Page 16 of His Disobedient Bride

Shit. I have to stop, have to slow down. But I can’t. I can’t make myself.

I reach down to her pants, desperate to be in her pussy.

Fuck, she’s wearing some kind of complicated ass pants with clasps and buckles.

I grab a knife from my pocket.

“Don’t move,” I tell her, forcing myself to stay calm.

She freezes. I feel like I can’t breathe as I flick the knife out and carefully cut through the clasps and buckles so I can tear the pants from her body.

I rip the pants off, my hand brushing against her pussy as I do, and I can feel her wetness even through her panties and I can’t help groaning with desire for her, deep and desperate, aching to claim her and make her mine again.

I put one hand on the back of her neck, pulling her closer to me so that her body is under mine. Her hair spills over my arm, making my insides clench with need.

I take out my dick, my need for her relentless and urgent.

I almost blow with that first plunge into her, the way her pussy grips my dick and her legs wrap tightly around my back.

Her breasts are warm and full on my arms, and I can feel myself about to cum.

Fuck. I feel like a teenage boy, unable to control myself.

My hands tighten on her, trying to slow down. But I can’t stop myself from taking her harshly, her tits shaking every time I pound into her.

I look at her and her cheeks are flushed and her breathing heavy. She’s not holding out on me. She’s almost at her peak. She’s just not quite there yet. I can feel her orgasm twisting in her belly, growing in power.

I can’t bear to come without feeling her on my dick first.

But I can’t possibly hold on much longer.

What gets ripped out of me is something I’ve never said to anyone in my life.

Please.

I can feel her startle underneath me as my load hovers irresistibly, mere seconds away from blowing.

I repeat it again.

Please, I growl, one hand on the back of her neck as my tongue greedily devours her.

Please still be mine.

Please let your body still be mind to command.

I hear a sudden mewling moan and then she’s pulsating around my dick, gripping and milking my dick as I come, roaring in relief as I fill her, my hands tight in my fear and relief.

* * *

I have to tell her about what happened on the day of the attack as we shower together.

She cries on my chest, and her tears are full of rage and anger.

And power.

“It was my job to keep them safe,” she says, her head drooping.

“It’s not your fault,” I say, giving her a sharp little shake.

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