Page 33 of The Dead Don't Talk
His cock rubbing between my cheeks.
Maybe … and I know this is a terrible idea … just one. It might calm him down enough for me to tie him up.
“M-Moros,” I murmur, my mind made up, and push back into him, making him grunt.
“Kitten,” he hisses, yanking my pants down to expose my cheeks, and shoves his fingers right in between. “Slutty fucking kitten.”
I feel the heat of my face and the throbbing of my cock like it’s my lifeline and arch my hips. He finds my hole and penetrates it with a thick finger, stealing my breath, and making my heart pound in the process. His other hand reaches around me to cup my cock, both working me over in tandem. It’s enough to have my eyes rolling back, and my balls drawing up close to my body.
I can’t come this soon, dammit.
The air around us shifts, taking on more of that metallic scent, and I gasp when Wilson steps into my line of sight with a hardcock pointing straight at me. His hairy chest is heaving, and his lips are curved up behind his beard.
Moros tags that magic spot in me at the same time Wilson’s wild eyes meet mine. “Fffffuck.”
There’s trails of dark blood running down Wilson’s bare chest, his hair caked and bunched in spots. Dirt smudges. Highlights of sweat drops glistening on his skin. His clothes are tattered and dirty, barely covering the raging length hanging between his legs.
It just makes him even hotter.
My stomach clenches when his massive hand dips beneath his waistband, wraps around his cock to expose himself, pulling back the skin with a loud groan, and a bead of precum leaks from his tip.
I can feel his eyes on me, on where Moros is working something slick into my hole, and it makes me so hot that I have to look away or I’ll paint the wall sooner than I’m ready for.
“My turn.”
A chill slices up my spine and my side heats as Wilson steps closer.
He shouldn’t be walking unless he’s …
Fuck, I can’t focus.
“You’ll wait,” Moros mutters and withdraws from me, only to nudge my hole once again when I whine at the loss.
One hand in my hair, the other bracing on the wall next to my face, Moros stretches my rim wide.
“Ugh, such a fat cock,” I mumble into the wood smooshing my cheek, my gaze locked on Wilson’s. Keeping connected to him helps me ignore the burn, feel past the too-tight pressure of Moros splitting me open, and dive right into the pleasure of him watching us. Of him seeing Moros’s head finally breach me, making all three of us groan.
He watches still as Moros slips deeper inside me, his length hitting all the right spots at just the right times to leave me panting for my next breath.
I’m getting fucked, again.
“Fuuuuck,” I sigh out when I’m filled to the max, the feeling of hips meeting my cheeks driving me wild. “More.”
I shouldn’t be asking for that, and yet here I am. Practically begging for him to rip me in half.
I’d die a happy man, though.
He makes me moan and withdraws, the fist in my hair tightening to the point of pain.
But then he slams forward, pinning me to the wall with his body, and I scream.
It hurts all over again and this time, he’s giving me no reprieve before thrusting again.
And again.
Over and over until there’s tears streaming down my face.
“Moros,” I cry out with fingers biting into the wall, splinters digging beneath my nails.
