Page 84 of Her Darkest Possession

His hand around my neck tightens. "You like it when I spit on your dirty pussy?"

"Yes!" I sob, hips writhing as if begging him to do it again.

And he does.

Anatoly spits on my pussy again, hitting my oversensitive clit. The effect is even more intense than before.

An immediate aftershock of pleasure crashes through me, and I moan like a whore at how fucking good it feels.

He licks a long deliberate, path up my slit, tasting both of us together, before finally releasing the grip around my throat.

I gasp as air floods back into my lungs. The sudden rush of oxygen makes my vision swim. Stars dance behind my eyelids like tiny fireworks.

The combination of relief and lingering pleasure leaves me dizzy.

When I force my eyes open, I see Anatoly has positioned himself between my trembling thighs. His cock is hard again already, the tip angry and red, with a single pearly drop of cum from earlier still clinging to the slit. He pulls roughly to the edge until my ass is hanging off the edge of the table.

"Spit in my mouth," I hear myself say, barely recognizing my own voice—raspy and desperate. "Spit on my face, spit on my tits."

I'm lost in this new craving. Lost in how dirty I am for him and how good it feels to be this filthy.

"Spit on every inch of me. Make me dirty. Make me a fucking mess. Please. Please!"

Then, to encourage him, I stick out my tongue and wait.

For a single heartbeat that seems to last forever, he stares down at me, his expression unreadable.

I worry that I might've crossed a line, that he might refuse this filthy request.

But then his eyes darkens and he leans forward, gathering saliva in his mouth before letting it fall in a perfect stream right onto my waiting tongue.

Before I can even swallow, he pulls back slightly, then spits again—this time right on my face. It hits my cheek just as he thrusts forward, burying himself inside me in one powerful stroke.

I cry out as he spears me completely. He doesn't wait for me to adjust before he starts pounding into me, hard and rough and fast. The table rocks beneath us. Plates and glasses and silverware rattle all around us.

"Do you like it when I spit on you?" he growls.

"Yes!" I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders.

He drives deeper, his pace relentless. "Do you like it when I make you dirty?"

"Yes!" The word breaks on a moan as he hits that perfect spot inside me.

His hand finds my throat again and his thumb pushes the saliva on my cheek into my mouth. "Do you like it when I make you a fucking mess?"

"Yes!" I scream, my voice echoing off the dining room walls.

Anatoly bends down until his lips brush against my ear, his breath hot against my skin.

"No," he whispers, "You don't like it..." His hips slam into me with every word. "You fucking love it. And I fucking love how dirty you are for me. Only for me."

"Yes!" I sob, overwhelmed by pleasure and the truth of his words. "Yes!"

He captures my mouth in a fierce kiss that tastes like both of us. I wrap my legs tightly around his hips, locking my ankles at the small of his back. I refuse to let him go, refuse to create even an inch of space between us.

"I love it," I moan against his mouth when I break the kiss. "I love being dirty with you. I love being nasty for you."

His cock shudders inside of me.