Red Thorns (Thorns Duet 1)

21

Naomi

It’s a blur of motions.

After the third orgasm, I lost count of what actually happened.

I lost count of how many times he pushed me down against the dirt and spread my legs so he could fuck me deeper.

Or how long he slammed me against the tree and choked me with a hand around my throat as he drove into me like a madman.

Or how many times he slapped my breasts and pulled me up by my nipples, then forced me to take his cock to the back of my throat and choked me with it.

The more I begged, “Please, no,” the more ruthless he became. The harder I cried, the more merciless his touch turned.

I was dealing with a beast, one with no Off buttons and nothing to stop him.

Except for a measly safe word that I stubbornly refused to use.

Because if I do, this whole thing will vanish into thin air. I’ll no longer be chased and fucked savagely.

I’ll no longer feel alive.

And I do feel alive during the entire act. With every thrust and every slap. Every dirty word and every degradation.

No invisible shackles prison my ankles and no hidden fear paralyzes me. The pain is my aphrodisiac and the roughness is my fix.

And I simply get to let go.

By the time Sebastian finishes, I’m curled into a fetal position on the rock with his cum trickling between my thighs, running down my ass cheeks, and clinging to the tips of my breasts.

I think he orgasmed three times and ejaculated twice. I have no clue how the hell he managed to pick up right after he finished, but apparently, it’s possible. His stamina is the craziest thing I’ve ever come across.

I might have been a virgin, but I watch porn, and he was on a whole different level than that. I’m perversely into the hardcore stuff, but even the intensity in those doesn’t compare to whatever the hell happened tonight or what he’s capable of.

My inability to move is no joke. I’m panting, gasping, and still weeping softly as my core pulses.

And the most perverted part is that I would do it all over again. Hell, I wouldn’t even mind if he hadn’t stopped.

That would kill me, though. For real. Not like in some fantasy.

The rustle of clothes sounds from the side and I tilt my head slightly in its direction. He pulls his sweatshirt up and from his silhouette in the dark, I can tell there’s no underwear. Commando. He came prepared to ruin me beyond repair.

Why do I love that so much?

He lowers his hood until it’s covering his head and shadows his eyes, and then he turns.

To leave.

To erase everything that happened.

I barely survived last time, but I can’t do this anymore. I…don’t think I’ll be able to live with myself if I just take his abuse and pretend nothing happened afterward.

My mouth opens, but only a wince comes out as I attempt to sit up. It takes me several deep breaths until I can speak. “Wait…”

He stops, his back shadowed by the silver of the half moon, but he doesn’t turn around.

“I…” The words get lost. What do I want? To have a conversation? To hear him say anything aside from how I’m a good, filthy slut and toy?