Page 39 of Scarlet Thorns
The crude words should shock me. Instead, they make me wetter, my hips rolling against his hand as I chase the friction I need. I’ve never been this aroused, this desperate, this completely lost to sensation.
“Please,” I whimper, not even sure what I’m begging for. “I need—”
“I know what you need.” His fingers slide lower, two thick digits pushing deep inside my clenching heat. “This. You need me to fill you up, make you come until you forget everything but my name.”
Except I don’t know his name. This beautiful, dangerous man who’s playing my body like an instrument only he knows how to tune— I’ll never know what to call him in the darkness when I touch myself to memories of this moment.
His fingers work inside me with devastating precision, curling against a spot deep inside that makes my thigh muscles strain and my vision blur. His thumb finds my clit, rubbing tightcircles around the swollen bud as he finger-fucks me toward oblivion.
“Come for me,” he commands against my throat, teeth scraping sensitive skin.
I don’t need more encouragement. The orgasm crashes through me like a tidal wave, my pussy clamping down hard on his fingers as waves of pleasure tear through my core.
“Oh! God, yes! Fuck!” I scream as my body convulses against his hand.
Before the aftershocks fade, he’s reaching for something from the table beside us. A condom wrapper tears in the dim light, and I watch through heavy-lidded eyes as he rolls the latex down his impressive length with practiced movements.
“Ready?” he says, positioning himself between my spread thighs. The head of his cock nudges against my entrance, hot and demanding.
“Yes.” The word comes out as a broken whisper. “I’ve never been more ready for anything.”
He pushes forward slowly, giving my body time to adjust to his considerable size. There’s pressure, stretching, the sweet burn of being filled completely— but no pain. For the first time in my sexual life, there’s no pain at all.
The realization brings tears to my eyes even as pleasure builds low in my belly. This is what it’s supposed to feel like. This connection, this perfect fit, this sense of coming home to a place I didn’t know existed.
“Blyad,” he breathes when he’s fully seated, his forehead pressed against mine. “So fucking good.”
I can only nod, overwhelmed by the sensation of being so completely claimed. He’s deep enough that I feel him everywhere— in my chest, my throat, my very soul. We’re connected in a way that transcends the physical, bound together by something neither of us can name.
When he begins to move, it’s with slow, deep strokes that hit every sensitive spot inside me. Each thrust builds the tension higher, winding me tighter until I’m balanced on the knife’s edge between sanity and surrender.
Our rhythm builds gradually, passion and desperation taking over until we’re moving together with animalistic need. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, punctuated by my cries and his growls of pleasure.
“Yes! Yes! Fuck, yes!” I’ve never been vocal during sex, but with him, I can’t help it.
He hooks my leg over his shoulder, changing the angle so he hits that perfect spot with every thrust. The new position sends me spiraling toward another climax, my walls fluttering around his driving length.
“That’s it,” he groans, feeling my approaching release. “Come on my cock. Show me how good I make you feel.”
The command pushes me over the edge. My second orgasm is even more intense than the first, my entire body spasming as pleasure rips through me like lightning. I’m vaguely aware of screaming, of my nails digging into his shoulders, of my pussy milking his cock as I fall apart completely.
He follows me over, his rhythm breaking as he buries himself deep and finds his own release. I feel him pulse inside me, feel the way his entire body goes rigid with the force of his climax.
We collapse together in a tangle of sweat-slicked limbs, both breathing hard as we come down from the high. The silence that follows isn’t awkward— it’s profound, weighted with the magnitude of what just happened between us.
He pulls out gently, disposing of the condom before returning to gather me against his chest. His lips find my temple, pressing a kiss so soft and gentle it makes my heart ache.
In this moment, I feel whole in a way I never have before. Complete. Like all the broken pieces of myself have finally clicked into place.
When he moves to leave, instinct takes over. My hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around his wrist before I can stop myself.
“Wait.” The word escapes involuntarily. “I know I shouldn’t ask you this but… can I see you again?”
He stares at me for a long moment, gray-blue eyes searching my face for something I can’t name. The silence stretches between us, taut and fragile, and I’m sure he’s going to disappear like smoke.
Then, without a word, he turns and walks toward the bathroom.
My heart sinks. This is it— the end of whatever magic we’ve shared. I’ve pushed too hard, asked for too much, broken the unspoken rules that keep this place running.
