Page 35 of Prospect’s Curvy Vinyl Girl

My thick fingers brush against her pussy lips. They’re already swollen, parting easily under my rough touch. The sheer volume of wetness coating her folds is staggering. She’s leaking slick, the viscous fluid dripping down to the oak counter beneath her.

I slide two fingers into her wetness.

The tight, scorching heat of her walls instantly grips my digits. The suction is merciless. I push my fingers in to the second knuckle, stretching her slick opening. Wendy lets out a sharp cry, her head thrashing against the wood.

"Fuck," I grit out, grinding my teeth together as the sensation threatens to snap my control. "You’re so fucking wet for me."

I pump my two fingers in and out of her pussy. The wet, obscene squelch of her slick clinging to my skin echoes over the music. The Fleetwood Mac track is winding down, the guitar solo fading out, but I’m focused on the rhythm of my fingers driving into her tight hole. I curl my digits upward, hooking against the swollen, textured ridge of her upper wall.

Her hips buck off the counter. Her nails dig violently into the wood behind her.

I shift my hand, bringing my thick thumb up to rest on her swollen clit. The sensitive nub is hard and throbbing beneath the slick folds. I press down hard, trapping her clit against her pubic bone, and begin to grind my thumb in tight, relentless circles.

"Keep your legs wide," I command, my voice a dark, low scrape. "Don’t move an inch. Take it."

I increase the pace of my fingers driving in and out of her slick walls while my thumb brutally works her clit. The friction is agonizing. The sheer sensory density of the wet sounds, the smell of her arousal, the cold moonlight on her pale skin, and the tight grip of her pussy short-circuits every thought in my skull.

I’m wiping the Syndicate out of her mind. I’m overwriting four years of isolation and fear with undeniable pleasure. I’m branding her with the Ignition.

Her thighs tremble violently against my waist. Her hips jerk forward with every thrust of my fingers. The slick coats my knuckles, running down the back of my hand. She’s sobbing out my name, the syllables fracturing into wordless moans.

"Tyler... please... Tyler..."

The begging shreds the final thread of my restraint.

I pull my slick fingers out of her pussy. The sudden loss of pressure makes her whine, a desperate, needy sound that feeds the monster inside my chest.

I reach down and unbuckle my leather belt. I tear the metal buckle through the loops. I pop the button of my jeans and rip the zipper down. I shove my denim and my boxer briefs down my thighs, kicking them away onto the floor.

My cock springs free, snapping against my stomach. It’s thick and agonizingly hard. A thick drop of clear precum leaks from the blunt head, gleaming in the pale moonlight. The ache in my balls is a physical weight, demanding to be emptied deep inside her womb.

I grab Wendy's hips. I drag her forward across the scratched oak counter. Her bare ass slides over the cold wood until she’s perched right on the very edge. Her legs hang off the side.

I step into the V of her spread thighs.

Her knees rest against my narrow hips. I reach down and grab the thick base of my cock. I line the blunt, swollen head against her slick, dripping opening.

"Look at my face," I command, the words tearing out of my throat.

Wendy opens her eyes. Her irises are blown wide, the pupils swallowing the gold. She stares up at me, completely surrendered, trusting the lethal weapon standing between her legs.

I drag the blunt head of my cock through her slick folds. Once. Twice. Coating myself in her arousal. The wet, obscene drag of skin on slick skin echoes against the brick walls of the empty shop. I let her feel how much I want her before I take her. I let the threat of me sit against her opening until she sobs my name out loud, the syllables fracturing against the empty space.

I drive my hips forward.

The blunt head of my cock breaches her tight opening. The scalding heat of her pussy swallows the first two inches. The resistance is incredible. She’s so tight, her walls clamping down around my thick girth like a vice.

I groan, the deep, animalistic sound vibrating in my chest. I wrap my hands around her bare thighs, gripping the soft flesh tight enough to leave bruises.

I pull her hips forcefully against my pelvis while simultaneously driving my body violently forward.

I penetrate her completely, burying my thick cock hilt-deep inside her tight, slick walls.

The physical impact is catastrophic. The dull thud of my pubic bone slamming against her pelvis echoes in the empty shop. The sheer depth of the penetration stretches her to the limit. Wendy screams, throwing her head back, her spine bowing rigidly off the counter.

"Mine," I roar, the claim erupting from my lungs. "Only mine."

I don’t give her a second to adjust. I don’t hold back. The deep-cover operative who practiced endless restraint and careful patience is dead. I’m a fully ignited Broken Halos prospect claiming my fated mate.