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Fucking doubtful. All I can smell is her.
I glance at her, taking in her seemingly unintentional but nevertheless provocative attire. Her curves are barely concealed under the tight fabric, and as much as I want to push her away, I can’t deny the attraction I feel towards her.
Reluctantly, I nod. “Fine. Just stay out of my way.”
She grins, looking far too pleased with herself. “I promise. I’ll be your shadow.”
We make our way through the rest of the upstairs, with me taking out anyone who gets in our way with a fast bullet. The adrenaline rush is overwhelming, and I can feel myself succumbing to the darkness that the facility tries to keep dormant within me. I get lost in the moment.
Kayla is surprisingly competent, keeping up with my every move and taking out anyone who tries to sneak up on us with a swift blow to the skull.
When the staff have been taken care of, it’s time to fuck shit up. I think Kayla will enjoy this bit, so I lead her down the wide sweeping staircase and along to the opulent formal dining room. At the far end of the room sits a large Welsh dresser with glass doors, displaying the finest crockery and cut crystal.
I fire a bullet through the glass and Kayla grins.
Taking the hint, she pushes past me – making contactagain –and then goes to town bringing her bat down again and again on each item on the shelves. Glass and crystal and bone china fly everywhere and a wild, almost manic laughter bursts free from her lips.
I can’t help but stare at her. I’ve always had a thing for redheads, and I don’t even care that hers is dyed. I want to run my fingers through it.
Bleeding.
I shake my head, clearing the thought, and move to help her.
By the time we come to the end, the place is a fucking mess. Juice from the smashed fruits and vegetables that were once in the decorative bowls splatter across the floor, mixing with the shards of crystal. Kayla’s eyes are shining with delight. Her cheeks are flushed, her hair even more messy than before, her chest heaving. Those perky breasts and pert nipples are taunting me and the need to kiss her again almost floors me.
The others are done and already wreaking havoc downstairs. I can tell their adrenaline is riding high in their shouts and whoops. They’re ready for anything.
All I want to do is to bend Kayla over the broken mess of debris scattered all over the table, and fuck her into oblivion.
Fuck.
My control snaps when she waltzes past me, breasts brushing my arm in that deliberately casual way of hers, and before I know what I’m doing, my tongue is thrusting its way past her lips, demanding entry. My fingers tangle in her hair, tugging until she whimpers and the sound goes straight to my dick.
I jerk away from her seductive mouth, but keep my hold on her hair, needing to control the distance between us. Her leaf green eyes shine in triumph, and I can’t bear it.
I spin her away from me, not caring that her hair twists painfully with the motion, and I slam my free hand onto her back, right between her shoulder blades. Her torso is crushed onto the decimated dining table, which resembles a bed of broken glass.
Roughly, I yank her leggings down to her ankles and plunge two fingers straight into her cunt. She’s dripping, turned on by the chaos she’s caused both in the dining room and within me. I finger fuck her relentlessly, adding a third to stretch her limits, and pushing down on her scalp so that her cheek bites into the broken shards of glitter on the tablecloth. Red starts to taint the once pristine white cloth, blooming out from under her cheek, and the sight of her bleeding for me is my undoing.
My breathing is ragged, tearing painfully from my chest, but I can’t hear it over the blood pounding in my ears and the symphony of sounds coming from Kayla’s cunt. I’m loath to remove my fingers but I can’t release my cock without something giving; and it won’t be my grip on her hair.
I don’t trust this woman. Can’t risk giving her an inch. Won’t give her freedom to touch or taunt me.
The noise her cunt makes when I drag my fingers free is positively sinful, but it’s her whimper of protest that makes my dick weep with precum.
Before I see to myself though, I bring my fingers up to my face and inhale her scent. She’s so fucking sweet it hurts. I devour her essence off my fingers like a man starved – which I guess I am. Fast approaching seven years in this hell hole with barely any release in sight. The quick fucks I’ve managed to steal have nothing on the taste of this girl though.
Once every trace of her is removed from my fingers and imprinted on my soul, I pull down my pants just enough to free my aching cock. Roughly I palm the length of it, squeezing to the point of pain, and watching as precum oozes from the slit. What I wouldn’t give to make her choke on my cock.
But I won’t give her the satisfaction of gaining that sort of power over me.
I work my cock ruthlessly, squeezing, pulling, massaging until I can no longer resist her. I imagine her moans and the dirty things she would beg me to do to her. I imagine her tits in my hands, the pressure building as my balls draw up tight. I imagine her belly swollen with my baby – and snapping out of my fantasy, I realise that I’m completely fucking fucked. She’s it. She’s the one. I’ve always been fascinated with the idea of knocking someone up, but I’ve never found the right person. Until now, it’s always just been a fantasy. Whenever the time came to put my dick in some woman, I always reached for a condom and covered up. I didn’t want to impregnatethembut I doher.
I palm the pain away and refocus. I’m not going to come until she’s out of my system. I’ll be damned if I’ll be tempted to come back to her for more.
With that goal clearly in mind, I line myself up at her entrance and slide inside to the hilt. I groan as I watch her jerk forwards with the force of my thrust, breasts crushed against the china-strewn tabletop.
Nothing beats fucking a woman from behind.
