Page 4 of Raziel

The sound was obscene—slick, wet, raw. Like sin itself had a rhythm, and we were keeping time with it.

His jaw was clenched, lips parted, head lolled, brow furrowed. He looked like he hated how good it felt—and was caught up in the rapture of it at the same time.

He slowed down.

He spread my ass open. Slid deeper. Like he was trying to bury his dick in me.

“I’m fucking weak,” he growled, the words more to himself than to me. “You make me so fucking weak.”

I smiled.

That sounded a hell of a lot like praise.

I rolled my hips, slow, popping my ass like I was dancing for him.

“Look at yourself. Being slutted out in the bathroom and liking it.”

His words were meant to humiliate—but they only made me wetter.

A moan slipped from my lips, shameless and drawn out. “Fuck… I do,” I panted, biting my bottom lip, watching our reflection fog the mirror. “I like it so much.”

There was no shame left in me. Just hunger. Just heat.

I met his gaze in the mirror. My lips were parted, eyes wild.

His fingers dug into my hips, dragging me back onto him harder, deeper.

“Say it again.”

“I like it,” I moaned, my voice trembling, filthy and honest. “I like being used by you.”

His grip tightened. His breath hitched.

“Only for you, baby,” I whimpered.

It wasn’t the first time I’d been bent over a bathroom sink—just not one so expensive and not sober.

His dick started hitting that spot in the back of my pussy that made my clit thump, and kept hitting it, again and again, and I felt everything spill out of me.

My juices slicked down my thighs, soaking us both. My breath came in ragged pants, my body was on fire, but I kept dancing for him. Greedy for more. For all of him.

I felt him follow me over the edge—his body tense, his dick twitching deep inside me as he nutted. Then he collapsed against my back, breath hot and ragged against my neck.

We just stayed like that. Panting. Sweaty. Spent. My hands braced on the counter, my legs shaking, my heart pounding in sync with his.

When he finally pulled out, I felt the slow, sticky trail of his cum drip down my thighs.

I didn’t move. I laid my head against the cool marble, trying to catch my breath.

He grabbed some paper and cleaned me up in silence, his touch surprisingly soft now.

I peeked into the mirror through heavy lashes and watched him fix himself—zipping up, adjusting his shirt like he hadn’t just wrecked me in the dirtiest way possible.

There was a giant wet spot on his pants. My lips curled into a smile.

A gasp skittered past my lips when he suddenly yanked me up like I was weightless. I let him. My legs shook.

He grabbed my chin with one rough hand and tilted my face up, eyes meeting mine.