Page 55 of Reaper
I bring my hand down with more force, the crack of flesh on flesh mixing with our heavy breathing and her cries of pleasure. Her ass is covered in red marks now, some already darkening to purple bruises.
"Fuck, look at you," I say, admiring my handiwork. "Covered in bruises from my hands."
"Good," she says. "I want to feel this tomorrow. I want to remember exactly how hard you fucked me."
The raw honesty in her voice sends a throb through my cock, and I crack my hand down again on her ass. She moans and bucks against me, taking my cock deeper into her tight ass.
I lose myself in the rhythm of it, my hips slamming forward as she pushes back against me. The sound of our bodies colliding fills the room, punctuated by the sharp crack of my hand on her ass and her increasingly desperate cries.
"Fuck me harder, you son of a bitch!" she screams, her voice cracking with need. "I can take it! Give me everything!"
Something primal takes over then. I grab a fistful of her hair and pull her head back, using the leverage to drive into her even deeper. The angle makes her scream, a raw sound that goes straight to my balls.
"You want harder?" I say in her ear. "You want me to wreck this tight ass?"
"Yes! Fucking destroy me!" she says. "Make me feel it for days!"
My hand comes down on her ass again, harder than before, and the slap echoes like a gunshot. She clenches around me so tight I see stars, and I know she's close. I can feel it in the way her whole body trembles, in the pitch of her moans.
"Touch yourself," I say, my voice barely recognizable. "I want to feel you come on my cock while I'm buried in your ass."
Her hand immediately flies between her legs, and the moment her fingers find her clit, she goes wild. Her ass squeezes me like a vice as she works herself, and I know I will not last much longer.
"That's it," I say, spanking her again. "Come for me. Come with my cock deep in your ass."
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, I'm gonna — " Her words dissolve into incoherent screaming as the orgasm hits her. Her whole bodyconvulses, her ass clamping down on me so hard it's almost painful. The sensation pushes me over the edge, and I bury myself to the hilt as my release tears through me.
"Adriana!" I roar her name as I empty myself inside her, my cock pulsing with each wave of pleasure. The intensity leaves me dizzy, my vision going white around the edges.
We collapse together, both of us shaking and gasping for air. I'm still inside her, both of us too wrung out to move. Her ass is covered in angry red welts that are already darkening to purple, and I feel a twisted satisfaction at marking her this way.
"Jesus Christ," she says, her face pressed into the pillow. "That was..."
"Yeah," I say, because I don't have words for what just happened either.
I pull out of her slowly, both of us moaning at the sensation. She immediately rolls onto her side, and I can see the exhaustion in her face, but also something else. Something softer than I've ever seen from her.
"Come here," she says, reaching for me. I settle beside her, pulling her against my chest. She fits perfectly there, and then she rises to give me a quick peck on the lips. “Don’t do that shit again. Don’t think you can just shut down and pull away from me, you son of a bitch.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say. But, from the second she’s spoken, that thought returns. Is what we have real? Or is it only a break from our pain until she learns the actual truth?
Chapter Twenty-Five
Adriana
“How about we take a shower?” Reaper murmurs after a while.
Neither of us wants to talk about it. About what we’re feeling. Which is good. I’m scared enough as it is by what I feel for Reaper, and I’ve already let him in so close that I don’t know if I could handle the type of conversation I see brewing in his hypnotic eyes — something ridiculous with feelings, emotions, and more of that shit that is so new to me I don’t even have fucking words for it — so when he suggests we take a shower, I leap at it not just because I need one, covered in a night and a morning’s worth of fucking, but for the distraction as much as anything else.
“Yes, let’s fucking shower,” I say.
The hot water hits us both as we step into the shower, and for a moment I think this will be exactly what I need — something physical, straightforward, without all the emotional landmines I keep stepping on with him. But then his hands find the soap, and instead of the quick, efficient wash I'm expecting, he starts at my shoulders with slow, deliberate circles.
What the fuck is he doing? This isn’t what we agreed? This isn’t even what he fucking wanted, either, I’m sure of it.
“Turn around," he whispers, and when I do, his palms slide down my back with the kind of careful attention that makes mybreath catch. This isn't just getting clean. This is something else entirely.
The soap makes his hands glide over my skin, working out knots of tension I didn't even know I was carrying. When he reaches the small of my back, his thumbs press in just right, and I can't stop the small sound that escapes me.
