Thousands (Dollar 4)

His back bowed as I pushed faster, messier, completely out of my mind with need. The moment his trousers were mid-thigh, I battled the elastic cotton of his boxer-briefs.

He groaned as his cock sprung free.

I cried out as I finally, finally touched hot skin. Finally, finally caressed naked and hard him.

He shuddered as I grasped his erection, pumping it hard. A primal growl fell from his lips as he kissed me mercilessly, ripping my knickers to my knees then contorting himself to drag them off one foot.

They caught on the heel of my blood red stilettos only for him to tear off the shoe along with the lingerie. Both vanished over his shoulder, never to be seen again.

Once, I’d believed I was Sleeping Beauty awoken by his kiss and Snow White freed from the poisoned apple. Now, I was Cinderella missing a glass slipper, but unlike that fairy-tale, I knew exactly who my prince was and precisely what I intended to do with him.

I wriggled deeper beneath him, spreading my legs unashamedly as he pressed heavily on top of me.

His hips scorched my inner thighs.

His lips never stopped kissing.

His hand disappeared under my dress.

His tongue never stopped dancing.

His fingers latched around his erection.

His mouth never stopped claiming mine.

His knuckles bruised my tender skin as he arched his hips and searched for my core.

And then we both froze.

Indescribable moment.

Blissful. Breathtaking. Brutal.

We hovered in that second with the tip of him at the entrance of me.

A second where nothing and no one could hurt us.

And then he thrust.

I moaned.

He groaned.

The world fractured in two.

I was used to violence. I was used to being taken quickly. I was used to being empty then full. Alone then ridden hard and fast.

What I wasn’t used to was the lightning bolt of perfection as Elder stabbed inside me vicious and completely unapologetic. I wasn’t used to my reaction as my legs scissored around his hips, and I arched up to meet him, brutalising us with bruises, demanding more, commanding him to go harder, faster, deeper.

It felt so right.

So good.

So true.

More.

More.

More.

Our mouths spread wide against each other, struggling to breathe through the indescribable pleasure of joining, struggling to stay alive with oversensitive flesh and scattered minds.

We ceased existing as our bodies adjusted to being joined and heat rushed from him to me in the form of heartbeats and understanding that we were together now, but this wasn’t over.

The race had just started.

If I didn’t have my suspicions about Elder’s addiction, I might’ve become scared. Terrified at the black gleam in his gaze and the determined set of his brow. This wasn’t just sex to him. This was a competition to be bested only to be undertaken again and again.

I was willing to be that competition—to allow him to use me to find his release with the hope of proving him wrong.

I believed he could stop.

He believed he couldn’t.

At this point, I didn’t care who was right.

He thrust again, and all my thoughts turned to willow-the-wisps.

He drove into me, burying me into the soft cushions, clamping his teeth into my neck.

I rode with him, flying up, tilting my throat so he could bite me harder. At no point did I suffer panic or terror or anything but the overwhelming sensation of being owned by Elder and being utterly contented by it.

His pace turned frantic.

Thrust.

Thrust.

Thrust.

The couch bumped and scraped on the carpet. My dress fluttered around us, spilling to the floor in red and blue waves. His black hair clung to his forehead, sweat decorating his brow as we fucked each other with rage and frenzy.

His hips trapped a bunch of my dress against my clit and every thrust made sparkling promises build in number.

My spine tickled.

My hips loosened.

My legs tightened for the release they whispered.

I was close.

So close.

So fast.

So ready.

Elder switched from mayhem to inferno, his hands locking in my hair, holding me prisoner as his hips drove faster, harder. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry.” He rode me as if the seconds counting down were seconds to his death.

He didn’t touch me. He didn’t kiss me. He just fucked me as I’d dared him.

Fucked me because he had to.

Fucked me because we had no choice.

And with each thrust, I climbed higher, teetering on the pedestal of an orgasm I furiously wanted.

My eyes popped from the pressure. My head ached from the need. My insides knotted and tangled, ready to explode in delirium.

Only, he reached the finish line before I did.

Throwing his head back, his spine hollowed as he thrust again, and a gruff animalistic groan wrenched from his lips. Warm wetness spilled deep inside me, making my body clench for things it knew it could never have.

Collapsing on top of me, he breathed hard in my ear.

He didn’t speak, and I didn’t mention how tingly and tight I was—on the knife edge of release. I wasn’t worried. I would come. He wasn’t finished.