Page 9 of A Fine Line

I nod and almost cackle behind the lace meant to muffle my words, but then he’s pushing my face into the sofa, keeping his hand on the back of my head to keep me there as he pulls back and slams his dick back into my cunt as hard as he can. The slap of his pelvis against my ass stings, the drive of his dick exacting the painful pleasure I didn’t know I was seeking.

He doesn’t relent, his thrusts forceful and commanding. He leans over me, rubs his face against my cheek, and says, “That’s fucking right. Is that how you want it? You want my cock to break you in half?”

I nod my head and sob my confirmation, my words muted behind the lace in my mouth. He pulls back, pulling out until only the tip of his cock is inside me, then he drives back into me so hard the sofa moves beneath us, and the end table scrapes across the floor.

He does it again, shoving into me so hard the sofa jerks against the end table, sending the lamp on top of it crashing to the floor. He doesn’t even pause—doesn’t slow down—the rhythmic rut of his dick in my pussy and the grit of his voice in my ear, causing the pleasure inside of me to spiral with the chaotic beat of my heart.

“If you want to be my little fucking whore, all you have to do is say so. Put your hand between your legs. Rub your clit while I fuck you. Make yourself come all over my dick.”

I do what he says, lifting myself beneath the weight of his body on top of me and wedging my hand between my legs. The position doesn’t allow for much movement, but the pinching pressure of my fingers against my clit is enough that I immediately feel the heat building more rapidly. I grind against my hand, each jarring thrust of his dick inside me a rhythmic pulse that has me moaning and cursing behind the lace in my mouth. I sob, grunting with pleasure and effort, my sounds broken and garbled, but I don’t give a fuck.

He eases his upper body off of me, bracing one hand beside my head and lifting himself up. He reaches his other hand out, pulling the saliva-soaked fabric from my mouth, and then his hand grips my jaw, and he presses his face against mine. He bares his teeth at me, nipping the curve of my cheek, spittle splattering on my hot skin as he bites out through his gritted teeth, “Let me hear you fucking beg for it. Fucking beg for my cum, you dirty fucking whore.”

Pleasure explodes inside me, and I don’t bother trying to suppress my broken exclamation of pleasure that reverberates through the room. “Please. Don’t stop. Fuck your dirty little whore. Fuck me. Don’t stop. Please. Please.”

He hammers into me relentlessly, his hand still gripping my face, and then he moves his other hand so he’s also grabbing my shoulder, holding me steady as his cock punishes my quivering cunt with pleasure.

And I fucking come.

I scream into his hand, and he removes it, replacing it with his mouth, and he drinks it all in, sucking every pained moan, grunt, and sob out of my very soul. He pushes himself into me, the slap of his body stinging as he shoves in as deeply as he can get, and then his incoherent curse of release mixes with my own, his cock throbbing inside me.

He leans over me, his forehead now pressing against my temple, his lips against my cheek, and his sweat drips into my hair. Our panting breaths are the only sound in the otherwise silent room, and he mutters breathlessly, “Holy fuck. What the fuck?”

I shake my head in silent answer, unable to form words. I squirm as I try to remove my hand from beneath the weight of our bodies, and he eases back enough so I can bring my hand up to lay limply beside me. I’m sure my forearm will be bruised, along with several other places where I was pressed into the arm of the sofa, but I don’t fucking care.

I don’t care about anything right now.

After a few minutes, he shifts behind me, and after a few more moments, the heated weight of his body lifts off me completely. I groan, getting my hands beneath me to push my upper body up when I feel his hands on my waist to assist me. I shake him off. “I don’t need your fucking help.”

He releases me immediately, and I turn and glare at him over my shoulder as he says, “Right back to fucking bitch, I see. I guess I’ll have to try harder to fuck that outta you next time.”

I push myself up, wriggling around until I am leaning against the arm of the sofa, facing him. “Who says there’s gonna be a next time?”

“Your pussy did when it was spasming around my cock like it didn’t want to let go.”

My lips twist, and I narrow my eyes at him as I stand, pulling my pants up around my hips enough so I can walk. I shove my way around him, muttering, “In your fucking dreams, asshole.”

His dirty chuckle vibrates around me as I walk toward the bathroom, feeling him on my heels. I stop in the doorway, turning to face him as I reach for the doorknob with one hand. Then I show him my middle finger and slam the door in his face.

Chapter Four

Tony

Whatthefuckjusthappened?

Not even in any of my wildest daydreams of how my first day with Carolina Tennent would go didthishappen.

I can’t decide if I’m slipping or if I should add this to my arsenal of tactics to use in the future. No. The majority of the people I have to teach a lesson to are not at all fuckable, so that won’t work.

When she flipped me the bird and slammed the door in my face, she was doing me a favor. I walk into the kitchen, remove the condom, and toss it into the rubbish bin. I grab a couple of paper towels to clean myself off with, then shove my half-hard cock back into my jeans, carefully fastening and zipping them.

I move to wash my hands, but I pause, bringing my fingers to my nose and sniffing, the smell of her pussy clinging to them. I groan, my dick hardening fully in my pants again, making me curse.

This isn’t fucking good.

What the actual fuck?

I’m not the kind of man who allows his urges to direct his choices, but here I am, reveling in the lingering perfume of pussy on my fingers.

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