Page 29 of Foul & Fake
“Forgive me if I don’t trust your opinion,” I grunt out, wiggling just enough to make him spank me. Fuck, I wasn’t expecting it — but it was worth it. Very worth it. Hiding a smirk, I wiggle my reddening ass. “Is this what you were after?”
“Yes,” he admits, spreading my cheeks so he can spit on my asshole and then rub the head of his cock in it. For a moment I’m afraid he’s going to fuck me there without any prep, but he slides it down to my entrance and presses the crown inside before I can panic.
Raw.
I was worried about the wrong thing.
No one’s ever fucked me raw. Not once. Not while drunk, sober, not that one time I tried getting high. I’ve never let it happen. Not with anyone.
“Elias!” I gasp, but I can’t bring myself to tell him to pull out. I always wondered, always fantasized, and my imagination didn’t even come close.
I can feel all of him. The head, the veins, every brutal inch that’s nearly too much to take.
“Fuck, you’re so tight.” His forehead drops to my shoulder when he bottoms out, his cock throbbing to show me how good he feels, and when I clench around him his teeth sink into my skin.
And then he starts to move — roughly and unrelenting.
The guy who vowed to show me what other men lack suddenly cares way more about his own pleasure than mine, but the joke’s on him.
I’ve begged guys to fuck me like this. Guys who fell short.
I’m drooling on my pillow when the first orgasm takes me, and the second follows quickly when he shoves himself out of me and rolls me over, his cock slapping down on my clit hardenough to make my whole body twitch, and then he shoves it back inside. “Knew you’d be a slut for it.”
His hand grips my chin hard as he leans in to mark me more, biting and sucking all over my chest while he fucks into me.
I wish I could tell him he’s wrong. That I’m not a slut for anything, least of all him, and I’ll never be his little whore.
But my body is trembling with need. I’m so wet I can hear it, so wound up it feels like a flick could snap me. I’d beg him to keep going if he stopped.
“Screw you,” I whimper out, trying to stop a third, more powerful orgasm. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction, but he leans in and bites my jaw so hard I scream.
“Give it to me, cupcake. Give me all of you.”
I can’t, oh god, I —
He hits a spot inside of me I’d forgotten all about, then pulls out as I squirt fucking everywhere.
“Look at you,” he growls, his fingers reaching down to work me through it until I’m shaking, and then he shoves himself right back inside. “That’s what I fucking thought. Mark me.”
Shocked and trembling, I smack him. It’s an instinct that jolts me more than him, but I feel the pulse of his cock at the lick of pain. “Do it again,” he commands — growls, really — so I let all my anger and confusion come out in a slap that makes his head turn.
“Oh fuck. Oh fuck!”
I feel his cock begin to throb, warning me that he’s about to come, and he seems to have no intentions of pulling out of me this time.
And I have no intentions of letting him.
My legs wrap tightly around his waist as I scratch the hell out of his back, pulling him down to me until I can’t breathe. “Bury it fucking deep.”
“Riley!” he grunts, his body stilling as I feel him flood my pussy over and over until he’s completely spent, and collapsing fully on top of me. “Shit.”
He’s trembling slightly as he leans in to kiss me, all fury and anger fading to something softer.
That’s when I break it. If he wants to hate fuck me, fine. If he wants me to pretend to love him, fine. But I will not and cannot be soft for him, not when I know how we got here.
“Satisfied?” I ask. “Did you get what you wanted?”
“What?” He has the audacity to look confused, like he thought he could fuck me and kiss me and we’d just forget he manipulated me into a corner. “Riley, stop.”
