Page 44 of Bonepetal
His other hand slides down the inside of my leg, coaxing my knees apart until my pulse trips. Fabric gives under his knuckles. He drags the thong aside, then brings two fingers to his mouth, sucking them deep—slow, and obscene.
When he lowers his hand again, it’s deliberate, unhurried, a promise I feel in my pulse.
“Breathe,” he murmurs at my ear.
I do.
The hat bumps a branch and the tree takes my weight. His fingers find me hot, and slick, and my spine bows. He strokes once, twice, learning the rhythm my hips try to hide, then settles into it, steady and sure. The sound I make isn’t polite. He swallows it in a kiss and keeps going, working me open with that vicious, exact kindness I hate him for.
“Still mine,” he says, voice frayed.
“Don’t—” My voice shreds as he presses deeper, knuckles grazing my folds as his thumb sets a cruel, perfect circle over my clit. He pumps inside my pussy, patient and relentless, curling just right until the ache in my core goes molten.
His other hand frees my wrists and cups my face. His thumb under my jaw to make me look at him while he ruins me.
“That’s it,” he praises, voice rough as gravel. “Ride my fingers, bonepetal. Show me.”
I do, shuddering through it, hips jerking helplessly, slick gushing warm over his knuckles while he works me down from it, steady and sure.
When I finally sag, he eases out slowly; the wet sound is filthy.
He holds my gaze again as he lifts his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean—cheeks hollowing, tongue chasing the last of me with a low, satisfied hum that makes my knees go weak all over again.
“Fuck, bonepetal,” he breathes, wrecked and claiming. “You always were so fucking pretty falling apart for me.”
He hooks his hands under my thighs and lifts. Bark presses through my dress; my hat knocks sideways. The zipper’s rasp isa live wire. He noses my cheek, reverent, thumbs spreading me open as he lines the head of his cock against my slick folds.
“Can you feel it, bonepetal?” he murmurs, eyes on mine as the wind hushes. “The veil is down.”
Shadows shift through the trees like they’re listening. He drags the tip through me once, slow, cruelly careful, breath shaking.
“When I take you, I want it raw, ruinous, and loud enough to make the veil itself split. Every moan a fucking prayer to the devil who wanted you. Every scream a vow remade.”
Then he slams into me.
Air punches out of my lungs and heat blooms sharp to sweet; my pussy clenches around the thick, relentless drive of him as he seats deep. His grip brands my thighs, then slides to my ass, palms greedy and sure, pulling my cheeks apart so he can get all the way in. His pelvis grinding, cock dragging through slick heat and catching on every nerve that remembers him.
“You’ve got me possessed, bonepetal. This pussy’s locked on me and I’m not getting out.”
He sets a pace that’s all claim—hard, pumping thrusts that bounce me up the trunk and back down on him, wet and rough.
The tree shudders. The lake holds its breath. He keeps me open on his length with one hand and cradles my spine with the other, mouth at my ear, voice a rough prayer I wear on my skin.
“Take me,” he pants. “All of me. That’s it. Look at me while you fall.”
My nails scrape his nape; my legs tighten around his hips. He angles up and finds that hollow inside me that makes everything go white at the edges.
He’s still got both hands on my ass—spreading me, hauling me down, and the blunt ridge of his pelvis grinds my clit every time he drives in. The world narrows to that ruthless stroke and the filthy friction where our bodies meet. Bark bites myshoulders; my hat slips off completely, dangling by its cord; he kisses my throat like he’s blessing the pulse.
“Beautiful,” he praises, voice tearing. “Every sound you make is fucking mine.”
I break on a gasp that stutters his name, the orgasm ripping through me hot and bright.
He doesn’t slow.
He chases me relentlessly.
His thrusts turn rougher, needier, until he’s shaking with it.
