“Fuck—you feel like the most delicious sin.” The sound is a low, animalistic growl from deep in his throat.
His hands go to my neck as he pushes me down onto the bed. The new position perfectly allows him to fuck me from behind. He continues thrusting and pulling and pushing and thrusting, and I’m long gone, too lightheaded to maintain contact with reality.
Until—cold. I somehow forgot he’d grabbed the butt plug from the drawer, which he’s now moving around my pussy, coating it in my fluids.
“Azrael, I can’t t?—”
“Little ember, don’t lie unless you want to be punished again.”
I can’t take another of his “punishments”.
He takes it as a sign of approval to continue, pressing the toy inch by inch into my ass. It takes me a couple of seconds to adjust, but what he said is not wrong. It’s not that bad. Once fully in, he turns it on, letting the vibration thrum through my body—because of course he had to choose the only butt plug that is battery operated.
“Azrael, I’ve never—” I try to find my words, but even thinking clearly is too much.
“You’ve never had your pussy filled while your ass was fucked?”
“I’ve never done anal.”
At my words, his grip tightens on my hips. “Tell me to stop.”
“I’d rather die.”
That’s all he needs. This time, he pushes rougher, faster, pounding into me like he is chasing something. The plug in my ass buzzes in sync, matching the pounding rhythm of his cock, pushing me higher, until my body is nothing but carnal need.
“This is too much,” I barely whisper, my body trembling violently with a second orgasm.
Instead of stopping, he just pulls the toy free with a wet pop, replacing it with himself in me, claiming what no toy ever could. Stretch, burn, invasion. I choke on a scream, his hand moving back to rubbing my clit, coaxing another orgasm as he fucks me deeper.
“You were made for this, little ember,”
“Azrael—”
“For me, only for me. Now be a good girl and let me hear you moan.”
If there is any way I could get wetter, it would be from the way he is claiming me with his words.
“Again,” he orders. “I want to feel you come on me again.”
I don’t argue. I can’t. I want to do it just as much as he does. I moan again, helpless, as the pleasure climbs higher, threatening to drown me one more time.
“Where do you want me?” He asks me, the only thing I can’t show with my body .
“If you dare to pull out, I will fucking cut off your dick off and finish the job myself.”
That makes him laugh, so sincere yet terrifying at the same time.
“That’s my girl.”
A couple of thrusts later, I’m done, the result coating his cock. This time, his own orgasm follows mine in a violent duet of shattered souls trying to own and be owned.
My body collapses—emptied of any sort of energy. Only then—only after I’m limp, wrecked, and drenched in everything from tonight—he buries himself one last time, possessive, like sealing his victory. The war? Over. The winner? Still inside me.
The air is thick with everything that happened—sweat, sex, something that feels like lust and need combined. After he unties me, he pulls me into an embrace, his breath coasting along my neck.
I can feel his heart beating.
He doesn’t pull away, nor does he leave as soon as we start breathing normally again. And now, he’s still in front of me, skin to skin, one arm curled tightly around my waist as if letting go might unravel something he’s not ready to face.