Page 3 of His Hold

She rolls her hips against his cock, sliding her head back until her breasts are reaching up to his chin, begging for his mouth. She rolls her hips again and again, moaning every time it hits, each sound a rough plea that sinks into me, and I pinch my dress up higher, slipping a finger between my thighs.

Fuck. I’m wet. Dripping.

I drag the finger out, wet and slick with my juices, glistening under the dim light, and put the finger in my mouth, sucking it clean with a shudder. I let the moan escape from my lips, low and obscene, before pushing the finger back, fucking myself slowly while I watch them spiral.

God. I’m sex-starved, yes, but this isn’t just hunger; it’s betrayal. My body is a traitor, drawn to the very monster I’ve sworn to destroy. It’s irrational, disgusting even, but I can't seem to stop the heat from pooling low in my belly or the ache that pulses deep inside me.

I hate myself for it. How can desire bleed into hate like this? How can my body rebel against reason? But emotions don’t care about reason, and mine are twisted, corrupted by loss, violence, and obsession. I want him dead as much as I want his touch, and it scares me more than anything.

I watch his face contort to that of pain and pleasure. “Yeah…ooh, fuck, tease me like that. Ride this cock like your life depends on it.”

“Oh my God,” she moans, bouncing against his cock, her ass jiggling with every frantic thrust. “Your cock is so big and deep inside me. It’s splitting me open.”

“Take it,” he demands with breaths coming in short, unkempt bursts and eyes murky with control.

“Mmmm.” He slaps her ass cheeks once, twice, on the same spot, the crack of flesh-on-flesh echoing, not minding her cry of, first, pain, and then pleasure.

I’ve never been a fan of such deep, aggressive sex. No, really, when I watch porn, I artfully scroll past scenes with such because they have never once appealed to me. But beyond this door, caught in this visceral longing, I imagine that I’m the one being fucked by Nikolai Ramensky, his hands bruising me, his cock stretching me, and I go crazy, my mind splintering into a haze of hate and want.

I want to be fucked by him. Ravaged. Owned.

No. No. I hate him.

I watch him slip his hands between the woman’s legs to finger her pussy. She screams, but doesn’t stop searching and reaching out for the high his cock and fingers promise.

“I want to come…oh…oh…I want to come for you, please, let me fucking come,” she begs, her words slurring into a desperate chant.

“Yeah, go on…come on my cock, soak me with that tight little cunt.” He holds her hips firmly, gripping them until she’s pink right where his hands are, her skin blooming under his touch, and drags her up and down his length, forcing her to take every cruel inch until her cries become louder, rougher, animalistic.

She comes, shaking so much, on his throbbing cock, her lips slightly parted and her eyes rolled back. A shuddering, wrecked thing unraveling for him.

“Get on your knees!”

She rolls off him, gets down on all fours while he stands, hovering above her, his cock still hard and wet. “Take it all in your mouth and suck me off, baby. Fucking take it in your mouth, choke on it.”

She obeys him, her lips parting wide as he spreads his hand around the back of her head and thrusts. He groans deeply as she takes him in the hollow of her throat, gagging wetly around his girth. His moans are piercing when he starts to come.

He spills his entire load in her mouth, and tells her to swallow it all down, “Every fucking drop, do you hear me?”—which she does without question, gulping it down like it’s her lifeline, her eyes locked on his in abject worship.

She stands then, and I notice she still has her dress on, crumpled and clinging to her sweat-slicked body. She arranges it back on her gorgeous frame before running her fingers up his hands.

“Out now,” he pants. She flinches, startled. “Did you hear what I said? Get the fuck out right now.”

It’s so sudden, I don’t know what I was expecting, but she quickly dashes towards the door. I pull back into the shadows because there’s nowhere to run to without looking like I’d been spying on them. Best bet, I reckon, is to pretend that this is all normal and I am just decidedly…lost.

She scampers out of the room, and the door swings shut. Which is my cue to leave, but I don’t make it too far before I feel coarse, hard hands grip my wrist and tug me back. I screech, throwing my hands in every direction, praying that at least one swing hits his face. He pushes me back, pinning me against the wall, before pointing a finger in my direction, his breath hot against my skin.

“You’d better have a good explanation for spying on me.” I feel the hair at the back of my head stand on end.

He’s better than I’d hoped. Not in his personality, God, no, that’s a festering pit, but in his appearance, a brutal kind of perfection. His hair is jet black but softer, tied up in a man bun that I want to set free just to see it spill.

His eyes are a wonderful shade between blue and green, giving him some added edge that cuts right through me. His eyelashes are the longest I’ve ever seen on a man. They frame those perfect eyes, and I get roped into their hardness, drowning in the cold fire there. His jaw is sharp with a pointed nose, a face carved for sin and violence.

Then I look down. His shoulders are strong and flow endlessly, stretched into the grey fabric of his shirt. To be fair, this man is the epitome of handsomeness, and I’ve met my fair share of handsome men, but this man right here takes it all without even trying.

And then it hits me: why do all the gorgeous men turn out to be killers? Why does he have to be the one I crave and loathe in equal measure?

“Last I checked, this place was open to the public.” I keep my voice stable. “I don’t even know who you are. Hate to break it to you, but the world doesn’t revolve around you.”

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