Page 67 of Iron Roses

Each thrust punches a soft cry from my throat. My breasts swing with the rhythm, thighs slick and shaking, body open and taken. His fingers dig into my waist like he’s molding me into place, holding me still as he uses me.

Then he pulls out.

He’s already moving—gripping my arm, spinning me gently. I stumble back with him, breath ragged, until the cool wall kisses my spine. He presses me there, one hand on my hip, the other curled in my hair, anchoring me.

I flatten my palms to the wall, tilt my head back, let him see me.

He lifts my leg, hooks it around his waist, and thrusts into me again in one fluid motion.

I cry out—his cock pushing so deep I feel him in my stomach. My back arches off the wall. My hands scramble for something to hold, but there's only him.

He fucks me like that—standing, wild, teeth gritted, body slick with sweat. My wet skin sticks to the plaster behind me, breath caught between our chests. Every thrust hits deeper. Angled. Brutal. Controlled chaos.

Then he grips my hair and yanks my head to the side—not painfully, but rough enough to make my breath hitch.

And he bites.

His mouth latches onto my neck, teeth sinking in just enough to blur pain into pleasure. My pussy clenches hardaround him as he sucks there, marking me, moaning into my skin like he’s starving for it.

I writhe under him.

He releases my neck with a final bite, a deep groan vibrating against my skin. I’m already breathless, my legs trembling, my thighs slick with sweat and everything he’s fucked out of me—but he’s not done.

He pulls out again and grabs my wrist, dragging me across the room toward the bed. I stumble after him, dazed, aching, greedy. He lets me fall onto the mattress chest-first, but before I can move, he flips me with one hand and arranges me like a fucking display.

He hooks my legs up—one knee bent, the other stretched wide—then lifts my hips and slides a pillow beneath my lower back, tilting my pelvis high and open. I’m flat on my back, spine slightly arched, pussy spread and aching, thighs parted so wide I can feel the stretch in my groin.

Then—his hands grab my ankles.

He pushes them forward, folding me in half until my knees press almost to my shoulders. His body looms over mine, cock already thick again, flushed, shining with slick and need.

This angle—this pose—it’s not gentle. It’s raw. Exposing.

My cunt pulses, completely open to him. He looks down at me—eyes dark, jaw tight—and then he thrusts.

All the way in.

His cock slams into me so deep I swear I go blind for a second. The angle pushes every inch into me, grinding hard against my cervix, his hips flat to my ass, pelvis crushing down as he folds me tighter.

My hands grab the sheets. My breath tears out of my lungs.

He fucks me in this position like he can’t get deep enough. His hands press my thighs back, locking me in place, using my own body as leverage to drive in—hard, punishing thrusts that punch sounds from my throat I’ve never made before.

The slap of skin is brutal.

His balls smack against my ass with every stroke, and my pussy is stretched so tight I feel every ridge, every vein, every twitch of him inside me.

I cry out again, head thrown back, throat exposed.

He leans over me, lets one hand slide between my legs, finds my clit with ruthless precision. He rubs exactly how I need it, and my orgasm slams into me like a wave breaking through bone.

I spasm under him—screaming, breathless, shaking—my pussy clenching around his cock as he keeps fucking me through it, thrust after thrust pushing me past the edge until all I can do is take it.

And he doesn't stop until he's coming too—hard, groaning into the skin of my calf, cock pulsing deep inside me, hips jerking through every wave of it.

His body sinks over me, sweat-slick chest pressed to mine, his breath pouring out hot and ragged against my throat. We’re still tangled, still pulsing from the aftershocks, skin sticking to skin, heartbeats thundering in time.

Our mouths crash, hungry and wet. His lips drag across mine, and I open for him instinctively—no thought—just need. His kiss is all breath and heat and claiming. He sucks on my bottom lip, then groans into my mouth like he can’t get enough, like kissing me is the only thing keeping him grounded.

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