Page 26 of Veil of Dust

I pinch her nipple, twisting hard. My dick slams deeper, hitting every nerve inside her.

“You’re mine,” I snarl, rubbing her clit faster. Her pussy’s so tight it’s driving me insane.

“Bullshit,” she spits, but her eyes are wild, her body shaking. She’s close—I feel it.

Her pussy grips me, pulsing hard. I rub her clit in tight, merciless circles, pushing her over the edge.

She screams, “Fuck, yes!” Her orgasm rips through her, her body convulsing, pussy milking my dick.

Her nails dig into my shoulders, breaking skin. Her head falls back, lips parted, chest heaving.

I’m close, balls tight, dick throbbing inside her. “Say it,” I growl, thrusting harder, chasing my own release.

“No,” she chokes, but her eyes are locked on mine, raw and unguarded.

I slam in again. Again. My release hits like a fucking tidal wave, spilling into her.

“Fuck,” I groan, my hands bruising her hips. My dick pulses, emptying everything I’ve got.

She’s trembling, her pussy still clenching around me. I’m shaking, too, breath ragged, body spent.

No words now. Just heat. Just us.

Her grip loosens. Her hands fall, resting on the bar.

Her head drops back. Sweat glistens on her throat, her tits still bare.

I stay inside her a moment, my dick softening but not ready to leave. Then, I pull out, slow, watching her pussy glisten with us.

She shoves my chest, hard. “Get the fuck off me.”

I step back. My lip’s bleeding, the taste sharp. I lick it, savoring her on me.

“Nothing’s changed,” she says, her voice rough, scraped raw. She’s lying, and we both know it.

“Bullshit,” I say, my voice low. The word hangs heavy, cutting through the haze.

She hops off the bar. Her skirt falls, covering her thighs. Her shirt’s ruined, hanging open, nipples still hard.

She doesn’t look at me. She just straightens, her hair a mess, and her face flushed with fire.

“Asshole,” she mutters, turning away. Her boots hit the floor, each step a spark.

She storms toward the back. Her hips sway, trailing chaos like a fucking hurricane.

I stay where I am. My dick’s slick and my body’s aching, my heart slamming against my ribs.

I’m grinning. It’s not soft—it’s feral, matching the wildness she dragged out of me.

She’ll hate herself for this. Hate me more for making her want it.

She’ll crave it again. So will I.

The bar’s a wreck—glass everywhere, whiskey pooling, that stool still on its side. It’s a graveyard for whatever we just did.

I drag a hand through my hair. My shoulder stings where she clawed me, my lip throbbing with her bite.

I don’t care. I want the marks. Want the proof.

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