Page 53 of Taunting Tarran
I swallow as our tongues fight for dominance. Fuck this man. He leans in closer, his large hand wrapping around the back of my neck.
‘P-please, don’t,’ I beg. I’m not sure why I’m begging him to stop, because the more he invades my space, the more my pussy throbs.
‘Is that what you really want, Tarran?’
No.
‘I don’t know.’
‘With a neck this small, do you know how easily I could snap it?’
His thumb strokes my skin, brushing the undersideof my jaw. The intensity in his eyes holds me in a chokehold, and I’m completely consumed. He presses into me, cradling my back as he pins me to the floor –the cold floor– pressing his body against mine. His lips brush against my cheek, his warm minty breath warming my skin as he glides his face across mine.
‘Funny, isn’t it?’
‘What?’ I ask, as he pulls his face away to look into my eyes.
‘The way fear grips you – how it makes your heart race, your blood surge, and your pussy wet,’ he rasps.
I recoil, writhing beneath him. ‘Let me out.’
‘But you taste so good.’
Is he right? Can it be that, in the shadows of death, I find myself more alive than ever before?
Hemakes me feel alive.
Darkness envelops me as he saps the very breath from my lungs – his weight pressing down on me, realising the finality of it all, stripping away the malevolence. Every sensation is heightened, every heartbeat a declaration that I’m still here, hanging on.
Right now, I hate him, and I loathe myself, but I do as he demands. Lying on the cold floor, I pull off my knickers, and open my legs.
He knows how I’m feeling, and he’s enjoying it. I despise him. Truly. With every calculated fibre of my being, I hate him. Yet, the disgust for myself cuts deeper. Oh, he knows me, lying here exposed, vulnerable, every ounce of my dignity laid bare. It’s my stage, and he’s my smirking audience. He gets his power,I get my punishment.
He stands up, towering over me, unclasping his trousers, and his hard cock bolts free from its confines.
He’s fucking mesmerising.
The soft light from the lantern dances across his form, tracing every curvature of his veiny cock as he descends. It’s almost poetic, the way the glow clings to him.
He really is Angel Gabriel.
The light caresses his form, embracing him though it recognises the divinity within; a celestial aura, otherworldly and commanding.
Angel Gabriel, - both terrifying and enchanting.
I tremble, caught between awe and fear, my body betraying me as I yield to his control.
‘Don’t you dare move,’ he growls, as his cock teases on the entrance of my glistening pussy.
‘STOP!’ I gasp.
‘What’s the matter, Tarran? The paintoomuch for you?’ he coos, mockingly. ‘AmItoo much for you?’
I swallow. Damn him.
I don’t answer, and he drives into me. My mouth gapes open as the pain of him stretching me forces my eyes to roll back. He pulls out, then slams back into me, back and forth, faster, deeper. My body relaxes, each thrust claiming part of my soul. I clench my jaw, my body shuddering from the pleasure, and his growls cause me to tip on the edge of an orgasm. His hand shoots up around my throat, it tightens, and I’m gasping for air as my bodydefies me, it’s as though in this moment, I glimpse the essence of life – a raw, euphoric release.
‘Oh, Tarran’ he rasps, followed by another moan. He’s panting against my chest, and our bodies are shaking together. Both of his hands slide either side of me as he hauls me off the floor still perched on his cock. Then, he slams my back against the earthen wall, roughly fucking me with a primal fury as he drives himself balls deep inside me.
