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Punky reaches around my hip and commences playing with my clit. I shudder, as it’s all too much. My breasts are swinging, my nipples grazing the sheets with Punky’s brutal strokes. He’s everywhere, and I know I’ll never get enough.
I can’t handle his carnality any longer, so I collapse, but Punky won’t allow the reprieve. He props himself up on one knee while placing his other foot on the floor. He then grips my arm and secures it behind me as he fucks me hard.
I’m half slouched onto the bed, turned onto my side as Punky anchors onto my wrist and hip, controlling and dominating me so I have no other choice but to bend to his demands. I’m floppy, my body Jell-O, but Punky won’t stop.
“Had enough?”
“No,” I stubbornly cry with my cheek pressed into the mattress.
“I fuck ye like I should hate ye,” he breathlessly states, moaning when I rock back on his shaft.
“You should hate me because this means nothing to me,” I arrogantly lie. “You’re a good lay. That’s all.”
“Is that right?” He chuckles, not believing my dishonesty. “This has come as a huge relief, ya can imagine, ’cause I wouldn’t want ya gettin’ attached.”
“That won’t happen.”
“Glad we’re on the same page,” he says, the slapping of our flesh so erotic, I bite my cheek to stop my pleasured moans. “But I know that yer lyin’. Ye may want to hate me, but yer body is tellin’ me otherwise. This warm, wild body which fits around my cock perfectly.”
I can’t handle it.
Punky’s actions and words send me over the edge, and I chase my release, unable to hold back my screams because I’m so fucking close. He’s won. He knows he can hurt me, which means I’m in so much trouble. We both are.
“Yer a parful wee liar, Babydoll. I own ye. Whether ye want me to or not. Say it,” he orders, then suddenly stops as I desperately rock back, begging he put me out of my misery.
“That’ll never happen,” I pant, reaching around, pleading he continues to move. But he does the complete opposite. He pulls out.
I sag forward, crying out in frustration. “No!”
“Say it,” he commands calmly while my winded breaths betray me.
Stubbornly, I begin rubbing over myself because if he won’t bring me to climax, I’ll do it by my own hand. But he slaps my hand away and flips me onto my back. I fruitlessly fight him, but he pins me with his weight as he draws my arms above my head.
“I’ll not ask ya again,” he cautions hoarsely.
His erection presses between us. I whimper when he rubs it against my needy center. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of giving in, but eventually, I concede because there is no point in fighting the inevitable.
“I’m a parful wee liar,” I angrily cry.
“And?”
“And you fucking own me!”
“Aye, Baby, that I do.”
He hums in satisfaction, knowing that he’s won, knowing that this changes everything. He can hurt me. And I can hurt him. We’re at a crossroads where no one wins, but losing has never felt more like wi
On a sated exhale, he sinks into me, both of us moaning because this depravity hurts so good. He bends down, kissing me languidly. Changing the pace of our coupling, he confuses me with his kindness. His lip ring brushes against me, and I reach up, ru
I can’t stop wanting him.
He increases the tempo, stroking me in just the right way where I don’t stand a chance and come loudly, finally letting go. My moans are unrestrained, but I don’t care. I cling onto him, his skin slick and warm. It’s nothing short of perfect.
The moment the last cries leave me, he pulls out and spills his seed over my stomach with a guttural growl. The moonlight allows me to see his silhouette, neck arched, back bowed—he is a vision. And I know I own him as much as he owns me.
His breathless pants echo in the room as he gets off the bed, and before I can ask what he’s doing, he uses his shirt to wipe me clean. The gesture just confirms what I knew the moment we met—we’re so fucking screwed.