Page 130 of Villainous Intent

“You can take it,” I said, driving into her harder, faster. “You’ll take everything I give you.”

I felt the first spasm hit her. A ripple that started deep inside her pussy and radiated outward. She screamed my name, her head thrown back.

The sensation of her internal muscles squeezing me, rippling over my cock, snapped the last thread of my control. I buried myself as deep as I could go and poured myself into her.

When her aftershocks were over, I pulled out slowly, letting her pussy drag along every inch of my length. Annie made a sound of protest at the emptiness, and her internal muscles gave one last, weak spasm against the tip of my cock before I was free.

I stood there for a second, breathing hard. My dick was still rock hard, twitching with a need that one round hadn’t even begun to satisfy. But I was playing the long game and she was only human.

“Stay still,” I ordered.

She didn’t move immediately after I released her. She just lay there, draped over the leather, her breathing jagged. Her ass was a canvas of bright crimson handprints. I hadn’t held back. I’d modulated the force, sure, if I’d hit her with my full capability, I would have shattered her pelvis, but I’d hit her hard enough to leave a mark that would last for days. I wanted her to feel that sting every time she sat down. I wanted her to think of me every time she shifted.

“Up,” I said, gripping her arm.

She tried. She really did. She pushed herself up but the moment her legs tried to take her weight, her knees buckled.

I caught her and swept her up into my arms. She felt so fragile against me. Her skin was clammy with sweat and her pulse still rabbited in her neck.

“I’ve got you.” I turned toward the recovery corner.

“No,” she rasped.

I paused, looking down at her. Her hair was plastered to her face, her eyes blown wide and glassy. “No?”

“Not there,” she whispered, shaking her head against my chest. Her voice was wrecked, raw from screaming. “The bed.”

I frowned. “You’re done, Annie. You can’t even stand.”

She dug her fingers into my skin. “I don’t want to recover,” she choked out, looking up at me with a hunger that matched the dark, twisted thing living in my own skin. “Put me on the bed. Fuck me again. Please,” she begged, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I need to feel you. I need...”

She didn’t even know what she was asking for. She was running on adrenaline and endorphins, chasing the high of submission.

It was exactly what I wanted.

“No.” The word cost me. My cock gave a violent twitch of protest, demanding I finish what I’d started properly. I wanted to throw her onto the mattress and drive into her.

But looking at her now I knew the structural integrity wasn’t there. She’d snap. While I liked breaking things, I needed Annie functional for the long term.

“I’ll take you again,” I promised. “Soon. You’ll be begging me to stop next time, and I won’t. But right now, you’re done.”

I carried her to the recovery area in the corner of the room and laid her down. I draped the fur throw over her and she curled into it instantly.

She blinked up at me, her defenses slowly coming back online as the endorphin haze thinned.

I retrieved a warm cloth and a bottle of water. When I pulled the fur back and spread her legs, she flinched.

“Relax,” I ordered. I cleaned the slick of fluids from her inner thighs, the evidence of how hard I’d used her.

Usually, this was the part where I checked out. With anyone else, the moment the orgasm was over, the clock started ticking on how fast I could get them out of my space. I hated the clingy aftermath, the whispered confessions, the expectation of intimacy that hadn’t been earned. I made it clear to every woman I fucked that I was there for the fucking, not the feelings.

I’d certainly never helped any of them clean up afterward.

But as I looked at the red mark my hand had left on Annie’s skin, I felt nothing but possessive.

I tossed the cloth aside and sat on the edge of the chaise, pulling her up so she was resting against my chest. I wrapped the fur around us both, trapping her heat.

“You took that well.” My fingers, usually so intent on bruising, stroked the damp hair away from her face. “Better than I expected.”