Page 82 of Six
“Don’t like kitty?” I slam all the way back in, making him gasp. His little claws are back in my skin.
Then I glide out again. “How about fuck toy?” Another feral thrust. “You love it when I use you like a cock sleeve.” I push deeper, groaning at the way he contracts around me. “You turn into a cat in heat when I tell you to stay put and take it.”
My hips start to jackhammer, and he moans every time I hit his inner thighs, opening his legs wider. I lift my torso a bit to let him breathe easily, but he pulls me back down on top of him, his hard cock dripping precum between us.
“Fuck yes, slash those scars on my back and make them yours…kitty.” His nails dig inside my skin viciously, and I bite down on his shoulder to stop myself from crying out.
I grab one of his hands and place it on the side of my head directly on the scars, closing my eyes and breathing deeply when I feel his fingers on the raised skin. My rhythm falters and then I almost stop. He turns my head and lifting his lips, he places them right on the scars.
It doesn’t make them disappear, and I don’t want them to. Without them, there would be no Ollie. Because everything that happened to me, that caused those scars, led me to him. To my bratty, vulnerable, caring, naughty, mischievous kitty.
“What would you do if someone touches me?” Ollie suddenly whispers in my ear.
My eyes slide open and snap to his.
“If someone tries to take me from you?” He laces his fingers through my hair and pulls.
A gush of pure possessiveness rushes through me, and I pour it all on him. “I’ll kill them. Nobody touches what’s mine!”
I sit up, grab his thighs in a bruising grip, keeping them painfully open, and like a man obsessed and possessed I pound into his ass mercilessly.
“Mine! Mine!” I snarl. I’m racing toward the edge. All I want is to find my pleasure and fill him up.
“Yes, yours! Forever yours! I want you so badly, every fucking second of the day. I love you. I love you.” The confession comes out choked, but the words push me over the cliff.
“Get ready for another big load.” My voice is unrecognizable, demon-deep.
“Mark my hole as yours,” he pants.
My hips are thrown off rhythm, and then my orgasm slams into me. I’m stuffing him so good as I roar the mind-blowing bliss from deep within my chest. My hips buck once, twice, then a few more times. I feel Ollie trembling under me, sexily moaning as he succumbs to another orgasm. Always two when I fuck him. His breathing is fast and shallow, his chest rising and falling, spent cock in his hand.
“Feel the throb of my cock inside you. I’m getting your ass nice and full, Ollie.” Fuck, I’m such a possessive fucker. And he loves it, by the way he’s smiling at me with intense gratification.
Nobody else will ever see him like this, all red skin, messy brown strands on the white sheet, dreamy eyes and swollen lips. He lets out a breathless, sated sound, and I try to move, but his legs wrap around me like a vise.
“Don’t pull out yet.” But as he begs, the alarm goes off, and music invades the room. He whines while I smirk with amusement. I give him two slow pumps of my cock, enjoying the sight of his mouth falling open on a moan when I hit his prostate. And then two more because, fuck, his cum-slick ass is pure, irresistible temptation.
I breathe deeply, taking a drag of his scent mixed with sex. I untangle his legs and pull out. Don’t need to say anything to him but, “Good boy,” when his fingers automatically replace my cock to keep my cum inside him.
I walk to the bathroom and dampen a washcloth, so I can wipe the cum off his stomach while he steals little pecks from my lips until I’m smiling big.
When I’m done, he stretches his long frame, popping all the joints loudly. “Fuck, I’m going to feel you all morning.”
“Don’t expect an apology,” I grunt, slapping that peachy ass. The thought of him feeling me with every step he takes satisfies me immensely.
“No. I expect to get my ass filled again after lunch.”
I respond to his sass with a heated gaze, and his lips part.That’s right, remember who owns you.
We don’t shower, preferring to keep our scents on each other during the day—I damninsiston it.
My heart flutters as he starts moving around the room—our room—putting his clothes on, no briefs, while talking about today’s plans. He got quite upset when he found out that the many bags filling the entrance were full of things for him: clothes and shoes, toiletries, accessories, and whatever else I could think of. Even more so when I did the same for Sully. But spoiling them, giving them what they need and want and never had before makes me feel good. So, it’s a selfish act really. He didn’t buy that explanation whatsoever, but I see him smiling every time he uses the bathrobe with his name or the pink and purple hoodie or the leather gloves and the soft knit cap. He still wants to keep working for me to earn money, he said to buy me gifts as well.
When I’m ready, I leave Ollie to his face creams and move to the kitchen, where Sully, ready for school, is pouring some dry food into Pink’s white bowl—and a lot on the floor. At the sound, the ugly cat prowls down the corridor, but before going to eat, she strokes her body between Sully’s legs.
“She was in your bedroom again,” he huffs while grabbing the orange juice from the fridge. He’s about to drink directly from the carton when I groan and hand him a glass.
“Sorry. I need to remember I can use glasses.” He blushes with embarrassment.
