Page 62 of Blackwood

“One more,” he says as he thrusts his cock the rest of the way in, sending a jolt through my entire body.

“Ahh… five!”

“That’s it, Iz. You feel that?” he starts to pick up his pace, dragging the piercings through my pussy.

My cries draw out a growl from somewhere deep inside him.

“Fuck,” I cry out, nails scraping the wall.

He groans low behind me. “Fucking tight as always.”

His hand closes around my throat, tightening just enough to make the edges of my vision go fuzzy. The drag of his cock, the slight burn of those damn piercings, it’s everything.

“You want it rough,” he snarls. “All that fire. All that fight.”

He fucks me harder with every word, every thrust vicious and deep. My knees nearly give out.

“That what you need, Iz? Huh? Someone to fuck the rage out of you?”

“Yes. God, yes.”

He releases my throat and fists my hair, yanking me back against his chest, his breath hot against my ear. His other handslips around us, finding my clit again, rubbing tight, punishing circles that make my knees tremble.

“I’m gonna come, Laing. Oh!”

“No you won’t,” he commands, voice like steel. “You’ll only come when I fucking say you can. You understand me, Iz?”

He pulls out, just long enough to make me whimper. He yanks me around so I’m facing him and then slams back in, harder, deeper, filling me so brutally I gasp. His grip shifts, one hand locking around my throat again, squeezing it tight enough that I see stars.

The pressure. The stretch. The way he owns every inch of my body, it’s too much. He thrusts again. And again. The sound of skin on skin sharp and filthy in the quiet room.

“You like this,” he mutters against my neck, teeth dragging. “Like being used. Owned.”

I can’t even answer, all I can do is nod.

His rhythm is relentless. My hands claw at his back. My thighs burn. My pussy tensing so tight it hurts. He bites down on my shoulder, hard enough to bruise.

“Beg for it,” he hisses. “Give me a good fucking reason to let you come, Iz.”

My throat tightens under his hand. My eyes roll back. “Laing please,” I gasp, every word ripped from me. “Please let me come. I need it. Fuck, I need you.”

He doesn’t ease up. Doesn’t slow.

“That all you’ve got?” he growls.

“Please,” I cry again, voice breaking. “I’ve been so fucking good. I took everything you gave me. I counted them all. I need it, Laing. I need to come. Please.”

He groans, filthy and low. “You want to come for me, Iz?” he mutters, voice rough in my ear. “Want to soak my cock while I’m buried in you so deep you forget your own name?”

“Yes,” I whimper. “Please. Let me come, I’m begging you.”

“Then do it,” he snarls. “Come for me, Iz. Now.”

And I break. My climax rips through me like a fucking grenade.

He follows with a guttural growl against my neck. One last thrust, one last drag, and then he spills into me, body locked and shaking.

My legs collapse. He catches me before I hit the floor. But he doesn’t kiss me. Doesn’t ask to stay. He gets dressed, grabs his jacket, and walks out the door like he didn’t just fuck the sanity out of me.