His groan, throaty and soft, makes my heart seize; it echoes on as he pulses inside me, hot cum coating my womb. Marking me in the most primal, most dangerous way.
“Christ.” Kal coughs, as if his release has physically drained him.
An obscene squelching sound splatters in the air as he slowly withdraws from me; my pussy clenches around nothing, and I feel the loss in my fucking soul.
They say you feel fundamentally different after losing your virginity—or at least, that’s what my family’s always preached. And I do, but it’s not because my innocence was suddenly eviscerated; it’s because I didn’t realize how right it would feel, having Kallum Anderson inside me, until he no longer is.
Maybe I should feel bad about that, knowing what I do—that this is a one time thing, and soon I’ll be walking down the aisle with another man at my side.
But I don’t.
Not even a little bit.
And that realization is as terrifying as it is freeing.
Kal’s sharp brows knit together as he fists his dick, and I glance down for the first time, getting a good look at it; veins bulge against the thick shaft, tracking up to the bulbous head, and a shudder works its way over me.
He strokes, rubbing life into his partially-flaccid length, and raises his chin to meet my gaze.
“You’ve made quite the fucking mess,” he says, and a chill races down my spine as I note the blood-and-cum mixture splashed across his skin. “Now, get on your knees and clean me up.”
Elena Riccion her knees is a sight to behold.
A work of art deserving of being auctioned off to the gods, the only entities worthy of her fierce beauty.
As she situates herself on the tile floor, she reaches for the straps of her dress, pushing them off her shoulders. Since I tore it down the middle, the fabric parts with little effort, slipping away and pooling around her.
The breath evaporates from my lungs as her tight, perfect body comes into full view; watching her on security cameras these last few months is nothing compared to the masterpiece that is the real thing. She’s smooth and soft, everything a woman should be.
A balm for my sharp, harsh edges.
Practically a goddess in her own right.
Gritting my teeth against the thought, I suck in a heap of air and try not to focus too much on how goddamn right all of this feels.
How I came to ruin her, but the destruction here tonight has only been my own.
Her breasts rise and fall with each second of immobility that passes between us, and when she shifts, I get a glimpse of the pomegranate tattooed beneath one. Its red ink is a stain I might mind under normal circumstances, but I know the reason she got it.
That she marked herself forme.
If she’s wondering why I don’t join her in her nakedness, she at least knows better than to question it. Lithe hands slide up over my slacks, pausing where they’re caught above my knees, and then she scoots closer, eyeing my cock with an awestruck expression.
One part reverence, one part curiosity, and the rest an all-consuming hunger.
“Are you sure this is safe?” she asks quietly, no doubt apprehensive about the virginity smeared along my length.
One of my brows arches. “Are you questioning my medical expertise?”
“More like your sanity.”
She has a point there. I’m questioning it myself.
“If you truly think I’d put you in that sort of danger, I’m not sure we should continue.”