Page 57 of Stream & Scream
"I want—" The words stick in my throat, caught between what society tells me is right and what society tells me is wrong.
"You want me to fuck you," he says before I can fully gather my thoughts. "You want me to bend you over this tree and deliver a show to millions of viewers at home. You want my cock buried between your thighs while my thumb moves in tight circles over your clit."
Yes. God, yes. That's exactly what I want, what I'vebeenwanting since he let me go, what I can't stop fantasizing about in my dreams.
But before I can form the words, his hands are already moving, claiming me and taking possession of my body.
He strips the tracksuit from my body, tearing the cheap fabric when it doesn't cooperate quickly enough with his movements. The cool air hits my bare breasts, making my nipples ache as they harden.
Once my clothes are off and his cock is free from his pants, he pushes me forward, bending me at the waist while I brace my hands against the rough bark of the tree. I leave my back arched and exposed, like he’s a dark god and I’m offering myself to him.
The tree trunk is solid beneath my palms, old wood that has survived at least a hundred years of storms and droughts. It feels appropriate somehow, being fucked like this against something so grounded and stable.
"Look at you," he murmurs, his hands following the curve of my spine until he finds my ass, cupping and squeezing it in both hands before spanking me. "You’re so fucking perfect. You were made for me."
Maybe I was. Maybe everything that happened in my life before Friday night was just preparation for this moment. It’s possible every decision I’ve ever made has led me here, to where my fate lands in his hands.
"Mine," he says as he lines his cock up behind me, and the possessiveness of the word sends chills through me. "You've been mine since the moment I saw you step off that truck. I won’t let them take you from me."
I feel him against me, thick and hard and decorated with metal. The piercings are cold against my sensitive skin as he positions himself.
"Tell me how fucking badly you want this.” He presses the head of his cock into me but pauses there. "Tell me how much you want me to take my pleasure from you."
Fuck.
I let my eyes close for a second, inhaling and exhaling slowly before opening them again. I’m so fucked for this.
"I want you," I whisper. "I want you to fuck me and use me however you want."
The last few words are barely audible, but he hears it, responding with a growl that comes from somewhere deep in his chest, somewhere primitive and possessive and absolutely fucking devastating.
Then he's inside me.
Not gentle or careful, just raw and hungry thrusts.
The stretch is overwhelming, but my body accepts him almost immediately, relaxing to fit him.
"Fuck," he hisses against my shoulder when he’s fully inside me. "You’re so fucking tight, Liv."
He sets a brutal rhythm, each movement hard and unforgiving, but I fucking love it. I arch deeper, opening myself up for him and letting my pussy swallow as much of him as it can take.
His teeth find the curve of my shoulder, not quite breaking skin but applying enough pressure to bruise and mark me as his, leaving evidence of his ownership that will last for days. The bite ignites my nerves, lighting up my entire body.
"They can’t take you," he grunts from behind me, driving himself deeper. "You’remine,not theirs."
His words send me over the edge, making stars form in the edges of my vision as I lose control.
I scream into the forest as my orgasm tears through me, and the sound echoes through the forest, raw and primal and absolutely shameless.
Which, as it turns out, is a mistake.
"What the fuck?”
The voice cuts through my post-orgasmic haze like a blade, masculine and confused and obviously belonging to someonewho stumbled into something they were never meant to see. I freeze, every muscle in my body going rigid with mortification and panic.
Trent Mason stands at the edge of the clearing, mouth wide open like his brain is struggling to process what his eyes are showing him.
For a moment, nobody moves. Nobody speaks. We're all frozen in a tableau that would be comical if it weren't so fucking mortifying—me bent over a tree with The Hunter still buried inside me, Trent gaping like a fish that's been yanked out of water, the whole scene preserved by countless cameras for the whole world to watch.
