Page 42 of Savage Reins
The bed creaks again. His knees press between mine. His cock drags against my slit, thick and ready, and I tilt my hips to take him in.
“You want me to fuck you like I’ve been thinking about since the moment I saw you in that barn?” His voice is darker now, strained, every word soaked in filth and fury. “Or do you want me to hold back and be good?”
“I want you to ruin me.”
He doesn’t stop once he’s inside me. He sets the rhythm fast, every thrust driving the breath from my lungs. I brace my knees around his hips and take it, my body already clenching tight around him, everything slick and stretched and burning in the best possible way. He doesn’t ease up. Doesn’t speak. Just fucks me like he’s claiming what’s his.
His arm hooks under my knee and pulls it higher, opening me wider beneath him. The change in angle punches another moan from my chest, rough and needy. I claw at his back through the bandages, barely able to hold on. His pace stays hard and even, hips rocking into me with the kind of control that only makes it worse. Every time he drives deep, I get closer to the edge.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he mutters against my throat. “So tight around me I can barely breathe.”
His voice breaks as he says it. Not soft. Not pleading. Just wrecked with need. I feel every muscle in him strain to keep from losing control, the pressure building in his rhythm, the slick grind of skin against skin. My breath comes faster as the heat coils tighter between my legs. He presses down on my hips, anchoring me while he fucks me into the mattress, not stopping, not slowing, until I feel the snap hit all at once.
My whole body seizes under him, heat breaking loose in a flood I can’t hold back. I cry out, thighs shaking around his hips, cunt clenching tight with every pulse. He fucks me through it without letting up, dragging it out until I’m gasping beneath him.
“That’s it,” he growls, voice wrecked. “Come all over my cock. So fucking wet you’re dripping down my balls.”
I claw at his back, breathless, helpless, the orgasm still rolling through me in waves I can’t stop. He thrusts harder now, rougher, the rhythm brutal in a way that makes my hips jerk with every stroke.
“You hear that?” His mouth is at my ear, teeth grazing the skin. “That messy little sound you make every time I bottom out?”
I whimper as he slams into me again.
“You’ll think about this every time you try to walk straight. Every time you lie in that bed and remember how deep I got.”
I can’t speak. I’m too full, too stretched, too far gone.
He laughs low and dark, still fucking me like I’m the only thing keeping him sane.
“You gonna come again?” he mutters, dragging his hand between us to rub my clit. “You’re soaked. I could fuck this pussy all night.”
I jerk beneath him as he circles tight over my clit, the friction almost too much. My body’s still twitching from the first orgasm, and now he’s giving me no space, no break. Just more. His cock drives in harder, the rhythm shifting to something rough and frantic. I choke on a moan as my hips buck.
“I’m gonna come in you,” he growls. “Gonna fill you up so deep it leaks out of you all fucking night.”
The words break something open in me. My body clenches around him again, tighter this time, and I cry out as another orgasm hits—sharp and hot and unbearable. He groans loud against my neck, hips pounding through it, and then I feel it. The way he drives in deep and holds there, the twitch of his cock as he spills inside me, every thick pulse dragging a broken sound from his throat.
“Fuck,” he growls again, voice raw. “That’s it. Take it.”
His body jerks with each release, his chest pressed hard to mine, both of us slick with sweat and shaking from everything he just gave me.
He doesn’t pull out right away. Just breathes against my neck, cock still inside me, one hand gripping my thigh like he’s not ready to let go.
I feel the heat of him leaking down my skin, the sting of sweat in every scrape and bruise between us. When he finally shifts, it’s with a grunt and a hiss, rolling to his side and dragging me with him. I curl into the space under his arm, legs tangled, chest still rising too fast.
Sleep finds us like this—naked, wrecked, and tangled in a bed too small to hold what just passed between us.
17
RENAT
The sun hasn't cleared the horizon when I lead Rusalka into the main arena. The mare tosses her head, eager to move after being cooped up in the paddock overnight. Steam rises from her nostrils in the cool morning air, and her muscles ripple beneath her dark coat as she prances beside me.
I start her at a walk around the perimeter, then push her into a trot. She responds to the pressure on the lunge line, but her movements feel choppy, uneven. I increase the pace and guide her toward the inside corners, trying to get her to bend through the turns the way I've watched Mira do it.
Rusalka fights me, tossing her head and pulling against the line. I lean into the resistance, using my weight to keep her on track. She needs to learn these tighter corners if she's going to have any chance on race day.
"You're pushing too hard."
