CHAPTER 38: First Time with Freya (III)[R-18]
I grabbed her wrist, not roughly, but with a possessive grip. My other hand snaked down, not to her waist, but sliding between her thighs, fingers brushing against the still-slick lips of her pussy. She gasped, a small, involuntary sound that was music to my ears. "Still so fucking wet, aren't you? You can lie all you want, but your pussy can't. It's practically drowning, begging for more punishment."
Her hips twitched under my hand, a subtle, almost imperceptible tremor. A tiny, choked sound escaped her throat. "You think you can just…?"
"I know I can," I cut her off, my finger dipping into the folds, feeling the hot, slippery depths. Her slick juice coated my fingertip. I pulled it out, bringing it to my lips, tasting the salt and sex, the musky sweetness that was uniquely her. "Delicious. A shame to waste it."
Her eyes flared, a desperate hunger warring with her defiance. "You're disgusting." But her leg shifted, opening wider, inviting.
"And you love it." I wrapped my hand around her hip, pulling her closer, feeling the rough stubble of her pubic hair against my palm. My other hand found her clit, swollen and throbbing from our previous bout, and I gave it a slow, deliberate graze. She gasped again, shoulders arching, a low moan vibrating through her chest. "Still so sensitive, you little liar."
She didn't answer with words, but with a sudden, desperate surge, grabbing my hair and pulling my head down, her mouth crashing against mine. It wasn't a kiss, not really. It was a violent claiming, a battle of tongues and teeth, slobber and raw desire. Her legs wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer, her wet heat pressing against my softening but rapidly re-hardening cock.
Round two. No words needed, just the primal roar of our bodies.
I drove into her, a guttural sound torn from my throat as I buried myself deep inside her slick, demanding tunnel. Her legs locked around my waist, hips rising to meet my every thrust, a frantic rhythm of need. The air filled with the wet slap of skin on skin, the ragged gasps of our breaths, and low, primal growls that were barely human. Her head thrashed on the pillow, a wild mess of hair, and her nails dug into my back, leaving trails of fire.
"Whose pussy is this?" I snarled, my voice thick with lust, each word punctuated by a hard thrust. "Tell me, Freya!"
She bucked under me, her hips a frantic blur. "Mine! All… fucking… mine!" But her voice was a broken whimper, her body trembling on the edge. I leaned down, biting at her shoulder, tasting sweat and salt. My cock slammed against her cervix, a relentless battering ram, demanding submission. I could feel the contractions starting deep within her, the clenching of her internal muscles as she spiraled towards her climax.
"Not yet," I ground out, pulling back just an inch, then driving in deeper, harder. "You're not done until I say so, you little bitch."
Her climax hit with the force of a tidal wave, a guttural scream ripped from her throat as her body spasmed around my dick, milking every last drop of pleasure from me. Her internal walls gripped me like a fist, the sensation excruciatingly pleasurable. I held on, riding the wave with her, feeling the heat build in my own balls, the surge in my shaft.
"Fuck!" I roared, pulling out just enough to paint her lower belly and thighs with my thick, hot cum, then plunging back in for one last, glorious pump, emptying myself deep inside her over and over again until my legs shook and my vision swam. The air filled with the coppery smell of our mixed fluids, the salt of our sweat, the animalistic scent of spent desire.
I collapsed onto her, chest heaving, forehead pressed against her collarbone. Her own breath came in ragged gasps beneath me. For a moment, there was only the sound of our hearts hammering and the sticky silence of aftermath.
Then, she stiffened. "Get… off… me." Her voice was weak, but the venom was palpable.
I lifted myself, rolling onto my back beside her, arms splayed. My body was an aching mass of spent muscle, but my dick, though softer, still throbbed with a residual ache. I glanced over at her. Her eyes were still closed, but her lips were pursed, a slight sneer on her face even in exhaustion.
"That was quite the accommodation, Freya," I drawled, a smirk playing on my lips. "Didn't sound very 'mediocre' from where I was sitting."
She opened one eye, dark and accusing. "You're a pig. And you taste like one."
"And you like the taste, don't you?" I shot back, my hand idly tracing the curve of her hip again. "Still wet, still twitching for more." My fingers brushed against the soaked hair of her mound, feeling the slick stickiness of our combined mess. Her body was still warm, still radiating the aftershocks of pleasure.
She didn't answer, but her eyes, now both open, stared directly into mine. There was a challenge there, clear as day. A silent dare. Her lips parted slightly, and her tongue, a pink dart, flicked out to moisten them. Her gaze dropped to my groin, lingering on the semi-hard state of my dick, then back to my eyes. The competitive glint was back, stronger than ever.
Neither of us had 'won.' Not really. We'd just survived another round, pushing each other to the brink, and now the unspoken question hung in the humid air: Again?
My body screamed no. My mind, fueled by alcohol and pure, unadulterated spite-lust, screamed yes.
Her hand, as if drawn by an invisible string, drifted down, her fingers brushing, almost accidentally, against the tip of my cock. The lightest touch, barely there, but it was enough. My dick sprang to attention, hard and demanding once more. Her eyes widened fractionally, a triumphant glint there.
"Greedy pig," she whispered, but her head tilted back, her throat exposed in an unspoken invitation.
"You're just as bad," I snarled, grabbing her hair, not gently, pulling her head back until her neck arched. I shifted, straddling her hips, my re-engorged cock nudging her wet, slick pussy. "Let's see who breaks first this time."
Round three.
I plunged into her, a desperate, almost angry thrust that pushed the last vestiges of air from her lungs. She gasped, a choked sound, her body already slick and ready, allowing me deep, immediate access. There was no finesse now, no teasing, just raw, brutal need. I held her hips, lifting them to meet my frantic rhythm, slamming into her, each thrust harder, faster than the last. The bedsprings shrieked in protest, the air thick with the wet, slapping sounds of flesh, the guttural grunts from my throat, and her raw, animalistic whimpers.
Her legs wrapped around my back, digging in, her body rising to meet my unrelenting assault. I bent over her, burying my face in the crook of her neck, tasting the salt and sweat, biting at her skin as if to mark her, to claim her. "Fuck you, Freya! Fuck you!"
She screamed, a ragged, broken sound of pure pleasure-pain as I hit her deepest point repeatedly, driving her to the edge again and again. Her cunny clutched at me, a tight, desperate squeeze, as if trying to keep me impaled forever. My balls ached, heavy and full, ready to burst. I could feel the cum building, a volcano threatening to erupt.
"Cum for me, you bitch!" I demanded, my voice hoarse, my vision blurring with the intensity. "Cum for me!"
Her body spasmed, arches, and she cried out my name, a broken, barely audible sound, as her orgasm tore through her. Her internal muscles milked my dick with astonishing strength, sending shivers like lightning through my entire system. I felt the hot, explosive release building, impossible to hold back. With one final, desperate thrust, I emptied myself into her, a roaring flood of hot, thick jism, painting the inside of her cunt, filling her to overflowing. My body shuddered violently, then collapsed onto hers, my face buried in the wet curve of her neck, my breath coming in ragged, painful gasps.
We lay there, two exhausted, sweat-drenched husks intertwined on the ruined bed, the air thick with the smell of sex and stale alcohol. My dick was limp, useless, a pulsating memory of the war we'd just waged. Freya's body was still trembling beneath me, her breath ragged against my ear.
Slowly, I lifted my head, propping myself on my elbows. Her eyes were open, glazed with exhaustion, but the defiant glint was still there, unwavering. Her lips were swollen, bruised, a slight trickle of saliva at one corner. She looked utterly ravaged, and utterly unbroken.
She met my gaze, a ghost of a smirk playing on her lips, then let out a low, humorless chuckle.
I glared back, my own chest still heaving. We'd simply survived. And the bitter truth was, the fight was just as exhilarating as the fucking.