Page 44 of The Cruelest Chaos
His face is wet with me, and I can’t stop the smile on my face. My knees are still wide, and he glances down at me. I resist the urge to squirm under his gaze.
When he meets my eyes again, he simply says, “My turn.”
And then he flips me over before I can say a word, pulling me up with one arm around me to set me on my knees. He shoves my shirt up, a few seconds later, I feel his cock against my ass. He circles the tip of it against me, precum warm and wet on my skin.
He’s got one hand on my lower back, the other I assume on himself.
“Arch your back more,” he instructs me.
I do, but I’m holding my breath.
Just thinking about where this might go makes my entire body tense. And Maverick is not the kind of guy to ask for permission.
He dips his head down, bites my ass. “Relax,” he says softly.
I’m anythingbutrelaxed.Not there.
I close my eyes, try to do as he asks.
He’s spreading my thighs wider, and Ihearhim spit on me, right on my still-throbbing pussy.
He slaps my ass,hard, and I cry out, eyes flying open as I brace myself on my palms on the cold, hard floor.
“You still want it to hurt?” he asks me, his spit dripping down from my already-soaked pussy.
I bite my lip. Nod my head.
He slaps my ass again. “That wasn’t an answer. Use your fucking mouth before I use it for you, Ella.”
I gasp at his words, but I realize it’s not from being hurt or upset. It’s something worse. I…like it.
“Yes,” I tell him quickly, before he can slap me again. “Yes, I want it to hurt.”
“That’s better, baby.”
And then, without warning, he guides his cock into me and slams it all the way to the hilt, forcing me to fall forward on my arms.
His hand goes to my hair, threading it through his fingers and jerking my head up. My neck is arched, and I can barely breathe.
He fucks me hard, unrelenting. Then his bare chest is against my back and I know he’s taken his shirt off andI want to seebut he’s speaking in my ear, distracting me. “Do you like that, pretty girl?”
I can’t speak, but my eyes feel like they’re going to roll back in my head with his words and how deep he’s inside of me. I try to swallow, try to open my mouth, but then he spits on the side of my face, warm and wet against my skin.
He doesn’t slow down, but he runs his mouth along my cheek, spreading his saliva all over my face. It isn’t a kiss, but in this game, it’s as close to it as I’m probably going to get.
He grips my hip, bows his head and groans against my shoulder. “Goddamn, Ella,”he whispers, and I feel a rush of power at his words.
His chest is heaving against my back, his cock buried so far inside of me, I think that when he pulls out, I’m going to feel empty.
I’m going tobeempty.
“You’re a little slut, you know that,” he whispers against my shoulder, his thrusts more frantic, jarring me, my tits bouncing beneath my shirt—his shirt—every time he pounds into me.
I try to nod my head but his grip on my hair is too tight.
“Tell me,” he murmurs. “Tell me you’re my little slut.”
He loosens his grip, and I repeat his words back to him, and in this moment, I mean them. “I’m yours,” I whisper, my voice hoarse, eyes still closed as I drown in the feel of him drowning in me.
