Page 17 of Hunted for Halloween

“Even your pussy knows who it belongs to. It's just as greedy as you are, only it has no problem admitting that it wants my cock.” His tense, muscular body behind me tightens with a greediness that doesn't give me the time to adjust to his huge, cunt-tearing size.

I moan, hard, clenching around him greedily. Fuck, he's so big. It's too much, even as it makes me drool, it makes my eyes water, tears trailing down my cheeks as he forces me to adjust to his size.

His cock fills me up unapologetically, tearing through me and stretching me to my full capacity. I'm no virgin, but he fuckin makes me feel like one. I can feel the vision before me fading into oblivion from the sensations of him forcing me to take him alone.

“Christian…oh, my God…I can't take it.” I choke on a sob, the maddening pleasure wrapping around my throat like an invisible noose, snuffing out my ability to draw breath. “It's too much, fuck, it's too much…”

His palm locks on my nape, his possessive touch burning into me like a permanent imprint. “Yes, you can, Pumpkin. You are going to be a good girl and take all of me. It's all yours, open up, breathe for me and take it all in.”

His veiny fingers find their way to my lips, parting them while he grabs onto one of my boobs with his other hand, torturing my sensitive nipple.

“Oh, God…”

“Not him. Me. He can’t help you anymore. I'm the one fucking your brains out.” He growls, pulling out of me and powering into again me harshly.

His strokes turn me delirious and I'm left to claw at the glass, struggling to breathe as he stimulates me from all angles. My palms flatten against it for balance, my legs quivering terribly as my nails scratch at it like I desperately need it as an anchor to breathe. His pace turns furious and outright animalistic as he pounds me into the glass wall without remorse.

Screams and sobs tear from my throat as he fucks me like he loathes me and he's obsessed with me at the same time. I have never been taken so unapologetically and ruthlessly before and it drives me to the brink of insanity.

Every stroke slams my breath out of my lungs and makes me sob. It smears my makeup, my mascara and eyeliner trickling down my face, mixing with my tears and teasing my lips with the taste. Not just the taste of my makeup, but also the taste of him.

“It's too good,” I whimper.

“Oh, yeah?” he grunts, fisting my hair. “You love being fucked against the glass like this, don't you? Splayed against the fucking surface with your boobs spilling out, your dress bunched to your waist, me pounding into you from behind, knowing that anyone can walk in on us. Don't you, my Pumpkin?”

The slapping of our skin against each other, coupled with my filthy moans and his deep-throated groans echo through his spacious office like some twisted lullaby. It's twisted, deranged and maddening, but I fucking love it.

“Yes, daddy. Oh, my God, yes!”

Christian fucks me like he wants to hurt me and own me at the same time. He sucks on my neck and pinches my nipples like he's leaving marks to remind me of who I belong to. He thrusts in and out of me in punishing strokes, like he wants to embed himself under my skin, so he's the only thing I can feel, smell, and taste.

Oh, and he is.

He consumes me, like my damnation, an addiction that I can't fucking get enough of. My senses are clouded by his scent—cedar wood, musk and something that is animalistically him.

“More, daddy. More…” I trail off in a shaky moan.

“You dirty girl,” he says huskily, cupping my breast and digging his nails into my hip to keep me in place. “Did you really think you could run from me? You should have run that night, but you didn't. Here you are, taking daddy's cock like my dirty fucking slut.”

He grabs onto my neck from behind, choking me as he fucks me.

His strokes grow harsher. It's like he's punishing me for everything that has ensued over the last couple of weeks; for every hurtful thing I have said to him, for every time I looked him in the eye, and lied about what I felt for him, about our connection, for every time I have run from him.

His thrusts blur the line between pain and pleasure, lust and obsession, sanity and madness, everything dark and sadistic.

“Oh…I'm?—”

“You don't get to come yet.” He bites my earlobe, dragging out a moan from me as he teases my nipples. “I want you to feel this, to feel our maddening connection. And every time you tell yourself that you don't want me, you'll remember this moment and think about how I'm owning you.”

It's hard to contain the clenching of my abdomen and the orgasm that rocks through me without permission.

Christian doesn't stop. Instead, my unexpected orgasm seems to enrage him as he fucks me through my release until his back tenses and he spills his load into me, grunting as he tugs hard at my nipple.

I stare at the city below us with teary eyes, biting down on my lip as he strokes the contours of my breasts. He's glued to me from behind, not letting me go for a second, even as our heavy breathing mixes in the room.

Why should something so wrong feel so right? Why does every cell in my body come alive only when he's holding me?

“Christian…”

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