Page 67 of Pretty When He Bleeds

“Yes,” I moan like a whore for him, my nails raking down his back. “Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop.”

He leans down, his lips brushing against my ear as he thrusts harder. “You’re not going to be able to sit for days, baby,” he growls. “Every time you move, you’re gonna remember me.”

“Fuck,” I gasp, my body trembling as he tilt his hips and hits that spot inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyes. “Right there—fuck, Damon, right there!” I gasp, my hips jerking against his. “I’m so fucking close… please—fuck, please touch me—”

“I’m not touching your cock,” he growls. “I’m gonna fuck the cum out of you, baby.”

He drags his mouth down my neck, biting hard enough to bruise, and it makes my whole body tense. “You think three days without me’s gonna be easy?” he snarls against my throat. “You think you’re gonna walk around that locker room, sit on that bus, and not fucking ache for me?”

I whimper, useless beneath him, the pressure building, pressure I need to break. “Damon—”

His hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back so I’m staring straight into his wild, dark eyes.

“No. You don’t say my name unless you’re screaming it.”

His thrusts get erratic and deeper, slamming into the spot that makes my vision blur. “You’re not gonna touch yourself once. Not when you’re in that hotel bed. Not in the shower. Not even if you’re so hard it hurts. You wait for me. You fucking wait.”

“I will—I swear—I—”

He cuts me off with a brutal kiss, teeth clashing, tongues fighting, and when he pulls away, his voice is a snarl. “You’ll still be dripping with me when you get there tomorrow. That’s how deep I’m gonna fuck you.”

My cock’s throbbing, untouched, trapped between our bodies, and I can’t stop the way my hips jerk up against him, chasing anything, everything.

“Please,” I beg. “Please, Damon—need it—need you to—”

“Shut the fuck up,” he hisses, his voice breaking with the force of it. “I know what you need. Iamwhat you need.”

My eyes roll back, the sound that escapes me isn’t even human anymore.

“And when you get back,” he growls, fucking me harder now, chasing his own release, “I’m gonna bend you over this bed and remind you who owns every inch of this body. You won’t be able to walk straight for a week.”

He reaches between us—finally—but not to stroke me. His hand wraps around my throat, not tight, just enough to hold me there, to make sure I know I’m his. I bite down on a groan, dizzy with it, my entire body wound so tight I’m ready to snap. Then his pace changes. Slower. Crueler. Dragging it out while his mouth hovers at my ear.

I gasp his name—too desperate not to—and he growls, his hand tightening just a little on my throat. “Whose cock is in you, baby?”

“Yours—fuck—only yours, Damon.”

“Say it louder.”

“Yours!”

He thrusts in hard and deep, cock hitting me just right, and I feel it all at once—that unbearable, devastating wave. “Come on my cock, pretty boy. Show me who owns you.”

It hits like lightning. Violent, blinding, a full-body detonation that has my back arching off the bed as I cry out his name.

Damon’s hips stutter, a low growl tearing from his throat as he buries himself deep one last time, his release filling me. He stays there for a moment, his breath ragged against my neck, and I can feel every pulse of him inside me, hot and consuming. My body trembles beneath him, oversensitive and overwhelmed, but it’s not enough—not nearly enough.

He pulls out slowly, and I bite my lip as the emptiness hits me like a sucker punch. Damon sits back on his heels, his dark eyes dropping to where I’m still spread open for him. A low curse slips from his lips, and I feel my face heat under his gaze.

I feel it the moment the warm, wet slide of his cum spills out of me. My breath catches, and I’m too fucked out to be embarrassed when I glance down and see the mess he’s made of me.

“Fuck,” he mutters, dragging his fingers over my hole. His cum drips out of me, and he watches it with an intensity that makes my stomach flip.

“You’re a fucking sight, Roman,” he murmurs, voice ragged. “Stuffed full and still twitching around nothing.”

And before I can respond, he presses two fingers inside me, pushing his release back in. My breath catches, my head tipping back as my body clenches around him. He pushes in deeper, curls them just enough to make me shake. I whimper—actually whimper—and he groans, like I’ve just confirmed something for him.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he hisses. “You like being bred, don’t you, painslut?”

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