"This won't fix what's hurting you."
"I know."
"Tomorrow you'll still be hurting."
"I know."
His mouth crashed into mine like he was trying to devour my pain. Hungry. Angry. Starved. I tasted whiskey and three years of pent-up obsession on his tongue as he shoved me down onto the mattress, his heavy body pinning me down.
“Malachai—”
“Shut up.” He bit my bottom lip hard enough to sting. “You wanted me to make you forget? Let me.”
He forced my thighs apart with his knee and dragged the thick head of his dick through my soaked pussy, teasing my clit until I was squirming. I was dripping for him — embarrassingly wet after three years of nothing.
“Look at this greedy pussy,” he growled, voice low and filthy. “Already creaming for me and I haven’t even fucked you yet.”
I moaned, arching up, trying to get him inside me.
He slapped my thigh hard. “Beg.”
“Please, Malachai—”
He slammed into me in one brutal thrust, burying himself inside of me. I cried out at the stretch, the burn, the overwhelming fullness. It hurt but I didn’t care.
“Fuck!” I gasped, nails digging into his back hard enough to draw blood.
“That’s right,” he snarled, pulling out almost all the way before driving back in even harder. “Take this dick. This pussy is still mine. Always been mine.”
He fucked me like he was punishing me for every day I’d been gone — deep strokes that made the headboard slam against the wall. Skin slapped against skin. The wet, obscene sound of him pounding into me filled the room.
He pinned my wrists above my head with one hand and used the other to wrap around my throat, squeezing just enough to make my pussy flutter around him.
“You ran from me,” he growled against my ear, hips snapping relentlessly. “Got other men looking at what’s mine. Dancing for them. Showing my pussy like a whore.”
He thrust harder, grinding against my clit with every stroke.
“But you came crawling back.”
I was losing my mind. My legs locked around his waist, heels digging into his ass as I tried to pull him deeper.
“Harder,” I begged, voice breaking. “Fuck me harder, Malachai. Make it hurt.”
He released my throat, grabbed my hips with both hands, and started pounding me like he hated me. The angle was brutal — his dick hitting that spot deep inside me over and over until I was sobbing with pleasure.
“You gonna cum on this dick?” he rasped, sweat dripping from his forehead onto my chest. “Cum for the man you stabbed. Come for the man you hate.”
I shattered.
My orgasm ripped through me so violently I screamed his name, pussy clenching and gushing around his thick dick. My whole body shook as wave after wave crashed over me.
Malachai cursed, thrusts turning erratic and punishing. “That’s it. Milk my fucking dick.”
With a groan he buried himself deeper, flooding me. He kept grinding deep, like he was trying to push every drop into me.
We stayed locked together, breathing ragged, bodies slick with sweat and cum.
He finally collapsed half on top of me, still buried inside, and pressed his lips to my ear.