Page 127 of Black Castle

“Oh god.” The thump of his thumb against her swollen clit sends a rush of pleasure spiraling deep into her stomach.

“Tell me.” His voice is velvety, eyes gleaming beneath the frost of his lashes. “You were thinking about my cock while my belt was pelting down your ass earlier, weren’t you? Is that why you are dripping when I haven’t even touched you?”

His thumb circles her entrance, teasing.

“Zev—please,” she whimpers, desperation leaking into her voice as she tilts her head back.

“That’s not the answer I was hoping to hear,” he chuckles low, leaning over her, his hand disappearing from her pussy only to cup her sensitive breast.

“Oh, god,” she whimpers as his warm palm kneads her, his finger toying with her nipple.

Her breath stutters when he finally drags the dripping tip of his cock against her entrance.

“How badly do you want this?” His tone is raspy, thick with lust as he strokes her with his length.

“Please.”

“I need to hear you say it.” He presses the throbbing head of his cock just half an inch into her hole, pulling out and drawing a whimper of protest from her.

Her hand reaches behind her, desperate to guide him inside her.

But a yelp tears from her lips when he slaps the hand away. “Good girls wait until they are given.”

“Oh god, please.” She grinds her hips, seeking, needy.

“How bad?”

“S-so bad.” She trembles, the corners of her eyes burning with the unbearable ache.

Her mouth opens but the impending moan gets tangled in her throat as he slides into her opening, pushing through her tight walls, hitting a spot that always drives her insane.

She cries out, back arching, fingers clawing at the sheet as he pulls out tortuously slowly, only to slam back in, the bed groaning beneath them.

“See how your pussy always welcomes me?” His pace quickens, each thrust a claim, a brutal devotion. “That’s because it’s meant for me.” He grabs her hip, perfecting the angle before he drives impossibly deeper.

Her vision blurs, pleasure mounting into something dangerous, something consuming. He pounds into her with a hunger that borders on obsession, that makes her body sing with the violence of it.

“This perfect pussy is mine,” he whispers gruffly, a promise laced with possession. “At the early hours of the morning, in the busy days of the afternoon, deep into the many deads of every fucking night. It’s always going to be mine. Only my cock gets to fuck and own every inch of your needy cunt.”

“Oh, god, Zev please,” she sobs, body unraveling, the pleasure cresting into something unbearable with every intentional thrust.

But she doesn’t want him to stop. She loves how he is so big and how perfectly he always fits inside her. She loves how he pushes through her walls, hitting places no man has ever hit before. She loves how roughly he plunges in and out of her, how she drips her juices all over him even without him trying too hard. And she loves it even more when he pauses inside her and she can feel it all, the fervent throbbing of his cock. And she loves it too, when he empties himself inside her, raw, unrelenting.

She can complain that he never gets tired of her, that he likes to fuck her for hours, and yet remain insatiable. But she likes it. She likes that he is so obsessed with her, with her body, the way she always clenches around him like she was made for him.

“... so you better listen ‘cause I won’t say this again.” His dark voice and a hard thrust pull her from her daze, and she realizes he has been talking.

“If you ever think, and I mean think of letting another man stick his fucking dick inside this pussy, be ready to see his chopped-up body delivered to you in a box.” He leans over and grabs her hair, yanking her head backward. “If any man looks at you with lust, breathe wrong in your direction, he will not see another day.” His cock pulses inside her, and she clenches around him, panting as he presses a deceptively soft kiss on her neck.

“And that boyfriend of yours,” he murmurs, and her heart skips, her head shaking to drive away whatever thought he is having before it takes root. “If I ever.” He drags his words, his nails digging into her hip while his cock remains buried inside her to the hilt. “If I ever smell his scent on you, even if it’s because of his old shirt you found in your laundry, I’ll break all his bones, bleed him dry and fuck you raw and hard while covered in his blood.”

Slowly, he pulls out and slams back into her again, wrenching a cry from her throat.

“I swear to god, Vivienne.” His voice is a warning, a dark promise. “I’m not bluffing. I’ll kill him.”

Maybe she should be afraid. Maybe she should cry, bolt. But something about the way he says it, the sheer depravity of his promise, makes her envision it—the sight of him, drenched in another man’s blood, mounting her, fucking her raw and hard, whispering filth against her ear.

That thought unravels her and sends her plummeting over the edge. With a shattered gasp, she comes hard, her juices gushing, drenching his twitching cock.

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