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He sinks his teeth into the flesh of my neck until it stings. “You don’t sound like you want me to stop.” Ari rams into me, keeping my body trapped between him and the wall.
The solid weight of him against my back reminds me that I have nowhere to go, not that I’d want to be anywhere else.
It’s just all consuming. He’s all around me. Every part of him his touching me, his chest, his abs, his thighs against mine, and his hands clasped with mine. He is holding onto me so tight, any the blood on him is rubbing off onto my palms. He fills me too in an aching, thrilling, kind of way. Not just inside me, not just my body but he has taken over my mind. He has infiltrated my soul with his thoughtful ways and charm. His frustrations are a balm against anything I’ve ever questioned with him.
Because I know his frustrations only lie in others threatening me.
“Ari—”
“Be quiet, Tesoro. The only things I want to hear coming from your mouth are sounds of pleasure.” He slams forward, the edge of my jaw hitting against the wall as he unapologetically fucks me.
It’s nothing but silence as he fucks me, nothing but low growls falling from him like a maddened beast. Whimpers, broken and high-pitched, hurt my throat. His hand doesn’t move from my belly, the pressure becoming worse, more intense, and my thighs begin to tremble. My body becomes lightweight, a warm filling sensation fills my stomach, and the harder he thrusts his anger into me, the hotter I become.
“That’s it, Tesoro. Fuck, you take my cock so well. Look at you. Look at your pretty pussy stretched out for me.”
I’m unable to keep myself upright any longer and sag against the wall, my shoulders digging into the unforgiving tile.
The constant moans leave me sounding like I’m drugged. I reach down to play with my clit, to give myself that extra push so I can fall over the edge but the moment my hand is free of his, he growls, snagging my wrist in his hand.
“Ari, please. I burn. I need to come. Please,” I beg him, his torment on my body has gone on long enough.
“I’ll make you come.” He slams my hand on the wall again. “But if you move one more time, I won’t let you.”
He hammers into me, the long drag of his cock has me keening with every stroke, finding depths I didn’t know existed.
“My come coating my cock while I fuck it into you is the best view I’ve ever seen.” Our skin slaps together and his groan fills my ear. “Fucking hell, you feel so good. You’re mine. Our baby will be mine. I’ll protect the both of you, always.”
The red transferred to the wall from his hands paints the picture he’s trying to get me to see.
The primal way he’s fucking me, he way he is lost in his revenge pushes me over the edge. It’s the strongest orgasm I’ve ever experienced. My knees buckle, my body gives out as a rush of heat escapes me.
He pulls free. “Oh, fuck yes. Come all over my cock. Look at the mess you’re making.”
My eyes roll to the back of my head, feeling every wet pulse escape me when suddenly he fills me again and groans, prolonging my orgasm just as he reaches his own. We stand there for a minute. Our bodies shake and our breaths are ragged and unsteady. I can’t move. I can’t think.
“I can’t wait for you to have my baby,” he whispers so low, I don’t think he meant to say the words out loud. He kisses my shoulder and painstakingly pulls free of me.
Our mess drips down my thigh while I stand there, immobilized.
“Let’s shower,” he says, dragging me to the stall. “Let me get in first. I need to wash my hands. I want to finally be able to touch you.”
“You just touched me. You just touched me all over. I felt it.” I know what he means, but he needs to know he can touch me in other ways besides using his hands.
He smirks, stepping in and washing away the evidence of what took place downstairs. The water turns a light shade of pink as it washes down the drain. He scrubs himself with body wash three times, then washes his face. Once the water runs clear, he offers his clean hand to me.
“Let me wash you, Tesoro. Let me clean you of the anger I’ve brought home to you.”
“I’m okay,” I say, stepping into the stall, then remembering when I watched him touch himself for the first time.
“What is it?” he asks, bending my head back to wet my hair. “You’re blushing.”
“It’s the hot water,” I say, his damn hand pressing against my hip to hold me steady. I don’t know if it’s my body being sensitive from the orgasm or if it’s his touch, but every nerve ending feels raw and open to him. Every breath, every glide of his fingertips against my skin, I have to remember how to catch my breath.
“Don’t lie to me,” he mumbles. “You aren’t a good liar so if I were you, I would stop trying.” He tugs on my hair to force the point.
“Fine,” I act bothered. “I was thinking about the first time you came into the room that I thought was mine and how I watched you…”
He lifts my head, his wide palm cradling the back of it, and somehow hunger still lingers within him. How does he never get enough of me?
