48. Rhaim

48

RHAIM

I would never give Lia the satisfaction of telling her she was right, but I would punish her enough that she would know she had been.

She felt even better than I could have imagined, and the marble she was on was probably just as wet from her as it was from the rain.

The fact that she'd come from just me settling inside her—it'd been a miracle that I hadn't come too, then, myself, with her with her tight pussy milking me.

Not a thing had changed. Everything about this was the worst decision I'd made in my life—but I'd given her every out I could.

At the end of the day, I was still just a man.

And something about being around her turned me into an animal.

She made low, guttural sounds as I fucked her, and then she fucking came again. This time I rode her more slowly through it, not wanting her to bring me off, but then I lifted up her hips and fitted her to me.

"You—feel—so—fucking—good," I groaned, punctuating each word with a thrust. All I wanted to do was fuck her in this lifetime and the next—but if this was the only time I was going to get to, I wanted her to remember every inch of me.

I used her hips to fuck me exactly how I needed, sliding her on and off my cock, making her whimper as she rocked against the stone.

"This is how I want you," I whispered hoarsely, imagining her with her ankles spread and tied until she was nothing but my fuck-hole.

"Mmhmm!" she whined to agree, reaching one hand behind herself to grab my wrist and squeeze.

The rougher I was with her the more she liked it, and I realized it was like we were at the base of a mountain under avalanche alert, shooting shotguns in the air.

"I'm just going to fucking use you, Lia." It was God's honest truth. "I've known it ever since I saw you in the club—you and your tight fucking little pussy, begging for my dick."

She gave a groan then, and I felt all of her melt for me—except for the vise of her cunt, tightening.

"You want to be Daddy's little girl—but you're not—you're Daddy's little whore, out fucking me."

A helpless whine escaped her lips. "No!"

"Yes," I disagreed. "You know how I know?" I asked, shaking her with a thrust. "Because good girls don't get fucked in cemeteries." She whimpered at that. "Say it," I demanded.

She made a choked sound, because I'd thrust forward and she was full of my cock. "Good girls—don't get fucked—in cemeteries!" she gasped out, around the rhythm of me fucking her.

"So what does that make you?" I asked her, taking her in dick-length strokes, feeling myself hit the back of her.

"B—bad!" she stuttered, in my time.

Her dress was wet, her hair was tangled, somewhere along the line she'd lost her shoes, her eyes were glazed, she could barely breathe—and she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

"Luckily for you, I like bad things," I told her. I leaned forward, letting go of her hips to cover her against the stone, pounding myself into her as she wound up, the sound of me fucking her brutally echoing all around, as she opened her mouth and silently screamed—and then she was coming, jerking against me, and that was all I needed to explode.

I shouted, rutting forward with my dick, fighting for the same space inside her that tried to push me out, shoving relentlessly, that muscle behind my balls clenching again and again as I pumped her full. I kept shouting and thrusting until I was done and she was whimpering below, an exhausted, sodden mess.

"Don't move," I growled, and she weakly nodded. "I want to fucking fill you," I said, and then gasped, as the last spurt wrenched through me, and I was done.

I put my hands on either side of her and caught my breath, while her pussy gave me one more quake.

I bowed my head, and wet pieces of my hair fell forward.

Fucking her hadn't changed a goddamned thing.

It would just be something we would torture ourselves with from here on out.

It didn't matter how good it felt to be together—this was too fucked up to last.

I took a step back and pulled out of her with a hiss, while she stayed collapsed, like I'd stolen all her bones. I tucked myself away, zipped up my slacks, and fished in my suit for something dry to give her to clean up with—and then I saw the pearly white drops of my returning cum beading on the dark folds of her pussy.

Part of me wanted to kneel down and lick them off of her—the rest wanted to take my fingers, push all of it back in, and will for it to take.

But I'd already learned that lesson before.

I moved to the side of the sarcophagus she was facing. She was flushed and her endorphins had her a million miles away.

"This is for you," I said, handing her the square of fabric. "Don't worry—I'm clean, and I'm shooting blanks."

She blinked—and I pulled her keys out of my pocket, to set them down as well. I'd grabbed them when we were wrestling, afraid she'd try to poke my eyes out.

"I think we've both been punished enough today, Lia. Go home."