Instinct A Dark Sci-Fi Romance

“Come here,” he says, grabbing the rope at my waist and pulling me into his lap. There is no more cold rock. There is the heat of his hard body. There is the caress of his lips, the flame of his kiss. There is redemption and forgiveness and connection. There is everything I need.

“Mine,” he says, slapping my ass hard. “Mine. Always mine.”

His fingers curl under my cheeks, spread them apart, and give his cock entrance to my pussy. He pushes deep inside me, spreading my inner walls wide. His lovemaking is urgent, his cock surging inside me over and over. My wetness increases with every stroke. The rope keeps me bound in place, my holes vulnerable and open for his use as he pulls me up and down on his dick.

This feels so good. Bound and fucked, I am free. My body races with energy, my pussy quivers and clenches with need. Somehow, the conversation, the fight, the anger, it has made it all more intense. Every throb of his hot cock inside my pussy makes pure lust flow through my veins.

“Break all the rules you want,” Zion grunts. “I will punish you every time. I will fuck you and use you until you scream for forgiveness.” His big hands work me up and down on his cock, using me like a toy. He thrusts inside me, making the slick wet tunnel of my flesh surrender to him.

He pulls me free and puts me down on the ground. He bends me over, binds my knees up toward my chest, and positions me so my rear is high, my fucked pussy on display as he sits back and looks at me.

“You’ve been a bad girl,” he says, his hands sliding over my bottom cheeks, spreading and rubbing them, using my flesh to make my lips slide together. He is playing with me again.

I feel his cock push inside me and then out of me. Just a single thrust. Not designed to pleasure him, but instead simply to tease me. I let out a soft little moan and then I feel something hot and wet against my sex. It’s his tongue, lapping at my clit.

“I’m going to make you a good girl,” he growls softly. “I’m going to give you something to be good for.”

His mouth returns to my sex and his tongue moves against my lower lips in soft caresses, licking and suckling and teasing the same pussy he just fucked. He is making me feel dizzy with desire. He is making me gasp and moan and drip with need. I feel orgasm spiraling through my body with the tip of his tongue circling around the bud of my clit.

“Oh, Zion… Zion… Zionnn…” I cry his name, drawing breath through my mouth. I start to come, pleasure rushing through my body, hot in my veins. The orgasm is among the most powerful I have ever experienced—and it is not the last one. I come and he keeps going. He forces another climax from me. He keeps that tongue of his working against my slit and sex, he pushes it into my pussy, and then he brings it back out to lap at my clitoris again.

I am coming for a third time when his mouth leaves my wet, swollen pussy and his cock returns. He takes me with long, slow strokes and I feel his cock pulsing with need. This is when he pulls out. This is when his cum splashes over my skin.

But this time, it doesn’t. This time his cock doesn’t leave my vulnerable, bare pussy. This time it plunges deeper and it stays there and his seed spills inside me, right at the entrance of my womb. This time, I know I am mated, my nipples scraping the sacred cave floor, his cum drenching my pussy, my hips held high, draining his seed toward my fertile womb.

“Mine,” he repeats, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me up so we kneel together before the fire, his cock firmly filling my pussy, his cum trapped inside me. “And soon, we will have something which will be ours.”

I never imagined I would be part of a family. I never imagined I would make one. But Zion wants one with me. And what we just did might make one.

I have to trust him. I have to tell him the truth.

“It was Tyna. Who hurt me.”

“I know,” he says. “Stay away from her.”

“You too,” I reply, turning my head around to look at him.

To my surprise, he breaks into a smile. “Jealous little thing.”

“Not jealous. Just… possessive.”

“I like that,” he says, kissing me. “Possessive means you want me.”

I do want him. I want him more than I have ever wanted anyone, or anything. My desire for him is so strong it breaks through the habitual solitude that used to be my everyday experience.