Beautiful Nightmare (Dark Dream 2)

I hated his cruelty and his selfishness and his inability to self-heal.

Yet.

I thirsted for his body on mine almost feverishly. Even after having orgasmed so strongly, I was already desperate for more. I wanted him to bend me, break me. I wanted to be fucked and swollen and always leaking his cum. I wanted him to mark me up, order me around, taunt me then praise me for all the ways he could make me sin.

It wasn’t just physical either.

I longed for his moments of sweetness, so much purer contrasted to his usual bitter brutality. I wanted to heal the wounds that had clearly sat festering so long untended in his soul and teach him how to love again.

Even that cruelty I half-hated, I also loved, even esteemed. To be so strong-willed, so filled with ruthless conviction was admirable and sexy as hell. His attention and praise meant even more because it came from such a brooding, undemonstrative man.

“Stay with me, Bianca,” he ordered, changing the angle of his thrusts so my wet clit brushed against the crisp hair on his pubic bone, sparking pleasure so intense I shivered. “Watch me.”

I didn’t want to and he knew it. It hurt to look up into his gorgeous face and wonder what I meant to him.

He didn’t care.

“Watch me fuck you,” he rasped, damp mouth open for his panting breath. “Watch me take what’s mine.”

I couldn’t argue with him. Not when tears dripped down my cheeks into my ears and his tongue lapped them up so sweetly. Not when his cock was making a permanent impression inside me, creating an ache I knew would never abate. Not when a small part of me dreaded him leaving me again even though I wasn’t sure I wanted him to stay.

“I’m going to come inside this sweet, tight cunt,” he growled, the words vibrating against my neck as he sucked kisses into the tender skin. “So you feel me leaking down your thighs long after I’m gone.”

My pussy spasmed around him at the thought and he laughed darkly, triumphantly. Taking my chin in his hand, he pressed a savage kiss to my lips then sneered down at me.

“No,” he decided, slipping out of me so quickly, I couldn’t control the whimper that left my lips.

I watched, mouth open and panting as he crawled farther up my body and straddled my torso just under my breasts. He lowered each thin strap from my shoulders then tugged down the dress, exposing my chest and upper belly to his hot gaze.

“Hold your tits together for me, little thing,” he purred as he fisted that deep red cock in one hand. “Use one arm. Touch your greedy pussy with the other. You’re going to come when I shoot all over your chest and pretty, tear-stained face.”

A low groan wrenched out of me at the utter filth he’d voiced. Before I could consciously decide to obey, my arms were moving, one banded under my breasts to prop them up for him, and the other arrowing through the gap between his thigh and my waist to find my wet, swollen folds. My touch was delicate over my clit because I was already close to climaxing again from his words alone.

Then, he bent forward to wrap his free hand around my throat, a gentle pressure as he braced himself against me so he could set a vicious pace jerking his big cock over my chest.

He was so turned on he was leaking, precum splattering against my skin like wet pearls. His face was screwed up into an intense expression of almost painful desire and I thought he was the most beautiful thing––human, artform, collection of atoms––in the entire world.

And I couldn’t hold it back.

The orgasm crashed over me, into me, and submerged me utterly in churning sensation. My vision went black, my breath vanished and I hung suspended in the tsunami of pleasure Tiernan gave to me.

“Watch me,” he grunted, his hand tightening on my throat so for one crystal clear moment, I couldn’t breathe. “Watch me remind you who you belong to.”

I did. Sight blurry, heart pounding so hard I honestly thought I might pass out, I watched Tiernan Morelli jack himself until he erupted on a masculine growl I felt in my still-spasming sex. He painted in me in cum, my breasts glistening in the low lamp light. A few drops caught my tongue and I realized I’d opened my mouth for him without recognizing it.

He tasted good.

Salty and masculine, like fresh ocean brine.

His eyes were dark as loosened his grip on his shaft and began to rub his seed into my skin. I watched him, mesmerized by those long, tanned fingers and the tattooed rose and cherub on either hand. The way he touched me…it was reverent. Still possessive, still almost heathen, but also awed.