We collapsed in a sweaty, trembling heap, my cock still twitching inside her, aftershocks rippling through us both. I stayed buried deep, one arm banded around her waist, the other stroking hair back from her damp face.
She turned her head just enough to meet my eyes, a small, almost shy smile curved her swollen lips.
“Good girl,” I murmured, voice wrecked. I pressed a surprisingly gentle kiss to her temple. “Such a good girl.”
Outside, the world was still ending.
But right now, in this tiny pocket of heat and violence and need, it could fucking wait.
Nineteen
Sloane
Icouldn’t catch my breath.
My lungs burned, and my thighs shook against the damp couch cushion, trembling with something beyond exhaustion—electric and unfinished. Callan hadn’t pulled out. He stayed buried in my wrecked ass, thick and barely softening, and every unconscious shift of his hips sent fresh aftershocks rolling through me, deep and sweet and agonizing. His arm draped heavily across my waist, pinning me against his chest. His heartbeat hammered into my back—steady, possessive, claiming me even in stillness.
Sweat cooled on my skin, and I wanted more.
Not because the ache wasn’t real. God, it throbbed—my stretched ass, the fingerprint bruises purple on my hipbones, the raw bite marks stinging along my neck where he’d sunk his teeth in while he destroyed me. All of it pulsed with proof of what he’d done, but the pain only sharpenedthe hunger. I craved obliteration, that place where nothing existed except heat and weight and him—where I could stop thinking, stop surviving, stop holding myself together.
I clenched around him. Slow. Deliberate. A long, rolling squeeze that dragged along every inch of his length.
His breath caught hot against my ear, and his fingers dug into my hip.
“Jesus, Sloane.” Gravel-rough. Completely at my mercy. “You’re gonna kill me.”
I smiled into the dark—small, wicked, mine. “Not yet.”
I rocked back into him, lazy and filthy, taking him deeper into the slick mess he’d made of me. He twitched inside my ass—thickening, helpless—and the drag pulled a low sound from my throat before I could swallow it. I reached behind me, found his wrist, and drew his hand down between my thighs.
His fingers met soaked skin. Slippery. Obscene. His cum leaking slowly from both my holes, coating his knuckles as I pressed his palm against me.
“You left me dripping,” I whispered, my voice raw and honest in the quiet. “My pussy. My ass. Both of them so full of you I can’t tell where you end and I start.”
His hand tightened between my legs—instinct, hunger, something deeper than either. His mouth found the curve of my shoulder, open and hot, and he breathed me in like I mattered more than air.
His fingers traced my swollen, puffy folds, slipping through the creamy mess. A groan rolled out of him—low, involuntary, vibrating straight through my back into my chest—and his cock twitched inside my ass, thickening like his body couldn’t help answering mine.
He pulled out slow. The wet pop echoed off the office walls, and strings of cum stretched between my gaping asshole and his slick cock, catching the dim light before they broke. I didn’t close my legs. I let him see everything he’d done to me.
He slipped out toward the staff bathroom, and I watched his naked back and muscular ass flex in the dark—every movement deliberate, unhurried, confident in a way that made my stomach warm. Water ran for a few minutes. He returned with his clean cock already in his fist, stroking the thick length slowly, his eyes devouring me from the doorway like I’d ruined something inside him too.
I held his stare and slid two fingers into my dripping pussy.
Slow. In and out. The wet sounds filled the quiet room—shameless—and I spread my legs wider, letting him see it all. My cum-filled asshole still clenching open. My clit swollen and glistening. His gaze dropped between my thighs and darkened, and I pumped my fingers deeper just to watch his eyes heat.
I drew them out, glossy and coated, brought them to my mouth, and sucked them clean. A filthy moan hummed in my throat—his salt, my cum, everything mingled on my tongue. I swirled around each fingertip, licked every drop, greedy and deliberate, and I never looked away from him, my eyes locked on him.
“I’m not done, Callan.” My voice came out low and certain as I pushed my fingers back inside my soaked cunt, pumping faster, curling against my g-spot until my thighs trembled. “Wreck me again, but harder this time. Use me until I can’t walk.”
He exhaled sharply through his nose, standing over mewith his fist tight around his fully hard cock, watching me fuck myself with my own fingers. His eyes—dark, hungry—tracked every lewd detail as if he needed to memorize it, as if the world outside had taken everything from him except this.
“You sure you can take it, baby girl?” The rasp in his voice scraped against something raw inside me. “You’re already shaking like a desperate little whore.”
He didn’t wait for an answer.
He slid onto the couch behind me, his chest hot and solid against my back, and his fingers found my pussy alongside mine. He pushed in, stretching my cum-soaked cunt wider around our combined fingers, and the fullness pushed a loud, unguarded moan out of me. Both our fingers pumped together—scissoring, curling through the slick mess of his earlier release, his knuckles grinding against mine inside my body. Something about that intimacy—his hand tangled with mine in my most vulnerable place—hit harder than the filth, deeper than the ache.