“I’m taking this fucking ass soon, Tess. There won’t be a part of you that I don’t own. I’m going to own and brand every fucking inch of you. You think you could walk away from me? Do you think anyone else can ever give you what I can?” I growl. I shove my fingers back in her ass when she doesn’t answer, only this time I need more. I use my free hand to position my cock, and as I slide my fingers almost out of her ass, I slam my cock home. There’s nothing soft and easy about it. I slam into her hard—balls deep. I want her to taste me; I’m so fucking deep. The thick denim of my jeans abrades the backs of her legs. This is rutting. This is letting the animal out of the cage. This is me, showing her; love is not an option here. This is need—pure and simple. I set a rhythm in her ass with my fingers, matching it with my cock. I’m so close to coming that my balls are drawn tight. I can only concentrate on the rhythm of our movements, on the way I’m fucking her, owning her.
“Max!” She screams out as I feel her body start to writhe, and the delicate muscles in her body convulse and tighten against me. “Max! I’m going to come!” She screams out again. I slip my fingers out of her ass, regretfully. I want to stay there. Hell, I want my cock there. Now is not the time though. Instead, I use my fingers on her clit and send her skyrocketing over the edge and let her release trigger my own.
“You’re mine, Tess. Mine.” I growl as I empty myself inside of her, claiming her in the most basic of ways. When it’s finished. I don’t withdraw. We stay locked like that, the rain still coming down, my dick still deep inside of her, semi-hard, my cum filling her full, and our breathing as loud and as ragged as the thunder above us.
It’s only then I realize that I fucked her bare. It’s only then that it hits me that I didn’t even think to put a condom on. Fuck!
What the hell did I just do?
22
Tess
I’m the whore of Babylon.
I just let Max fuck me, like an animal, in the middle of a rainstorm out in the wide open, and I loved every minute of it. Hell, I can barely catch my breath, I have his cum running down my legs, and I already want it again. I let a tiny mew of disagreement leave my lips as he slips out of me. I don’t know if he hears me. He pets my back though, his hand sliding down it, so familiar now. He does it so often after we make love. It feels as if he praises me, and I wait for that. It’s as if that is his sign to me that he’s right here with me. That he feels this too. I nearly fall when he moves. Max is right there though. His arms go around me, holding me easily as if I am a rag doll, and that’s exactly, what I feel like right now. He stands up with me. The rain has practically glued his pants in place, and I bet the image would be funny if I cared to look. Instead I curl into his side, letting my head fall against his chest, wrapping my fingers into the wet material of his shirt. He takes us inside; my eyes are closed, but I hear the click of the lock. I’m too tired to figure out how he locked the door with his hands full of me.
He walks me straight through the bedroom and into the adjoining bathroom. He sits me on the commode; the cold porcelain chills my skin. He turns on the water in the shower and undresses. I watch, but honestly I’m so tired it’s all I can do to remain upright. Warm, delicious steam starts filling the room, and once he’s undressed, he takes us to the shower. The hot water slowly brings my body back to life. Max is completely in charge, and I’m woman enough to acknowledge that’s how we both like it. He positions me in the shower tilting my head back, letting the warm water sluice over me and slowly bringing me back to life. The smell of strawberries bursts into the small space as he begins washing my hair. I hum in approval. He bathes me completely, and I’m not ashamed to admit that when he washes between my legs and teases the delicate folds there; I hold onto him as he brings me to a soft, slow orgasm.
“So beautiful, Kitten,” he murmurs against my ear, as his fingers massage my clit over and over, with such unerring accuracy and tenderness that I can’t help but cry out his name and let my hands clench into the hard muscle of his biceps. “Mine,” he growls, and he’s right. I’ve been his from the moment I read his story and saw his picture. It doesn’t make sense, and I’m tired of trying to make it. I may only get weeks with him, but maybe I’ll have more. Whatever I have, I will savor it. Fuck what anyone else thinks.
“Yours,” I agree, my forehead resting on his chest.
“You’re going with me?” He asks, and I think I hear a small thread of surprise in his voice.