Page 35 of The Hitch
She answers me with a kiss of her own, tongue slipping through my lips, her teeth a sharpened edge to the heightening pleasure. One of my hands finds its place in her hair, gripping it at the root. The other slides between her thighs and strokes at the drenched lace panties—the singular barrier between us.
I can't remove them without peeling her tights away, so I pull the lace to the side and gently lay Melody down, cradling her head, cushioning her from the hard floor. She spreads her thighs wide and welcomes me in with a heady moan. Notching the head of my cock at her entrance, I push in slowly, reveling in the sharp gasp she lets out.
Melody feels like heaven. But I'm not a holy man.
Her hands scrape at the concrete floor, leaving desperate scratches in the coagulating blood. The sight only makes me grow harder, thrust deeper, bare my teeth and snap at her shoulder. Her hands fly up to my face and smear the blood over my cheeks. She snarls at me, and I feel her cunt clench around my cock, milking me for all I'm worth.
"Fuck your wife, Dante. Fuck me deep, and fuck me good like I know you can," she growls into my ear.
"As you deserve," I mumble, sinking my teeth into her flesh again.
Each and every gasp and moan of her pleasure fuels my hips as I piston into my wife. I don't know if I've ever been this hard in my life—she has this effect on me. She makes me this way. Herhands latch around my waist, pulling me in deeper, and I set my jaw to hold back the feral roar building in my chest.
Our connection is raw. Heartfelt. Everything about her is perfection, and I can only hope to measure up to her expectations. She's not a means to an end—not anymore. I can't believe I ever thought such careless things about her, this beautiful being of unholy rage.
"Can you be a good girl and take my cock, love?" I gasp out between thrusts.
Melody's pupils are blown wide, a little glassy, and her mouth sits slightly agape as she rolls her hips against mine. Her body responds to my every touch with ease. Her breasts and stomach jiggle in the most delightful way as I slide my almost painfully hard cock in deep, filling her all the way up. She can't speak, and it fills me with a masculine sort of pride.
"I can't hear you, darling," I smirk.
"Yes," she mumbles, just above a whisper. "Yes, fuck, yes."
Her hands trail down my back—she seems like she's trying to scratch me with her nails, but she doesn't have the strength. A dark chuckle rises from my chest. I lean down to kiss her, and she hungrily kisses me back, pushing up into me and whimpering softly. My wife is exquisite, and I'm completely fucked.
Her wet little tongue sweeps between my teeth, and I can't hold back my groans, not anymore. Only my animalistic urges remain. Clutching her shoulders and ravaging her mouth with brutal kiss after brutal kiss, I rock my hips against hers and grind against her clit. She writhes under my touch, goosebumps erupting all over her flesh.
I want to lick every single one of them.
I want her screaming my name at the start of every day, and every night before we fall asleep.
Her inner walls start to pulse and clamp on my cock. I feel her muscles tense as she nears the edge. Quickening my pace, I strive to match her pleasure. I want to come with her. I want to come in her. I want to fill her up until my cum spills out of her, every day, every night, all the time. I'm completely feral for her, and I don't give a fuck who knows about it.
"Are you getting close, love?" I grunt out.
Between her squeaky moans, she nods and huffs out strained breaths. "I'm trying—I'm trying not to!"
"No, no," I pant back. "Come for me, love. Come on my thick cock. Come for me!"
She detonates with the force of a bomb. Her pussy clenches down on my cock, and my eyes roll back in my head. A primal roar rips itself out of me as my orgasm chases hers. The warm flood of my cum mixes with hers and beads of sweat gather on my brow. She's soft perfection. She's everything. She's mine. She's mine. She's mine.
She's fucking mine.
After a quick text, Roman meets me at the top of the stairs with a robe for Melody. I'm happy to have her walk in the nude all around the house, but I'mnotokay with Roman—or anyone else, ever—seeing her like that. It's only for me. She's only for me.
He takes one look at my blood-drenched face and cocks an eyebrow. I just smile and inform him that we'll need a barrel and some concrete. If Melody's a big enough girl to utilize my space, she'll need to learn how to clean up after herself, too. She kicks Francisco's headless corpse off the chair and plops herself down, watching me attach the hose to the spigot in the wall.
"What's that?"
"What's it look like?" I chuckle. "It's a hose, we're cleaning this up."
"We are?" She tilts her head to the side and frowns.
"Absolutely. Did you think we'd just let him rot down here?"
"I mean, no. But I figured you're a rich bastard. Don't you have, like, people for that?" She stands to look down at the corpse. Still shackled to the floor, his arms are wrenched into an unnatural position.
"Did you have something better to do today?" I toss her some cleaning gloves. "You made the mess. You can clean it up."
