“Wanna hear what I want?” Bjorn didn’t wait for an answer, he ducked down and took Samara’s exposed bottom lip in his teeth and tugged, and Samara arched off of the bed, moans of pleasure, laced in sin. Bjorn growl-laughed and it sent shivers down Samara’s spine, made her ache to surrender, press her pussy into Bjorn’s face and submit.
Bjorn was grinning, eyes mostly black, thin ring of purple, and Samara knew he could sense what Samara wanted, exactly what she was after, but he wanted Samara to say it. Bjorn looked down, and let his gaze sweep over Samara’s naked body. Samara was gnawing at her lip again, because Bjorn was still in his jeans, zipper opening for his dick to breathe, and it was jutting out obscenely, twitching in the breeze, dusky pink and getting darker.
He cupped Samara’s pregnancy with both hands, spanning the bump entirely, end to end.
“Unh,” Samara grunted out, intelligently, not liking how her clit was attempting to make a getaway at how fucking sexy that felt.
“Fucking love this, don’t you, baby?” Bjorn wasn’t looking at her, he was staring at where his child was housed, and Samara was floored by the look of protection and possession she could see.
Medieval fortress, necessary, yet functional. Samara squirmed and then gasped as Bjorn pressed his thumb just inside her hole, letting it sit there, big and fat and hot, and then he pumped it in and out shallowly. He maintained his grip on Samara’s swell with the other hand, tight grin on his features.
“I wanna rub off on you. Fucking come all over your stomach, paint you all in my come.” Bjorn’s gaze was hard, unforgiving, and Samara knew he was staking his claim here, and Samara was wilting.
“Make you cry cause it’s so good.”
Bjorn slipped his body down, fingers leaving Samara’s pregnancy, and Samara couldn’t help the mewl of loss. Bjorn’s face softened and hardened in unison, and he propped Samara’s legs back up with one forearm. “I’ll give you what you want, baby. Don’t worry.”
Samara was scrambling, when she felt the head of Bjorn’s dick press against the wrinkled furl, but Bjorn was teasing, and Samara wasn’t having it. She was awake for what felt like the first time in months, and she wanted to get fucked.
“Know what I want, Bjorn?” Samara said, attempting to berate, but her voice was high and breathy like she was on drugs. She supposed that was accurate.
“For you to fuck the shit outta me.” Bjorn’s hands were tightening around Samara’s body, and now he was smiling, because he knew this arena. Knew just how to rile little Bjorn up, make him too bothered to care. Samara didn’t particularly care for her looks, she used them to her advantage when necessary, but in general, they were an impediment. People remembered what she looked like. They remembered the tall shapely chocolate woman with the brown eyes, and thick heart shaped lips. They always pointed her out. They might remember the rest of her family; her taller father and shorter sister.
But they never forgot Samara’s face. That’s not something she wanted, especially in her father’s line of business.
But, she had taught herself how to use it, out of necessity. She never used it on Bjorn, never had a reason to, until now. “I promise,” she said, eyes wide and guileless, consciously tugging her lip into her mouth and then releasing it. “Once you’re inside me I won’t move off of that fat dick, stud.”
Samara still cried out when Bjorn full on howled and penetrated her in the same breath, shoving her up the bed so violently that Bjorn immediately had to tangle his fingers around the back of Samara’s head to avoid concussing her against the headboard with the force of his thrusts.
Samara sliced fingernails through the skin on Bjorn’s forearms, but Bjorn didn’t notice, growling filth above her as he pummeled Samara, stealing every single breath she had in her body, because it belonged to Bjorn, just the same.
“Fucking tease,” Bjorn’s muttering, wild and unchecked, and Samara was floored to realize she loved it. “Looking at people with those fucking eyes, wondering why I have to fight everyone for you.” Bjorn leaned down suddenly, raking his teeth over the hickey he’d placed, just above the IV line, under her ear, and Samara whimpered, tangling her fingers in Bjorn’s beautiful auburn hair.
He pressed his lips to Samara’s ear, one hand occupied, snaking down to where he and Samara were connected, index and thumb tracing at Samara’s rim, stretched out and shivering under the feather-light caress.