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“Yes, but…I like it.”
“Good.” His smile found my forehead. “Let me show you what a real monster feels like.”
His hands were on my hips before the words had fully landed. In one smooth move, he flipped me over. An arm snaked roughly around my middle, and he drew me back, positioning me on my knees and hands this time. I went willingly, even though this position always made me feel most exposed. But right now, I wanted to be claimed. My ass lifted in the air, and I grabbed a pillow because I would probably need it.
I was ready, eager to take what he gave.
The blunt, hot pressure of his cock pushed against my entrance.
My very own Santa pushed into me in one long, continuous stroke, and the sound I made was something between a sob and a groan. Unlike the toy, there was nothing alien or otherworldly about him.
He fit.
Perfectly.
Hands holding me in place, he made small, involuntary adjustments of his hips that the toy could never mimic. His voice came out rough.
“Fuck. You’re so fucking wet.”
I blushed, grateful for the dark. I was soaked. My arousal made obscene, slick sounds as he drove into me. His pace was punishing from the start. Deep, hard strokes pushed the breath from my lungs with each impact. Dropping forward, I braced my weight on my forearms and let him take me.
The bed frame creaked.
His hand fell between my legs again, and the vibrator came back. The dual stimulation was catastrophic. His cock hit deep inside me, stretching me open, and the buzz against my clit shot sparks through every nerve. My body had nowhere to go with the overload except to succumb completely to it. I made ragged, broken noises that didn’t sound like they belonged to me.
I could be embarrassed later.
For now, I pressed my face into the pillow.
“Come again,” he commanded, words a velvety dark whip. “Come on your monster’s cock while he fucks you.”
My monster. Him.
He was. A dark force, creeping around the house in the dead of night. A body and a voice that didn’t have a face. He existed as an entity, not a person because he wanted me to judge him without his identity clouding that opinion.
This man was my monster.
“Monster, please!” I screamed into the pillow.
He thrust deep. “That’s it. Pray to your sea-god while he fills you with his cum.”
My head cracked back and forth. “Nnnooot a sssea-ggoddd.”
“What am I, then?” he growled.
In my head, visions played of him sitting on a black, onyx throne as shadows glittered through his haunted hall. He was a Hades archetype, and that made me a Persephone.
“The Dark King,” I whispered.
His movements faltered.
“Be my king,” I begged the darkness.
With a muted, strangled sound, his fingers dug into my hips. He drove into me with a fury that sent sparks crackling up my spine.
It happened faster than I expected. My body was primed, sensitized, every nerve ending already lit up and waiting for the match. It was him. He did it. The orgasm built from the base of my spine, a tightening coil of pressure. When it released, it pulled a cry from my throat that was primal.
Something inside me broke loose that had been anchored for a long time.
