Page 51 of Thrown to the Wolves

She groans into my cunt, the sound vibrating through my core. I spread my legs wider, a silent invitation, and she doesn’t disappoint, nuzzling her nose right into my slit before taking my clit in her lips and sucking gently while her hips rock back and forth. I reach down blindly with my free hand to grab a handful of those incredible tits that I fucking dream about, pinching hard and rolling, the same way she did to me in the shower that very first time. It’s like there’s a direct connection to her cunt, because I’m rewarded with a fresh flood of her juices, and her groans deepen, get more frantic.

I roll my hips up to meet her face, grinding my clit against her nose, her mouth, her tongue. I’m so goddamn wet myself, dripping all over the bed as I suck at her cunt, every sensation caught up in her—touch, sound, smell, taste, and sight, oh God, the sight of her when I shove her up a little to get a good look, her pussy puffy and red and soaked.

She pulls her mouth away from me to hiss, “Don’t stop,” so I oblige, flicking my fingers fast over her clit and getting my tongue deep into her drenched channel. She cries out, rocking back onto my face again, and I make sure to tug hard and sharp at her nipple again—and she practically levitates off the bed.

Oh yeah, this is it. This is what I’ve been missing out on all those years with other women. This is what happens when you mix violence and sex and a little bit of pain together and serve it all up on a creaky, saggy motel mattress.

She responds like no one else I’ve ever been with. Her body was fucking made for mine.

She shoves two fingers into my pussy as if in agreement with my thoughts, fucking them in and out as her tongue writhes around my clit. And I’m drowning in her, happily drowning, swallowing her down as she drenches me in her release. I can hear her crying out, getting louder and louder, like the orgasm is still building, still peaking?—

And then she slumps forward again, devouring me just as I’ve devoured her, pushing me almost painfully into an orgasm so hard I think I might break the bed. It thuds through me in time with my heartbeat, fierce and hot, as if every cell in my body has been jolted awake. I can feel my pussy clenching, my back arching, my muscles locking, and I’m screaming into her wet folds, her warm thighs clamping down around my face as she comes again, frantically grinding into me.

She collapses off me and onto the rumpled sheets, both of us gasping for air, a tangle of arms and legs, sweat pouring off us. “Well?” I pant out.

“Well, what?”

I grin down at her, her head resting on my thigh. “Was I good girl or not?”

She smirks back until she can’t help giggling, and runs a hand up my perspiration-shining belly. “You are a very, very bad girl,” she tells me with a mock frown.

I laugh. “You too, Scar. You too. If we were back at Elysium, I’d pull out a few props to help punish you.”

“Oh, yeah?” She props her head up in her hand, looking interested. “You got a kinky sex dungeon out there or something?”

“I argued for one in the rebuild, but Hadria nixed it,” I sigh, and then laugh with her. I reach down for her hand, twine my fingers in hers. “Wish you could see it, though. Elysium.”

“You sound like you miss it.”

“God, I do. So much. Can’t wait till it’s done. Maybe when it is—” I break off, horrified at what was about to come out of my mouth.

Scarlett really is a weakness for me. There’s no other explanation for how stupid-dumb I get around her. I was about to tell her I’d fuck her brains out in my new room, when the reality is…

The reality is, she’ll never see Elysium. Or if she does, it’ll only be a place of terror and pain for her.

“What?” she prompts, and I can see she’s still caught up in the sweet post-org bliss where everything is sunshine and roses.

But I can’t let myself forget where this ends. “You thirsty?” I ask, ignoring her question.

She’s quiet for a minute, and I see her smile die down as she, too, remembers reality. “Yeah,” she says. “You stay here. I’ll get some water.”

A heavy curtain of silence falls over us as she rolls off the bed and goes into the bathroom, punctuated only by the creak and groan of the ancient motel plumbing as she turns on the tap in there.

She grabs her water bottle on the way back, hands it to me so I can slake my thirst.

As if water could do that. Not when I have her on tap.

But this has to stop. These little interludes might mean nothing to her, but I’m starting to find I want them.

Need them.

And that is very fucking far from okay.

CHAPTER 26

Scarlett

I wait a little while, and then, when I’m sure Lyssa is asleep, I slide out from her octopus-like limbs and have a quick shower in the awful motel bathroom, washing away the evidence of what we’ve been doing for the past hour.

---