Page 41 of Sinful
“Already soaked,” he says, voice low and mocking. “Knew you wanted this. Been eye-fucking me all night.”
I grab his hair, yanking his head back to expose his throat. “Shut up and fuck me,” I snarl, bucking against his hand.
My free hand claws at his belt, fumbling it open.
His cock springs free as I shove his jeans down—thick, veined, the head already leaking pre-cum.
I wrap my fingers around it, stroking rough and fast, feeling it throb in my grip.
Bravos pulls his fingers out, slick with my juices, and smears them across my lips.
Then he hooks his hands under my ass, lifting me off the ground.
My legs wrap around his waist on instinct, heels digging into his back.
He pins me harder against the wall, the bricks scraping my shoulders through my shirt as he lines up his cock.
He pulls my pants down and I kick off one leg.
And with that, one brutal thrust, and he buries himself to the hilt.
No easing in—just splitting me open, stretching my pussy around his girth.
I cry out, the burn mixing with the ache of fullness.
He doesn't wait, doesn't let me adjust.
He pulls back and slams in again, setting a punishing rhythm.
Each thrust drives me up the wall, my ass bouncing.
“Goddamn, you're tight,” he grunts, his hips snapping forward.
Sweat beads on his forehead, dripping down to mix with the blood on his knuckles.
His hands grip my thighs, spreading me wider, fingers bruising the soft flesh.
I claw at his shoulders, nails breaking skin through his shirt.
The pain spurs him on—he fucks me harder, deeper, the wet slap of our bodies echoing in the alley.
My pussy clenches around him, milking his cock with every plunge.
Heat coils low in my belly, building fast under the onslaught.
He shifts, angling his hips to grind against my clit with each stroke.
The friction sends sparks shooting through me, my breath coming in ragged pants.
“That's it,” he rasps, mouth at my ear. “Come on my cock. Squeeze me.”
I shatter, orgasm ripping through me like a storm.
My walls flutter and spasm, gushing around him.
He doesn't stop—keeps pounding, drawing it out until I'm shaking, oversensitive and raw.
But he isn't done.
