Page 95 of Boy of Ruin
After that, I push her down to the kitchen floor, my fingers still in her mouth as I lean over her, pushing deeper into the back of her throat. She starts to panic, her nails scratching against my ribs as she tries to say my name around my fingers.
“I don’t need to hear that, baby,” I tell her, glancing down at the J carved into her skin, “I just have to look at you now to know you’re fucking mine.”
I kick off my shoes, slowly pull my fingers out of her mouth, see the strings of saliva connecting us, the blood on her lips.
“J,” she breathes, her knees falling to the sides beneath me. She arcs her hips up as her hands come to the button of my pants, her fingers trembling. I sit up, just enough to reach behind my back and pull my shirt off, then drop it to the floor. Leaning back over her, I plant my hands on either side of her head, let her pull down my pants and my boxers until she can’t reach any further and I use my hand to push them all the way off, kicking them away from us.
Her eyes go to my cock, and she reaches between us, her fingers curled tight around it as she strokes me, lying back down, biting her lip, looking from my dick to my face.
I close my eyes, savoring the feel of her tiny fingers around me.
I never thought…all these fucking years…I never thought we’d be here.
“J,” she says again, pumping me faster, “I want you.”
I open my eyes, glance down at her spread legs, the muscles in her thighs straining against her skin with how open they are.
She reaches her other hand to her pussy, but I slap her hand away, grip her throat. Her strokes on my cock stop, and she freezes beneath me.
“Only I get to touch you, baby,” I tell her. “You understand?”
She nods slowly, whimpering as she does.
Then, with her pulling me closer, my cock lines up with her entrance.
My chest grows tight, my blood hot.
I glance down again at my name on her skin. Is she really mine? Is this just sex? I know how she likes to use it.
I know so many men have been here before me.
I know this might not mean fuck to her.
This could be nothing to her. Fucking nothing. She could forget me, run away, just as fast as she did with him.
And thinking about him…
Fuck him.
I shove into her tight, wet cunt, her hands going to my back, raking her nails against me as she gasps, her back arching upward, her eyes fluttering closed.
I circle my fingers tighter around her throat, my other hand going to her arm, forcing it backward, off of me, over her head. I briefly let go of her throat, grab her other arm, then pin both wrists down on the cold kitchen floor, her body stretched out beneath me, her spine hitting the stone tile every time I thrust back into her.
She moans my name, her eyes back on me as my hand is back on her throat. She feels so fucking good.
Better than I could have imagined.
Tight and wet and all for me.
My hips slam into hers, blood from her stomach sticking to my skin too, where we meet together.
I’m gripping her wrists so tight above her head I know it has to hurt, but I’m fucking drowning in the feel of her pussy, and I just don’t fucking care.
Even as her face flushes pink beneath my fingers, as I lean down close to her, my mouth just over hers as she gasps for air, I don’t fucking care.
She doesn’t need to breathe.
She just needs me.
