Chapter 37 FUCKED BY THE HOT STRANGER 2
HE SAVED ME THEN FUCKED ME 2
SCARLET POV
His hand closed around my throat before I could even blink, forcing my back against the wall with a thud. My breath hitched, my pulse hammering wildly beneath his grip. Heat exploded in my veins, a dizzying fire that had been building since that damned drink I never meant to take. My skin burned, every nerve ending alive and hungry.
His shadow towered over me, broad shoulders filling the dimly lit room. His face remained mostly hidden, but his eyes gleamed, hard and assessing, like a predator deciding whether to devour its prey. My knees weakened under the weight of that gaze.
I tried to speak, to protest, but the words dissolved into a needy whimper. My lips parted, my chest rising and falling rapidly against his palm.
“Please…” The plea tumbled from me before I could swallow it back. Not a plea for mercy. Not for freedom. But for him. For something I couldn’t even name, something the drug in my blood twisted into unbearable need.
He smirked, a dangerous curl of lips that made my insides clench. “So hot already, and I haven’t even touched you.”
And then he did.
His mouth crashed onto mine, rough, punishing, stealing the breath from my lungs. I gasped against him, and he swallowed it whole, tongue forcing its way past my lips. His taste was dark, heady, intoxicating — and I melted, shamefully eager, kissing him back like my life depended on it. My body arched against his, desperate for more.
His free hand gripped my waist, fingers digging into my flesh as he ground my body against the hard, solid wall of his chest. I could feel him — thick, unyielding, straining beneath his trousers — pressing into my stomach. The realization sent a fresh wave of molten heat between my thighs.
I moaned, the sound muffled in his mouth, my nails clawing helplessly at his shirt. Every inch of me begged to be taken, devoured, destroyed.
He tore his lips from mine, leaving me breathless, his hand sliding down my throat to my collarbone, then lower. His palm covered my breast through the thin chiffon, thumb brushing over my nipple — already tight, achingly sensitive.
I gasped, back arching into his touch. “Please,” I whispered again, shameless now.
“Please what?” His voice was a growl in my ear, low and cruelly amused.
“Touch me… I need—” My words broke off into a cry as he pinched my nipple, hard enough to send a jolt straight to the hot ache between my legs.
He chuckled, the sound dark and hungry. “Begging already. Good girl.”
Before I could catch my breath, he yanked at the straps of my dress, pulling them down so roughly the chiffon tore. Cool air hit my fevered skin as the dress fell around my waist, baring my breasts to his gaze. His eyes darkened, and he lowered his head without hesitation, mouth closing over one taut peak.
I cried out, the sound echoing in the small room. His teeth grazed my nipple, sharp and merciless, then soothed the sting with his tongue. I tangled my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, shamelessly arching my chest into his mouth.
Every lick, every suck sent fire spiraling downward, coiling tight in my belly. My thighs pressed together, desperate for friction.
He noticed. Of course he noticed.
“Spread them,” he ordered, voice a whip of command.
My body obeyed before my mind caught up. My legs parted, the cool air sliding up under my skirt. I was already wet, shamefully so, slickness clinging to my thighs.
His hand trailed down my stomach, deliberate, cruelly slow, until his fingers found the heat between my legs. He pressed through the damp fabric of my panties, and I jolted, a sharp cry escaping my lips.
“Dripping,” he murmured against my breast, almost to himself. “You were made for this.”
He rubbed me through the cloth, firm strokes that made me whimper and writhe, my hips chasing his hand. My body had a will of its own, begging shamelessly for him.
“Say it,” he demanded, lifting his head, his eyes locking onto mine. “Say what you want.”
“I… I want you.” My voice broke on the words, needy, raw.
He grinned, savage satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. “That’s better.”
In one swift motion, he hooked his fingers in my panties and tore them aside, sliding two thick fingers into me without warning.
I cried out, head falling back against the wall. The stretch burned, then melted into pure pleasure. My body clenched around him, greedy, unwilling to let him go.
“So tight,” he hissed, pumping into me, his thumb circling my clit with practiced cruelty.
My legs shook, the drug amplifying every sensation until I was trembling, moaning, clawing at his shoulders as waves of ecstasy rolled through me. My climax hit fast and hard, ripping a scream from my throat.
But he didn’t stop.
He pulled his fingers free, wet with my slick, and licked them clean before I could even process. Then he unbuckled his belt, dragging down his trousers. My eyes widened at the sight of him — thick, hard, pulsing with need.
“Now,” he growled, grabbing my thighs and lifting me as though I weighed nothing. My back slammed against the wall again as he positioned himself at my entrance.
I gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. “Please…”
He thrust into me with one brutal stroke, burying himself to the hilt. I screamed, the stretch almost unbearable, yet my body welcomed him, clenching tight, soaking him instantly.
“Fuck,” he groaned, voice ragged, forehead pressed to mine. “So fucking tight.”
He pulled back and slammed into me again, and again, each thrust hard enough to rattle the wall. I wrapped my legs around his waist, locking him inside me, meeting every savage stroke with desperate need.
My cries filled the room — moans, gasps, pleas — blending with the sound of his grunts, the slap of flesh against flesh. He fucked me like he owned me, like I was nothing but his to use, his to ruin.
And God help me, I wanted it.
Every thrust sent sparks exploding behind my eyes, pleasure building higher, higher, until I was breaking apart again, screaming his name though I didn’t even know it. My walls clenched around him, dragging him deeper, milking him.
He didn’t let up. He drove harder, faster, claiming me with every brutal stroke until he shuddered, cursed, and came with a growl, filling me with heat as he buried himself deep inside.
I collapsed against him, trembling, my body wrecked, sweat-soaked, utterly spent. My heart pounded wildly against my ribs, still aching for more even as I struggled to breathe.
His hand fisted in my hair, tilting my head back so I had no choice but to meet his eyes. They burned, sharp and dangerous.
“From this moment,” he said, voice like steel wrappe
d in velvet, “you belong to me.”
And God help me — in that moment, I knew he was right.