Page 41 of Always A Villain
Her voice breaks as she protests, so I reach around, wrapping my hand around her throat, cutting off her words. “Take a breath,” I order, squeezing tighter until her body goes still.
“I can’t,” she whimpers.
“Yes, you fucking can.” I grip harder, watching her struggle for air as I push deeper, the tightness almost unbearable around my cock. When the head finally pops through, her entire body convulses around me. My hand stays locked on her throat, keeping her breathless as I force myself in farther, inch by inch.
The second I’m buried inside her, I release her throat, her scream exploding into the night as she gasps for air. Her chest heaves, but I don’t give her a second of relief. My hands clamp down on her hips, and I fuck her—hard. The sound of my balls slapping against her ass cuts through the stillness of the woods, mixing with the ragged sobs spilling from her throat.
She screams, her body writhing under me, every thrust shoving her deeper into the dirt, but I don’t stop.
“You're doing so well.”
“It hurts.” Her face is smeared with dirt and tears.
“Breathe through it, little siren. You look so beautiful with my cock buried in your ass.”
My pace doesn’t falter, each violent thrust pulling fresh cries from her lips. Her body’s trembling, fighting the pain, but I can see it—her breaking point. The way her gasps turn into moans, that shift in her eyes, she’s loving it. Pain twisting into something darker, more primal. Something that’s driving us both over the edge.
Pain isn’t always punishment. Sometimes it’s pure, twisted pleasure.
Her moans grow louder, more desperate. She starts pushing her hips back, seeking more. The fight’s gone,replaced by hunger. It’s all there, written across her body and the way it responds to me. The darkness she craves. The pain she needs.
My cock throbs at the sight of her breaking, the need to come roaring through me like a fucking fire. My movements grow frenzied, reckless, the animal inside me unleashed.
I reach around and grip her neck, cutting off her air, watching her body freeze beneath me. The second she loses her breath, she locks up, her orgasm barreling through her.
Her pussy gushes, cum spilling down her thighs. She can’t scream, but her face tells me everything. The pure bliss, the way her eyes roll back, her lips parted, tears wetting her cheeks. Her face is turning a deep shade of red as she teeters on the edge of consciousness, but I’m not stopping. Not yet.
I pound into her viciously, making her body take everything I’m giving. I want her to feel this tomorrow, to feel every bruise, every ache, and remember who fucking owns her.
She goes limp, collapsing into the dirt—passed out cold. But I keep going, her lifeless body rocking from the force as I chase my own release. The tight heat around my cock sends me over the edge. I come with a roar, the orgasm stealing my breath as I fill her up even more. My groan echoes in the silence as I collapse on top of her.
I stay on top of her until her body warms beneath mine, her breaths evening out. She’s limp, completely spent, and I finally lift myself, sliding out of her. My cock’s slick with cum, glistening in the moonlight. Pulling her into my arms, I cradle her. Her softness hits me harder than it should—makes my chest ache.
Dirt and scratches cover her skin, but damn, she’s never looked more beautiful.
“Rory,” I murmur, brushing the mess of hair from her face. She doesn't stir, just sleeps soundly, her breaths even. I carry her back to the truck and settle her in the passenger seat, covering her with a blanket.
“You have no idea what you mean to me,” I whisper, the admission slipping out before I can stop it. Swallowing roughly, I press my lips to her forehead.
When I pull up to the house, the lights are on, casting long shadows over the yard. I park, shut off the engine, and scoop her up into my arms again. Inside, up the stairs, into my room. I lay her gently on the bed, her body still lifeless in that perfect, surrendered way. She needs to be cleaned up.
The bath fills slowly, steam rising, while I strip my dirty clothes and lift her once more, carrying her into the bathroom. Lowering her into the warm water, I sink behind her, holding her small body against mine.
The water turns pink, washing away the dirt and the blood. I grab a washcloth, methodically wiping away the grime. Taking my time, I let the heat soothe her skin. Her lashes flutter, and she stirs.
“Axel...” she sighs, barely above a whisper.
“Little siren.” I press a kiss to the side of her neck, feeling her nuzzle closer to me. “How are you feeling?”
“Sore,” she exhales. Yeah, she’s sore—I made sure of that.
“I'm gonna clean you up and put something on those scratches.” The water’s murky now, a mix of sweat, dirt, and blood.
“Where am I?” she asks, disoriented.
“In my bathtub,” I say, dragging the washcloth over her stomach, cleaning her with a care that feels unnatural but right.
“Mmmmkay,” she mumbles, already half-asleep again, her body melting back into mine. The heat between us feels too intimate, too close.
