close to that edge. And ironically, she found it harder to talk, harder to think cohesive thoughts the closer she came to the edge. And he loved the edge, he walked it like a professional tightrope walker. She’d never been with someone who was so aware of their limits, who flirted with them, then pulled it back. Not just once, but again and again. He stepped closer and closer, and took pleasure from each inch gained. He dangled his legs over the chasmic drop. He leaned over and mocked it, a fearless daredevil. Watchers would be gasping. She was left with no air in her lungs, with her heart in her throat. But no, he pulled himself back from the edge, turned around, and took a bow. And he did it with her, too, a frightened member of the crowd, plucked to be the circus performer’s guinea pig. Phantom’s play thing, while the audience looked on and gasped. He pushed her to the edge, roughly, then gently, he teased her closer and closer, and she followed him, like a charmed kitten, until she suddenly saw the edge opening up in front of her and she screamed and thought she was going to fall-
But no. He caught her, pulled her back, agonizingly gently. So she was half relieved and yet, half disappointed. But he wanted to play some more. And as she lost her capacity for lucid thoughts, he gained his voice. It was like they shared the power of speech, only one could use it at a time. They wrestled with it, both swearing and grunting one syllable words for a bit, but then he took it off her. And she dropped the crown and silently groveled on the floor at his feet. He stood tall and used her power to speak.
“Can’t. Get. Enough. Of. Your. Cunt,” he rasped. One of his hands reached forward and went to her face, he slipped his thumb into her mouth, deeply. She immediately sucked it and groaned. He was big, his fingers, his cock. She was full. Full of him. She heard him breathe out raggedly behind her, like he had something caught in his throat. It sounded like he had his head tipped back.
“My Sugar Plum slut. Fucking beautiful fuck fairy. Take me.” He was getting positively chatty. With his hoarse, broken voice. Rough as sandpaper, rusty from lack of use. Yet strong, determined, imposing. She felt her pulse soaring at his dirty words, sounding like they were being ripped from his throat. Ripped from his soul. She sucked harder, and clenched her pussy around him, wanting to show him she liked it, liked hearing him. Wanted to hear more. His thumb pressed onto her tongue, gagging her.
She couldn’t talk now. She felt his power. She felt how much he needed this, how much he wanted this. How he was high off his own words. She let go, let him take control. She continued trying to scream around his thumb, she continued impaling herself onto him. But she couldn’t say the words in her mind. They were melting away, she let go of the power of speech, her vowels slipping out of her grasp. Consonants dripped and trickled away. Her rational mind no longer had a voice, no sound, no way to communicate. Like a newborn child, she was reduced to animalistic urges, feelings, thoughts. Gestures. Her senses; sight, sound, touch, smell, taste, were only for him. She heard him, words spoken with a harsh, gravelly voice. She felt him, delicious rough stubble, sharp teeth. Soft, warm lips and strong, bossy hands. The heat from his body, like a radiator, behind her back, on the backs of her thighs. They would be slick with sweat if they were facing each other, or if his body was closer. She smelled him. Sweet and warm and woody. She tasted him, salty sweat, tangy cum, birch forest skin.
“You think ‘cause I’m silent out there in the light of day, I’d be silent here in the darkness of night, too?” his voice cracked and dipped in and out. She heard every syllable, though. “Fucking wrong. I’m not silent for you. When you take me to the fucking edge, Sophie, I’m not silent. You can be silent, though. Gagged or screaming for me, Sophie Sugar Plum, those are your only options.”
“Umpf,” she slurred around his thumb, trying to warn him, trying to say… but no, it was too late. She came. Hard. Pulsing and shaking and gushing.
“Good girl. Good little Sugar Plum. Take my cock,” he muttered, his voice harsh already from just the words he’d said tonight. He rocked her now, over his cock, a teasing, satisfying motion that kept her shaking, prolonging the ecstasy. Kept going as the after-shocks subsided, and her senses came back online, one by one. Awareness returned to her. No words yet for her, though.
She wanted to give back. With what she had. Gesture, touch. She reached her hand in between her legs, but skimmed past herself and aimed for his balls. She found them, jiggling with each of his rocks, clapping against her wet flesh. She felt their weight, their warmth. She grabbed, cupping hard. His pace stuttered. She let her nails rake over them, keeping her hand still as he moved. She heard his breath coming out from between his lips, ragged and more ragged with each passing moment. She got rougher with them, tugging slightly, pushing up, pulling down.
