She comes, goes limp and lets her head rest on my forehead, as I keep fucking into her.
I'm far from done yet.
“Get on your fucking knees,” I growl, pushing her down to the ground. She falls down there, lets her head rest in the dirt and dust and lifts her ass high for me. I slap at it, three times, and with enough force that she yelps and then laughs. I’m driving back into her so fast she yelps again, barely able to hold herself on her knees. “I’m not done with you yet, Alice. More.”
She groans and moans again, takes her hands and plants them down to try stabilising herself. I don’t want her stable. I want her reliant on me in this, and so I wrap her arms back to me and pin them so she can’t balance herself.
Every fucking hole gets used. Her cunt, ass, mouth. She’s choked until I can see her going lax, and then revived so I can use her some more. I go back and forth, using each hole like I did before. She’s moved, yanked, forced and shoved around until we’re both more filthy and sweaty than we already were.
Heavy breaths assault the air around us and the sound of sex rings as loudly as the wolves would howl at my castle. It all takes me back there – back to a time of no time and no one other than us. I’m usually wild like this. Feral. Instinctive. Barren of care and indiscriminate to the vessel that takes me. The view clouds, becomes simple skin and bone beneath me, but the sound of her is embedded, as is the feel of her wrapped around me.
“Such a good fucking girl,” I grunt out, getting deeper and deeper. “Such a sweet little fuck toy.” I pull out and push back into her ass, enjoying the breathlessness of her song. Our song. And I’m so fucking close to letting go inside her. I don’t.
I move her again, push her until she’s on her back and looking up at me. I grab her hand, take it to my dick, and lean over her body. “Make me come on you. Own it and you have me.” Everything about her shakes and shudders, loose limbs unable to gain firm grip. I take her hand myself, wrap it around me until we’re both moving my dick, and I’m watching her mouth. Our eyes on each other, our bodies with each other. Just us again. I let go of her fingers, let her finish me off on her own.
The cum pours out of me, falls to her stomach, and I groan as she starts smearing it over her skin. She takes it around her throat, runs her shaking fingers to her mouth and sucks and laps at them. I’ve never seen a prettier fucking sight in my life. My cum being owned by someone resonates deeper than anything ever has. I keep watching from up here, keep letting the imagery find more depth inside me until it’s rooted further in than anything ever has been.
No thoughts other than now.
We’ll talk about another murder later.
Chapter 12
Ally
The journey back was long and winding.
I don’t know which way he went, I just held tight and let him lead us wherever we were going. My bike was left there, abandoned as if its cost was irrelevant. I guess it is to men like him. Shame, though. I loved it. But more than loving the machine, I loved the energy he gave me by surprising me with it. It gave me some freedom back – gave me some of myself back that I’ve lost along the way. It, as he says, helped rebuild a part of me I couldn’t find. The fact that his pain was all over me while we sped into the night – is still all over me even now - was, while confusing, profound. I don’t know what that means, but what I absolutely understand is this goes nowhere other than now if I have to keep hiding under his protection.
The bright lights of the city pull my attention as we get to it, and I lift my head from resting on his back. I might have even fallen asleep at some point in this journey with him. So tired. Exhaustion. Muscles aching. Pain. I was, am, either going mad or delirious under pressure. And because of that I’ve just held on, wrapped myself around him and savoured the times his hand came back to hold my thigh. It seemed more intimate to me than any of the fucking could ever be. Possessive. Domineering, and yet tinged with a care I know he feels simply because of that move.
He slows, swerves the bike left and right and grabs my hand to bring it to his chest. That feels like love to me, like a sense of belonging and home and heart. I could feel that with him if I let it all go, but until Greene’s gone I can’t feel anything else but that. And if he’ll do this for me – for my family – I’ll give him every minute of me whenever he wants it. That’s our bargain now. I’ll honour it for better or worse until he tells me I don’t have to anymore.
The eventual sight of his townhouse looms up on me. I crane my head up to look at it, as confused about that as I am about the way I feel about the man who owns it. It’s not me, won’t ever be me. It’s rich and seductive and full of a luxury I wasn’t built for. But, here we are, I guess. Me asking him to criminalize himself more than he already has done, and him, presumably, considering that on this journey home.
He cuts the bike as we pull up and I go to get off. He doesn’t let me. We just sit here with my hand still on his chest and him staring forward into the traffic. His head turns back a little. I look at the profile of him darkened by the visor he’s under. Too pretty. Still. Not that it’s a good description for him, but it can’t be denied either. Those cheekbones are bred from generations of beauty and grandeur, and his wayward ways are the reverse of that – a show of who he’d be if he had come from the streets I came from.
He lifts my hand, swings it around the back of his head to help me get off after a while. My knees buckle the second I hit the ground. He watches, probably smiles. It makes me chuckle and I try stretching the ache out, as he gets off too and passes the keys to a butler come servant who’s greeting him. I take my helmet off as we walk in and keep looking at him as he goes up the stairs without me, still with his helmet on. It all looks so at odds with the place. Black leather against the finery and gold seems harsh, but, I guess, that’s him, isn’t it? Harsh and unyielding and elegant and charming. What a fucking head space to have to live in.
“Ally?” I look sideways. Whit walks over to me, sliding his arms into his heavy coat. “We need to talk,” he says, quietly.
“About what?”
“Getting you all away from here.”
“Not yet, we don’t.”
“What do you mean?”
I nod up the stairs, watching as the last of Malachi walks around the corner. “I’m making a new bargain. And now I’m waiting on the response.”
He frowns, stares at me. “He isn’t the sort of man you make bargains with, Ally. Look where the last one got you.”
I walk off into one of the main lounge rooms, peeling my gloves and jacket off. “The last one got me rescued, eventually, and got a Greene killed. I’m asking him to do it again. This has to end Whit. We can’t keep running.”
“You’re asking him to have Franco killed?”
I drop the jacket and turn to face him. “No. I’m asking him to find a way to let me do it.” He looks back out of the room, as if checking for Malachi.
