Page 81 of Stolen Harmony
My whole body tensed, every muscle tight as a wire. “Victor—fuck—please—can I?—”
He sucked harder, groaned around my length, fingers curling deep inside, finding that perfect spot. It was too much. I came with a strangled cry, cock jerking, spilling over his tongue, the sheets, my thighs. Victor didn’t stop, milking me through it, swallowing every drop, licking me clean, then dragging his tongue back up to my hole to savor the mess he’d made.
I collapsed, shaking, ass still spread wide, Victor’s hands gentle now as he stroked my back, whispering filthy praise and promises. “Good boy.”
Victor let his palm linger on my back, rubbing gentle, almost affectionate circles over sweat-slick skin, but it only made me ache more. I could feel the outline of his cock pressed against my thigh—thick, heavy, hot—and the slow way his hand slid down, skimming my ass, told me exactly what was coming next.
He bent low, mouth at my ear, voice rough. “Ready for it, pretty boy? I’m going to ruin you. I want you to feel me for days.” I nodded, unable to form words, still trembling from the aftershocks of his mouth and fingers. My ass was wet, open, spit-slicked and twitching, hungry for anything he would give.
Victor knelt behind me, gripping my hips with both hands, holding me in place as he reached for the lube on the nightstand. He clicked open the cap, squeezed a generous amount into his palm, and worked it over his cock, slow and deliberate, making sure I could hear every filthy, wet sound. He pressed slick fingers back between my cheeks, spreading the lube over my rim, pushing some inside until I was gasping, aching for him to fill me.
Only then did he line himself up, the blunt head of his cock pressing against my hole, insistent, stretching me all over again. He didn’t push in yet—just rocked, teasing, smearing precome and lube over my rim until I was whining, rutting back against him, desperate for the stretch and the burn.
“You want it rough, don’t you?” he said, a threat and a promise all at once. “Say it.”
“Please, Victor—fuck me. Want it hard. Need you to take me—please, please—” I barely recognized my own voice, ragged with need.
“That’s it. Good boy.” He spat again, right onto my hole, the sound filthy in the silence, and pressed forward, slow for the first inch, letting my body adjust, then slamming the rest of the way in with a single brutal thrust.
I choked on a moan, hands clutching the sheets, every nerve ending lit up and burning. He was so deep, stretching me wide, filling me with a pain-pleasure that made my eyes roll back. Victor paused, letting me feel every inch, then pulled out almost all the way and slammed back in, setting a punishing rhythm that rocked my whole body.
His fingers dug bruises into my hips, holding me steady as he fucked me open. The sound of our bodies—flesh slapping, breath harsh, bedsprings squealing—filled the room, drowning out thought. He drove into me again and again, each thrustharder than the last, cock splitting me open, owning me from the inside out.
“That’s it, Rowan. Take it.” His words were a dirty litany, pushing me deeper under, making me ache for him, for the bruises, for the way he made me feel small and perfect and wanted.
“Yes—god, yes, Victor, harder, please—” I was babbling, gasping with every slap of his hips, cock already starting to thicken again beneath me.
He leaned forward, pressing his chest to my back, one hand winding in my hair, yanking my head back to expose my throat. He bit down, sucking another mark above my collarbone, then licked a stripe up the side of my neck, breath hot and ragged in my ear.
“So desperate, so fucking beautiful like this. You take every inch like you were made for it.” He punctuated the words with a brutal thrust that made me see stars, cock grinding into my sweet spot, making me whimper and clench down around him.
Victor’s other hand slid between my thighs, fingers wrapping around my cock, stroking rough and fast in time with his thrusts. I was so sensitive, the pleasure sharp and dangerous, threatening to push me over again.
“Gonna come for me again?” he growled. “Gonna make a mess all over yourself while I fuck you open?”
“Yes—please, I can’t—Victor—please?—”
He slammed into me, relentless, fucking me so hard I could barely breathe. My whole body burned, ass stinging from the slap of his hips, cock drooling against his fist. He pulled almost all the way out, spit down onto his cock, then rammed back in, the extra slickness making it even filthier.
He leaned close, spit into my open mouth, then kissed me rough, biting my lower lip, tongue fucking in time with his cock. “Swallow. Every drop.”
I did, swallowing him down, desperate for anything he’d give. He grinned, triumphant, then fucked into me harder, pushing me up the bed with the force of it.
The pressure built, bright and blinding, pleasure curling hot and mean in my gut. Victor never slowed, never let up, just kept using me, praising me, telling me how good I was, how tight I felt, how I was his and only his. Every filthy word made me tighten, made me ache for him, made me want to give him everything.
“Come for me, Rowan. Want you to paint the sheets while I fuck you. Let me see you break.”
That was all it took. I came with a sob, cock pulsing in his fist, shooting hot over his hand and the bed, body clenching down around his cock. Victor groaned, fingers bruising my hips, thrusting faster, chasing his own release.
“Fuck—so good, so fucking good, gonna fill you up?—”
With a final, brutal slam, he buried himself deep, cock twitching, spilling inside me, hips grinding as he fucked every drop into my body. I felt him pulse, hot and thick, the sensation overwhelming, filthy, perfect.
He stayed there, panting, body heavy over mine, cock still buried deep, leaking come and sweat and spit. For a moment, the world narrowed to just the sound of our breathing, the sting of bruises, the sticky mess cooling on my thighs.
Victor pulled out slow, a groan escaping as his cock slipped free, and watched his come drip from my hole, mixing with spit, marking me as his. He dragged a finger through the mess, then fed it to me, making me suck and swallow, praise pouring from his lips as I obeyed.
The bedroom smelled like sex and sweat, thick enough to cling to the back of my throat. Sheets twisted around my legs as I sat there, dazed, my chest still heaving like I’d run a mile. Victor stood at the edge of the bed, buttoning his shirt withthe same care he’d probably use when signing a contract—precise, unhurried, each motion sharp enough to cut through the haze.
