Chapter 6 Please
Claire
I didn't like it when he touched my cheeks while I was doing something so sinful. “You have a frown,” he said softly, that mischievous glint dancing in his eyes.
“Just get this over with,” I whispered, the words shaky with need.
He straightened and looked at me. “As you wish.”
“Get up,” he said.
I stood too close to him now. My breath caught. Before I could move, he scooped me into his arms. My eyes widened.
“What are you doing?” I gasped, my legs circling his waist without thinking.
His cock pressed hot and hard against my naked, dripping folds.
“You said to get it over with,” he murmured, voice low and rough.
We were almost the same height now, eyes locked. I clamped my mouth shut; no words would come. I was burning, aching, desperate to be filled.
“Not in this position,” I finally protested faintly.
He cocked his head as if already getting bored of my complaints.
“I’ve never done it like this before,” I admitted, cheeks on fire.
Ian had only ever taken me gently, in our matrimonial bed. Standing, held in the air, had never crossed my mind.
“Then you’ve missed a lot,” Liam said, hands sliding to my butt, lifting me higher. The thick head of his cock settled right at my entrance.
My heart pounded in my ears, loud and wild. Lust had swallowed everything else. I didn’t care anymore; I just needed him inside me.
I was dying inside from the starvation of not having sex for a long time. Slowly, he guided himself in. He pushed into my pussy, stretching me open. I was soaked, but he was bigger than Ian, so much bigger that it stung. A soft “ah” slipped out from me, and he hissed through his teeth.
His face tightened with restraint.
“You’re too tight,” he groaned, then thrust deeper with a little more force.
I jerked in his arms, a trembling breath spilling from my lips as he filled me completely, so deep it felt like he reached my stomach. My hands clutched his back, legs locked tighter around him, my head dropping to his shoulder while my toes curled hard from the sharp, exquisite blend of pain and pleasure.
“Breathe,” he rasped, voice rough and low, almost unrecognizable.
“Relax yourself.”
I let the air shudder out of me, forced my body to soften around him, to accept the thick stretch of him inside me. Slowly, the sting eased into a heavy, pulsing fullness.
It was done. I had crossed the line. Another man, not my husband, was buried deep in me. I knew regret would crash in later, but right now I couldn’t feel anything except him.
He drew back just an inch, then slid right back again. For someone who looked like he took whatever he wanted mercilessly, he was careful, almost gentle.
His hips rolled, slow at first, each thrust rocking through me. My own hips trembled with every impact.
“Look at me,” he murmured.
I couldn’t deny him. I lifted my head from his shoulder and met his eyes.
“Good,” he said, and the pace quickened.
Moans spilled from my throat in helpless waves. My hips rose to meet him, chasing the rhythm he set. Soon the room echoed with the wet slap of skin on skin, my voice high and broken, nothing like my own as his cock filled me over and over.
He struck places inside me Ian had never reached. Heat and ice flashed through my blood; the pleasure was almost too much, sharp and sweet and unbearable. He moved with deliberate control, every stroke calculated.
Then his voice cut through the haze, low and edged like steel.
“This isn’t enough.”
My eyes flew open. He had stopped moving. His face wasn’t flushed with ecstasy; it was blank, almost cold, as if it was the most boring sex he has had and that pained me for a reason unknown to me.
I don’t know what possessed me. The words tumbled out before I could stop them, the stupidest thing I’d ever said:
“How do you want it?”
He looked at me, a flicker of amusement in his eyes, then he started walking, still buried deep inside me.
“Where are you going?” I gasped, but he said nothing.
He carried me down the corridor, kicked a door wide open, and stepped in. The room smelled only of him, thick, heady, intoxicating. Maybe it was just because I was so turned on. He reached the bed and dropped me onto it. My eyes flew wide.
He slid out of me slowly, gaze locked on mine.
“Have you ever been choked before?” he asked, voice low, laced with dark mischief.
I shook my head fast. “No… please don’t, I don't want to leave a mark,” I said in a hurry.
“You asked how I wanted it, Mrs. Claire,” he said. “This is it.” His voice was final.
His fingers traced my cheek, slowly, then down my chin to my throat. His eyes darkened. Suddenly his hand closed around my neck, firm, testing.
“You want to know a secret?” he rasped.
I couldn’t answer.
“I don’t get satisfied,” he said, voice flat. “And that makes me angry.”
Suddenly without thinking he pressed harder. The air was cut off from my throat. My hands flew to his wrist, nails digging in. I couldn’t breathe, my eyes budged. Saliva slipped from my lips, tears spilled down my cheeks, my legs kicked helplessly.
Stop, please, stop, is this how I die? Claire, dying because she fucked another man?
Just as black spots danced in my vision, he let go.
I coughed violently, gasping for air “are you insane?" I managed to let out. Before I could catch my breath, his mouth crashed onto mine, licking the spit from my lips, tongue forcing its way in, rough, claiming. Then, without warning, he slammed his cock back inside me, one brutal thrust that tore a scream from my throat.
He fucked me hard, merciless, no pause, no mercy. Pleasure exploded through the panic, drowning everything. I forgot the choking, forgot the fear. All I felt was him, stretching me, owning me.
His face wasn’t blank anymore as he broke the kiss and I saw him clearly. It was twisted, fierce, a deep frown carved by pure pleasure.
His hand stayed on my throat, loose now, just resting there, reminding me who held the power.
I could only moan, broken, helpless, as he pounded into me.
“Kiss me,” I heard myself beg.
He didn’t hesitate. His mouth took mine again, swallowing my cries as he drove deeper, faster, and relentlessly. The pleasure was too much; I bit his lip hard, for the second time today.
He growled into my mouth but didn’t stop. If anything, he fucked me harder, deeper.
And God forgive me, I loved it.
I loved it, every brutal thrust, every rough sound that tore from his throat and fed straight into mine.
But I was close, so close, and he knew it. He broke the kiss again, eyes wild.
“Don’t you dare come,” he growled, voice raw, animalistic.
“You come when I tell you to.”
He pulled out completely and hissed.
No. Not now. Not when I was teetering on the edge, seconds away from shattering.
“Please,” I begged, hips chasing him desperately.
“What was that?” he asked, amusement curling in the corner of his mouth.
“Please,” I nearly shouted, voice cracking.
“Please what, Mrs. Claire?” he asked mockingly.
Tears pricked my eyes. “Please make me come,” I rasped, the words foreign, filthy, mine.
In one swift move he flipped me onto my stomach.
“Raise your hips,” he ordered.
I obeyed, trembling, lifting myself for him, waiting, needing.
Instead of filling me he asked, low and dangerous, “Have you ever been spanked before?”
I glanced back, panic flaring. “No… please, don’t—”
“You already know I won’t listen,” he said, cutting me off. His palm traced over my ass, slow and possessive. I braced.
The first slap cracked across my skin.
I moaned, loud, shocked, because it didn’t hurt the way I expected. It burned straight to my core.
My eyes flew wide. I liked it.
Another slap. Harder.
Another. And another. Each one ripped a scream from me, pleasure crashing over me in hot waves.
“See?” he murmured. “You like it. You're not as bad as I thought.”
Then he drove into me again, one merciless thrust that nearly sent me over.
“I said don’t come,” he snarled, fisting my hair, yanking my head back while his other hand clamped my hip. He fucked me hard, deeper than before, owning every inch of me.
I fought it, fought the climax clawing up my spine, but it was impossible.
“Yes, yes, right there—” I cried.
“Right where?” he demanded, pounding harder.
“Right in my pussy,” I sobbed, completely gone. “I love it, please fuck me harder—”
I was lost, begging, broken, and I didn’t care.