Page 65 of Hellbent
My eyebrows lift. “And that doesn’t raise any flags for you?”
He laughs. “Oh, Wyatt raises tons of red flags for me, yes.”
He strides back across the room and I can’t take my eyes off of him. Wide shoulders, cut abs slick with sweat, tattoos carved over lean, muscular arms. His cock juts forward, thick andready, and as he walks, he squeezes some of the lube out onto his fingers and strokes it down over his length. The sight of him touching himself makes my pussy swell with need.
He squeezes more out into his hand and positions himself behind me again. Slick fingers find my slit and I suck in a breath as he trails a line up from my pussy over my asshole, the cool slipperiness at odds with the sparks of heat his fingers leave in their wake.
His other hand splays across my back, bending me over the bench. Legs straight, ass up, completely open to him.
We shouldn’t be doing this—not here, not like this—but I cannot bring myself to stop. I need him in every way.
His groan is pure sin as he presses the head of his cock into the tight ring of muscle. “Fuck. You really are perfect.”
My asshole spreads as he widens me, the sensation a painful burn, and I hiss. He slows, stops, waits, and when my muscles relax, he pushes in a little deeper. It’s pain again, and then, after a minute, pleasure. He pushes in deeper, deeper still, until he’s all the way in, and I feel his cock throb inside me.
“Jesus Christ, you’re going to make me come so hard, fucking you like this.”
I whimper, body shaking, nerves screaming, and he starts moving—slowly at first, in tune with my body, waiting when I freeze up, moving when I relax, until we sink into a rhythm, and the unexpected sensation starts dragging me from the point of pain to the exquisite point of pleasure. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
Soon I’m pushing back against him, wanting him deeper, begging him for more. His fingers tighten bruisingly at my hips, and he pounds into me, fast and hard, and I cry out.
It’s too much. It’s not enough. I don’t even know the difference anymore.
“That’s it, baby. Fucking take it. Take my cock,” he grunts, words sharp and staccato. “You’re gonna make me come, Max. Your tight little ass is going to make me come so hard.”
My body tightens at the words, my mind going white.
“Oh fuck, that’s good,” he groans, thrusts getting harder. “Oh God, I’m gonna come in your ass. Tell me you want it. Tell me you want my cum in your ass.”
I can barely breathe, barely think. “I—I want it, I—”
His fingers wrap tight in my hair, yanking my head back. “Fucking say it.”
“I want you to come,” I choke out, my breath coming in gasps. “I want your cum in my ass, Damian.”
He snarls like an animal. His hands press down on my lower back—hard—I can feel his whole body tensing, and then just as he buries himself as deep as he can go, I snap.
I come so fucking hard I almost black out, my entire body convulsing as he slams into me with a wild cry, cock jerking with his release.
For a second neither of us breathes, suspended in our own agonizing relief, every nerve strung tight and pulsing with the aftershocks.
His hands soften against my back. They slide over my back, my hips, as his mouth presses against my shoulder, his breathing ragged. He slumps against me, and we collapse forward onto the workbench with him still twitching inside of me.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” he gasps. “That was so fucking good.”
And that’s when I hear it—cutting through the sound of Damian’s heavy breathing in my ear. The slamming of the shop door.
I don’t have to look to know who it is.
Ifeelit.
It can only be Wyatt.
A slow, unbearable beat of nothing where my heart stops and my mind goes fucking blank.
“What the fuck?”
His voice is quiet but simmering, and my stomach drops.
