Page 77 of Sticks and Stones (Shadow Valley U)
“Stone—”
“Where do you want your name, Sticks?” I adjust myself. Jesus, talking about marking myself for her has me harder than ever. “On my dick? Across my chest? My knuckles, maybe?”
“You’re talking crazy.” She steps forward. “You can’t just do whatever you please and declare that I’m yours. That’s not how this works.”
“Turn around,” I order.
Her eyes narrow. “Why?”
Because I’m done playing games. Without warning, I spin her to face the wall. She lets out a gasp, and I yank her hips back toward me.
“Enough fucking questions, Wren. Hands on the wall.”
She complies, and it gives me another rush.
I take my time dragging her pants down. I get them to her ankles, and I run my hands up the outsides of her smooth legs. To her panties.
“Don’t—”
I rip them off.
With my teeth.
She groans as the fabric slides out from between her thighs, and I drop it from my mouth. I can smell her arousal. And a quick check, slipping my finger through her center, confirms it.
I stand back up and finally undo my jeans. My dick twitches as it’s unleashed, and I cup her butt cheek.
“When I fuck you in this dirty storage closet, Sticks, there’s exactly one name you’re going to be screaming.”
“Archer’s?” she sasses.
Smack.
My palm connects with her ass, and she nearly jumps a foot. I grip her hips and slide into her a moment later, and we both groan.
“Keep your hands on the wall,” I bite out.
She has to lean forward to reach, and I go with her. Bending over her like an animal. Her muscles squeeze at my dick, and I run my hands up her back. I unclip her bra and wrap my arm around her, palming her breast. My other hand fists her hair. I tug until her head comes back and her gaze is on the ceiling.
“Fuck,” she groans.
“Shut. Up.” Each word is punctuated by a thrust, by a twist of my fingers on her nipple.
She’s so fucking wet I have no problem sliding in even deeper, hitting a new angle. I take out my anger, my frustration, my loathing of this hold she has on me, on her cunt.
Just because she’s mine, and I’m hers, doesn’t mean I don’t hate her for it.
“I’m close,” she pants. She pushes harder against me, her hips bucking.
I bite her shoulder. My hands are everywhere. Breasts, throat, hair, my fingers sliding into her mouth. I’m fucking possessed, and her sharp cries only egg me on faster.
She might be close—but I’m closer. And I make no move to touch her clit to help her along. My balls tighten, and I grind to a halt inside her. Pleasure detonates up my dick, up my spine, when I come hard.
After a minute, my vision returns to normal. I slowly remove my fingers from her jaw. I guess I covered her mouth. And now she’s breathing heavily, just like me. The nape of her neck is damp, her short dark hairs curling there. I push the rest of her hair over her shoulder and run my finger down her spine.
Just to see her shiver.
I pull out slowly and turn her around.