Page 96 of Stolen Harmony
“So fucking greedy for it. You like being fucked like this? Like being daddy’s good boy?”
I moaned, words spilling out unchecked. “Yes—yes—fuck, Elias, you’re perfect—harder, please, need it, need you?—”
He growled, slamming into me, the sound of our bodiescolliding filling the room, sweat slick between us, skin slapping, the smell of sex everywhere.
He leaned in, biting at my jaw, my neck, marking me with teeth and tongue, fucking me harder, deeper, every thrust sending sparks through my body, my cock pinned between us, leaking precome all over his stomach.
He shifted, angling his hips, and suddenly he was hitting that spot inside me that made me see white, made me choke on a moan, made meneedto come.
“Right there—fuck—don’t stop—” I babbled, body shaking, lost to the rhythm, the pleasure, the overwhelming sense offinallygetting what I’d wanted all along.
He fucked me against the wall, rough and raw, but never careless—always holding me, always worshipping, always letting me know I was his. He whispered filth into my ear, praise and promises, telling me how good I was, how beautiful, how tight and perfect andhis.
I clung to him, nails digging in, leaving marks down his back, lost in the feeling of him, the weight, the heat, the relentless, punishing pleasure.
He kissed me, swallowing my moans, tongues tangling, bodies shaking, everything reduced to heat and friction and the relentless drive to keep going, to never stop, to burn out together.
I barely noticed when he pulled back, breath coming in sharp, broken gasps. “Bathroom,” he managed, voice shredded by want. He didn’t wait for a response—just lifted me up, arms like steel bands, and carried me, both of us naked, still half-hard and leaking, across the room.
The bathroom was still full of steam from my earlier shower, the tile cool against my back as he pressed me there, mouth on my neck, his cock still heavy against my thigh. Thelight was dim, everything fogged over, our bodies smeared and glistening in the haze.
He pressed me up against the glass, pinning my hands over my head with one of his own, the other roaming down my side, cupping my ass, pulling me closer. Our bodies slid together, sweat and precome and the leftover traces of lube making everything easy, frictionless, almost too much.
“You’re unreal,” he muttered, biting my jaw, licking down my neck, hands everywhere, rough and worshipful. “You have no fucking idea what you do to me.”
I grinned, hips rolling up, grinding our cocks together, both of us half-wrecked and still so desperate for each other I thought we might never be satisfied. “Show me,” I whispered, licking the sweat from his collarbone, biting down just to hear him groan.
He spun me around, pressed my chest to the cold tile, and fucked against me, slow and hard, cock sliding between my thighs, over my ass, letting me feel the heft and heat of him. His hands mapped my body, squeezing, spreading, taking his time as if he was still learning every inch.
I gasped, arching back, letting him use me, letting him take whatever he wanted. “Anything you want, daddy,” I breathed. “You can have it. You can have me.”
He groaned, teeth sinking into my shoulder, hands pinning my hips. “Don’t tempt me,” he said, voice half a growl, half a plea.
He rutted against me a few more times, then pulled back, turning me to face him, pupils blown, lips parted, sweat glistening on his chest. He stared down at me, hunger and need warring with something softer—something almost reverent.
“Kneel,” he said, voice dark, full of promise and command.
I dropped without hesitation, knees to cool tile, looking upat him, mouth open, ready, wanting him to see how far I’d go, how much I’d give.
His cock was right in front of my face, thick and flushed, still shining with spit and lube and the mess we’d made of each other. He braced one hand against the wall, the other tangling gently in my hair.
“You trust me?” he asked, quieter now, searching my face, his thumb stroking my cheek.
“With everything,” I said, meaning it. “Whatever you want, daddy.”
He nodded, breathing ragged. “Open your mouth for me.”
I did, wide, tongue out, meeting his eyes and holding them, letting him see my need, my surrender, the raw trust there.
He took a shaky breath, then let go, relaxing, and a moment later I felt the first hot stream hit my tongue.
It was shocking at first—hot, salty, unmistakable, his scent filling my nose, his taste filling my mouth. But I didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. I knelt there, obedient, letting him mark me, watching his face as relief and power and pleasure washed over him all at once.
“Good boy,” he murmured, voice thick with pride and something deeper, something vulnerable. “Take it for me. Show me who you belong to.”
I swallowed, the taste of him sharp, my own cock twitching, hard again just from the act of giving, from letting him have all of me. He finished with a final groan, hips shaking, his hand gentle in my hair, thumb brushing my cheek as he came down.
He pulled me up, kissing me—soft at first, then harder, mouth open, tongue claiming, tasting himself on my lips. His hands roamed over my body, hungry and rough, the afterglow giving way to a new, more desperate heat.
