Page 27 of Overdose
I moan, sharp and shameless. He chuckles, the sound filthy against my skin. “What? You thought being a DJ just made me good at spinning vinyl?” His thumb rolls over my clit, slow and devastating. “Baby, I’ve got tempo in my fucking fingertips.”
He tweaks the rhythm, adjusts like he’s cueing a new track—two fingers curling deep, thumb circling, pressing, fuckingspinninglike he’s scratching a live set straight into my body. My knees threaten to buckle, everything inside me stretching toward release like it’s chasing the drop.
“Say the word,” he murmurs against my neck, tongue tracing a beat that matches his hands. “And I’ll sample these moans. Let the whole fucking rave hear exactly how I remix you.”
I shake my head, barely holding it together but there’s no protest in me.
Not when I’m the track, and he’s the one making me drop.
Then he pulls back, fingers dripping. He sucks one into his mouth, slow and filthy, never breaking eye contact.
“You taste fucking criminal,” he says roughly.
He drags his jeans down just enough. His cock springs free—thick, flushed, already leaking. My eyes widen, and my thighs tremble around his waist.
“No condom,” I manage to gasp, voice wrecked.
“I’m clean,” he growls, hand wrapping around his cock. “And I’m pulling out.”
He fists himself once. Twice. Lines up, then slams into me in one brutal thrust.
I cry out—half-shock, half ecstasy. He’s so deep I swear I see stars.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he grits through clenched teeth. “Like a fucking vice.”
My back arches off the wall. I can’t think. Can’t breathe. Can’t do anything but feel the stretch, the pressure, the unbearable perfection of being filled by him.
He pulls out halfway then drives back in. Hard. Again and again.
Each thrust is a punishment. Each grind of his hips saysyou want to play with fire? Burn.
My nails rake down his back. My teeth catch his shoulder. I bite him hard enough to bruise.
He snarls, grabs my hips, and fucks me harder. The crates shake. The walls tremble. My body’s pinned between him and the door, every inch of me stretched, used and claimed.
His hand slides up. Wraps around my throat—not choking. Just holding. Just branding.
“You gonna come for me?” he growls into my ear, voice cracked with heat and something darker. “Gonna soak my cock like a good little addict?”
“Fuck you,” I gasp, eyes rolling.
He grins—feral. “Already are.”
His thumb grinds into my clit again, ruthless, fast, and he doesn’t stop moving. Doesn’t slow down. He justdrivesinto me, every thrust sharper, meaner—like he’s got something to prove.
“Bet you don’t fall apart for his cock the way you do mine, do you?” he bites out, each word its own thrust. “That’s right. Cum for me. Youknowyou want to.”
My nails dig into his back. I want to scream at him. Want to deny it and spit something sharp back in his face but I can’t. My body’s gone traitor, trembling, writhing against him, heat crawling up my spine like a fuse about to blow.
“You know he could never make you feel this fucking good,” Noir growls. “You know he couldn’t fuck you the way I do.”
I hate him for saying it. Hate that every thrust into me feels like a shot fired in their stupid fucking war withmeas the battlefield.
I can’t stand how fucking good it feels.
How deep he is. How filthy he fucks me. Like he owns every broken piece of me and isn’t afraid to shatter what’s left.
It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet. It’s hate. Lust. Madness. All of it poured into me like gasoline, and I’m burning up on it. Choking on it.Clingingto it.
