Mark slammed her back against the wall, ignoring the soft thud of her body against the lavender paint as he captured her mouth, this time with a bruising possessiveness he couldn't... wouldn't... apologize for.
He tasted magic on her tongue— ice, power, that something else that resonated through him, and it made his blood sing.
Mine…
That insistent, demanding voice no longer felt foreign, intruding, but like an echo of his own wants amplified a thousandfold. Her moan as his lips finally brushed against the smooth curve of her collarbone was all the encouragement he needed.
He ripped at the buttons of her blouse, tearing through the fabric with a ferocity that surprised even him, desperate to feel her bare skin against his.
"Mmmh-awww…" She gasped.
He wasted no time as he pushed the bra up, revealing her impossibly hard nipples mounted on her deliciously full breasts. His mouth latched on them, his tongue swirling around their peaks, sucking and biting with a fervor that elicited a moan of pleasure from her lips.
"Ohh…. Ahhhhhh..."
He pushed her back— or she yielded, he wasn't sure anymore— but she landed on those absurdly frilly sheets with a soft bounce that made him almost laugh. It felt incongruous. Wrong. Perfect.
He hooked his fingers in the waistband of those impossibly tight jeans and yanked them down in a single, decisive motion revealing the smooth curve of her hips and the soft cotton of her panties.
And for a moment his mind— or maybe the vestige of sanity— rebelled. He pulled back, searching her face for … he didn't know what. Doubt? Hesitation? Regret? But there was only the same desperate hunger burning in those gold-flecked eyes, mirroring his own.
She simply arched those incredible legs, pushing those damned panties down with a slow grace.
He watched— captivated— as she shimmied free of the last scrap of lace, a playful smirk twisting her lips as she met his gaze, her fingertips lingering on the clasp of her bra before tossing it aside.
Her skin was as pale as winter moonlight, the curves of her ribcage so delicate he wanted to trace them with his tongue, to see if those hollows tasted as intoxicating as…
"H-Hurry..."
That was the final nail in the coffin of his self-control. He yanked off his own clothes— damn these buttons!— and when his eyes returned to her, she was on her elbows, propped on the edge of that frilly bed, her gaze sweeping down over him, slow and frankly assessing. Hungry. Her bottom lip disappeared behind a neat row of teeth.
Her pupils were blown wide, those normally glacial eyes molten gold. She was as lost as he was. Maybe more.
The bed creaked under their combined weight as he pulled her towards the center of the mattress, his hands gripping her hips possessively.
He buried his face against the warmth of her throat, kissing the pulse point beneath her delicate ear.
"Oh god…" Her body shuddered beneath his.
He showered her neck with kisses, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake. She moaned softly, her fingers digging into his shoulders, her hips bucking against his in a silent plea for release. He was hard, gloriously hard, aching for release. But then a flicker of rationality pierced through the haze of desire.
He hesitated just long enough to make sure she knew what the hell she was getting into—his, hers, or whatever the hell that insidious voice whispering in their veins wanted. He stared down into her face, at the flush on those high cheekbones, at the feverish heat burning in those usually glacial eyes.
"Tell me," he growled, "do you want this?"
"Y-Yes….I-I'm going… crazy," she replied, breathing heavily. "I want nothing more. Please, just… don't make me wait anymore."
Her plea was laced with a raw vulnerability that sent a shiver down his spine.
He got this sudden rush of power, a messed-up kind of thrill from her desperate words. This wasn't like him, this craving for control, this hunger to dominate.
But in that moment, it didn't matter. The last vestiges of rationality slipped away, replaced by a primal urge that demanding to be fed.
"I'm going to make you come so hard," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.
"Please," she begged, her body writhing beneath him. "Just do it. Fuck me."
He grazed the tip of his cock against her swollen folds— once, twice, the slick heat of her soaking his skin. A low whine tore from her throat. And with the deliberate cruelty only this strange, overwhelming need could inspire, he pulled back—just slightly, pressing against that exquisitely sensitive bundle of nerves nestled between her gloriously thighs.
She moaned with frustration, her hips bucking against him. "Please," she pleaded, "I need you inside me. Now. Just do it already…..…"
Her cries was a broken plea, and dammit, he relished that frantic edge in her voice. He rammed into her, sinking deep in one fierce drive.
"AAAAGGHHHHH!!!…."
The force of it almost sent him over the edge right then. And then something shifted, a current more potent than any drug slammed into him— not pain, but pleasure so intense it was a shockwave rippling through him, stealing his breath and blurring the edges of his vision.
"Y-You okay—?"
Stupid, goddamn stupid, pointless question drowned out by the next desperate, unhinged cry.
"No, fuck, I need— more… harder…"
He didn't need another second of confirmation. He was moving, all control out the window, driven by a hunger deeper and darker than anything he'd ever felt. He drank in her gasp, the taste of her, the feel of her nails digging into his shoulders, marking him as hers just as surely as he intended to brand her his.
It was like that first, life-altering hit— euphoria slamming into every cell of his being, obliterating thought and leaving only a raw, desperate need for more. More of her, more of this, more.
His hips found a rhythm, a brutal, primal tango that had them both moaning, sweat-slicked and panting against the sheets.
Every thrust sent a filthy, electric jolt through him, her desperate whispers against his throat setting a rhythm that pounded like a war drum in their veins.
She was tight. Hot. So, fucking hot.
Her eyes were squeezed shut, her body trembling beneath him as he thrust into her with increasing force. Her nails dug into the sheets, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she shuddered.
"Harder…faster, fuck…YES!" she moaned, her voice hoarse with pleasure.
He answered her with a groan, burying his face against the damp warmth of her neck, tasting salt and that ever-present hint of cinnamon— but this close, he swore he tasted something colder, too, metallic, an undercurrent of something that shouldn't have been alluring, shouldn't have been…
The room echoed with their ragged panting breaths, the hot, wet smack of skin on skin, the squelching of her soaked pussy.
The bed creaked beneath them—a frantic tango mirroring their own rhythm, sweat slicking his skin as he stared down, mesmerized. She was breathtaking— hair a mess, eyes dilated and vacant, lips swollen and parted.
And god, the way she arched upward with each brutal impact of his hips against hers, those glorious legs clamped tight around his back, pulling him in.
"Uhn...uhn...oh god...oh goddd..it feels so good! Please don't stop...you're going to...uhn...fuckkk...so hardd...uhn...you're--"
Her core— impossibly tight, searing heat— clutched, squeezed, each inward pulse against the hard length of his cock a symphony played just for him, obliterating every other sensation, even thought.
He couldn't have stopped if he wanted to, not with the way her body writhed, her fingers digging those crescent moons deeper into his shoulders.
"YYYEEESSSS!!! OH GAAWWED…. SO GOOOOOD!"
He kept pounding into her, burying his face in the sweat-slicked valley between her heaving tits. Fuck, how could her muscles clamp down on him with such insane, fucking exquisite force?
It was like she was trying to milk him dry. She felt like liquid fire, her pussy gripping him so tight it was like a fucking vice made of pure, scorching pleasure.
He could feel her heart racing against his chest, their bodies slapping together, slick with sweat and hunger.
"You're…. so fucking tight," he groaned, reveling in the feeling of her clenching around him.
"Deep, so fucking deep … inside, yes, please…I feel you everywhere… ohhhh my god— I can't—More-give me more…"
He could feel her pussy gushing around him, her juices coating his cock, her thighs, the sheets beneath them. She was a goddamn mess- a gorgeous, filthy fucking mess- and he couldn't get enough of her. Every slick, sloppy sound just made him hunger for more.
"Fuck, you feel so good," he growled, his hips moving like pistons, driving into her with brutal, relentless force. "Your pussy's so fucking tight, so wet. You're fucking drenched. You love this, don't you?"
"Yes, yes, yesyesyesyesyes….." she chanted, her hands clutching at his back, his shoulders, his hair, anywhere she could reach. "Fuck me. Fuck me harder. I need it. I need you. I….aghhhh…."
He cut off her frantic pleas— with a punishing kiss, crushing those gloriously swollen lips against his own, stealing that desperate exhale. She tasted incredible, all musk and desire.
Their tongues clashed—hers slick, demanding, seeking a release that was as close, as inevitable as the tremors wracking his body. Their teeth clashed, and when he bit down hard, her muffled moan sent a thrill straight to his cock.
She didn't resist, didn't pull back, just arched up against him, those soft mounds of her breasts mashed against his chest as he drove into her—again, again, that exquisite friction, that unbearable pressure building.
"I- I'm…. close," she moaned into his mouth, her body arching against his, her hips meeting his thrust for thrust. "So close. I-I want… to come for you….I… aaaah."
He could feel her pussy walls clenching and shuddering around him, her body responding to his with a desperation that matched his own.
"Do it."
She gasped and moaned as his words and the intensity of his movements brought her closer to the brink. "Oh, god, I'm almost there," she whimpered.
"Let it go. Let me feel you."
His grip tightened around her hips, pulling her up to meet every brutal, desperate thrusts. He wanted her undone— utterly, gloriously undone.
"Ahhhh—oh FUCK—YES—YES! — DON'T," she screamed, her voice a desperate, incoherent mess. "OHHH…cu-cum-mhm-cumming…I'M CUMMING SO HARD…..Don't stop. Please don't stop."
He didn't stop. He couldn't stop. He continued to pummel her through her orgasm, his body chasing its own release.
It was like a supernova igniting— that tightness coiling around him intensifying, muscles pulsing against his cock, dragging, milking with a frantic urgency that felt both impossibly delicious and … wrong, so fucking wrong, but it didn't matter— not with that fire building in his balls, with her cries urging him deeper, closer, her body twisting beneath his.
Her head thrashed from side to side, hair fanning, those amber-gold eyes rolling back with pure pleasure as she rode wave after relentless wave of her orgasm, each gasp echoing against his skin like a dirty prayer.
Her inner heat scorched him, mirroring his own rising need, his own approaching explosion. He could feel her juices dripping, coating his cock, his thighs, making everything slick and messy and fucking perfect.
"I want you… OHH… YES, fill me—"
Her cunt tightened—a vise, her slick walls spasming against him, drawing him deeper, dragging him down.
"Please, ohhhhhhhhh, fill me."
"Oh, fuck," he growled, slamming through that tight resistance, her tunnel squeezing him like a glove. And then, with one final, brutal thrust, he came hard, his body shuddering as he spilled deep inside her.
Wave after wave of pure fire ripped through him, hot, messy, his vision whited out as those tremors—hers now, but reflected, magnified within him— threatened to drag them both down into oblivion.
He could feel her pussy pulsing, drawing out every last drop of his cum, their bodies locked together in a sweaty, shuddering mess.
The final tremor rippled through him, leaving him boneless. He collapsed against her—reduced to a tangle of sweat-dampened limbs beneath him, their chests rising and falling in a shared rhythm, a faint sweet scent mingling now with something more primal.
He shifted, intending to pull back, give them both— hell, give himself — a chance to catch his breath and assess the full scope of the monumental, catastrophic fuckup he'd just committed… except, he didn't move. Couldn't.
He was still buried inside her, a throbbing presence nestled against those exquisitely tight inner walls, her slick heat pulsating in response to the wave of tremors that still seemed to be radiating from her core. Her pussy still gripped him so tightly.
"Holy shit, what's going on?" he gasped, starting to panic. "What the actual fuck is happening?"
"Stop moving around," she insisted, her expression confused but calm. "Why are you freaking out?"
"I uhh… can't seem to move."
She didn't seem bothered at all. "Stop moving," she instructed, studying him for a moment.
"What do you mean?"
"This is how bonded mate," she explained with a hint of amusement. "Just relax. It's normal."
"Normal?" he echoed, his mind racing. What the hell is normal about this?
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Can't you feel it? Your seed, releasing into my womb?"
And fuck, he could. He could still feel his orgasm, the sensation of cum pouring into her, his lower stomach coiling with desire. "Yeah, I..uhh… I can feel it."
What the hell?
"This…" He gestured vaguely downward. "Isn't this how this usually…" He trailed off, praying whatever deity oversaw this realm of terrible, impulsive decisions, that she wouldn't think he was totally clueless. " I mean, I… you—"
"Just stay still." She laughed softly, the sound a gentle echo of her frantic cries earlier. "Let it happen."
He shifted again— desperation making his movement sharper than intended— only to discover the more he fought against that tightening, those involuntary contractions deep within… the more his whole system clutched.
"But... I can't... move," he stammered, panic rising in his voice.
"You don't need to," she purred, her fingers tracing lazy circles on his back. "Just relax and enjoy it."
"What… but… how long—"
"A while," she replied with a shrug. "It varies. Just let your body… adjust. You'll clearly know when you're… done."
Before he could ask another question, her mouth was on his. Her tongue, a sleek, hot muscle, plunged past his lips, insistent. He groaned, her laughter— soft, breathy—vibrating against his own lips.
He unknowingly pushed his hips forward, eliciting a gasp from her.
"Agghhhh…." she breathed, her eyes half-lidded. "Don't move…"
"What's wrong?"
"I'm kind of….. sore," she sighed. "You really did a number on me."
"Oh..I.… I'm sorry."
"Oh no, don't apologize," she reassured, a smile spreading across her face. "I feel really good right now, better than I thought I would. Way better than what I was told it would feel like."
Despite the flood of questions, the overwhelming pleasure of being inside her silenced his curiosity. His was till cumming, his entire body still orgasming. Rational thought was hard. Very hard.
"Wow," she murmured, gazing down to see his cock still buried deep inside her, still unleashing his seed. "You're still pumping in me," she observed with a slight giggle.
"I uhh… can't seem to control it."
"Oh, you're so cute," she said, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.
Mark looked down, taking in the sight of her sweat-covered face, her amber eyes still glazed with the remnants of her pleasure. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, her hair a wild, tangled mess. She was a vision of raw, untamed beauty, and he couldn't look away.
"God, you feel so good," he murmured, the words escaping his lips before he could stop them.
A soft smile curved her lips, and she reached up, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him down to her.
"You feel pretty damn great too," she whispered, her voice a soft, sultry purr.
And then she kissed him again, her lips claiming his in a slow, languid dance.
Her inner muscles continued to clench around his pumping member, milking him with every pulse. He groaned into her mouth as wave after wave of pleasure washed over him.
His orgasm seemed to last forever, his seed spilling forth in a seemingly endless stream.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he felt her gloriously tight greedy walls of hers loosen, his cock slowly shrinking back to its normal size.
He gently pulled out of her, eliciting a soft gasp from her lips as the sensation of fullness suddenly vanished. He shifted back— just enough to catch his breath but eyes went to the sight of her pussy, glistening and overflowing the white liquid slowly dripping down onto the sheets below. It was a sight that sent a surge of primal satisfaction through him.
Her lips, swollen and bruised in ways he hadn't consciously intended but now couldn't quite regret, curved upward in a soft, lazy smile. It felt incongruous— like witnessing the calm after a storm. Her calm. He, on the other hand…
"God, that's a mess," she chuckled.
"I… I'm sorry." The words felt inadequate, but he didn't know what else to say.
"It's okay." Her soft laughter as she glanced down— not embarrassed, more like… assessing, maybe appreciative, of the messy evidence— made him squirm. "You can let go of the innocent act, buddy. I doubt there's much of that left after—"
"No I am truly sorry…I"
"Seriously, dude," she said, rolling her eyes playfully, "stop apologizing. It was amazing."
He remained speechless, still reeling from the whirlwind of emotions and sensations he had just experienced. His mind struggled to comprehend what had just transpired, his rational side slowly returning as the fog of desire began to lift.
"Give me five minutes," she murmured, as she unfolded from the tangle of sweat-dampened sheets. With a wink, she headed towards a door he assumed was the bathroom. "Be right back."
Mark stood there, alone in the dimly lit bedroom, staring at the rumpled sheets and the evidence of their passionate encounter or fuck, a better word for what happend. The reality of the situation was slowly sinking in, leaving him with more questions than answers.
"What the hell just happened?"
* * *
What the actual fuck?
The thought echoed in the hollow space where, moments before, there had only been that relentless, all-consuming need. His fingers fumbled with buttons— shirt, then jeans, muscle memory taking over where his brain seemed to have… checked out.
Mind-blowing didn't even begin to describe what had just— He closed his eyes, trying to replay the scene in fast-forward but only managed fractured, disjointed flashes. Her touch. That scent. His voice, rougher, more commanding… than he ever remembered using. God.
He finished dressing, but his feet remained rooted to the spot. The reality of the situation was sinking in, and along with it came the avalanche of what the hell questions his overwhelmed brain was in no way equipped to answer.
What do I do now? Do I just say thanks and walk out? Do I try to talk to her? What the hell do I even say?
Moreover, She didn't even seem phased by what happened. She was in the bathroom, humming like nothing insane had just gone down. Meanwhile, he was standing there like an idiot, trying to figure out how to put one foot in front of the other.
He glanced around the room, hoping inspiration might strike from amidst the posters plastered on pale lavender walls— bands he'd heard of but never bothered listening to, a tangle of eclectic art prints that clashed but worked. A desk piled with neatly-labeled binders, shelves overflowing with novels and textbooks.
This is definitely tidier than my room…..
He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm the storm of thoughts raging within him.
Okay, Mark, think. You just had mind-blowing sex with a stranger. Now what?
Just as he was about to call out to her, hoping to initiate some sort of awkward conversation, he heard the sound of running water coming from the bathroom. He decided to wait, his mind still grappling with the surreal turn of events.
The absurdity of the situation hit him anew as he recalled the intensity of their encounter.
How long was I even inside her? he thought, his brow furrowing in confusion.
And how much did I….came…inside—? No, that's not humanly possible.
He paced the room, his mind racing with a mix of disbelief, confusion, and a lingering sense of primal satisfaction. The whole thing was insane, and he had no idea what to do next.
The logistics of it all baffled him. What the hell just happened?
I mean, I've had my fair share of experience, but this… this was something else entirely.
Oh shit… we didn't use protection.
Panic surged through him, his earlier confusion replaced by a wave of pure, unadulterated fear. He increased his pace around the room, running a hand through his already-tousled hair. He kicked himself— both metaphorically and physically, his foot slamming against the edge of the desk, sending a stack of artfully arranged postcards— Guggenheim. Modern Impressionism. The Met— cascading in his wake.
Think, Mark, think! he berated himself. What the hell are you going to do?
Stupid, dumb ass….
He continued to pace, his mind racing with possible solutions, each one more ridiculous than the last. He considered leaving a note, but what would he even say?
He caught his reflection in the mirrored closet door across from him— tousled dark hair sticking up at awkward angles, tired eyes reflecting back a turmoil even he hadn't been fully aware of. Oh yeah, this day isn't going as planned.
The click of the shower shutting off felt louder than a thunderclap. He stopped pacing—heart thudding, clutching his shoes awkwardly in his hands.
Play it cool. The mantra every guy recited in moments like this, usually right before doing something spectacularly idiotic. Which, given the recent turn of events…
The bathroom door opened, and she emerged, her skin fresh and clean, devoid of any trace of sweat or… his contribution to the earlier mess.
He averted his gaze—crimson flushing his cheeks— as she rummaged in a drawer, pulling out a simple navy blue t-shirt. The sight of her, so casual and comfortable, composure threw him off.
"I, uh… I'm sorry about your shirt," he stammered, feeling the need to apologize for at least one aspect of the chaotic situation.
"Didn't I tell you…"—she shot him a playful glance as she pulled the shirt over her head—"to stop apologizing? "
"Right," he mumbled, feeling like a complete idiot.
He couldn't help but be surprised by her ease in handling the situation, her demeanor starkly contrasting with the turmoil churning inside him.
Standing in front of a mirror, she pulled out a hair tie and gathered her long, chestnut hair into a high ponytail.
There was something undeniably sexy about her simple action, the way her profile was accentuated against the soft light of the room.
She's so damn beautiful, he thought, his heart skipping a beat.
"Like what you see?" she teased catching his gaze in mirror.
"Uh, I—," his cheeks burned even hotter as he stammered, unable to form a coherent response. How does one even act in this situation?
He was completely out of his depth, his usual confidence and wit abandoned him, leaving him feeling like a bumbling teenager.
What confused him even more was her demeanor. She seemed so… okay with everything. No tears, no recriminations, no awkwardness. She wasn't angry. Wasn't even remotely unsettled. It was as if she had been expecting this as if this crazy, inexplicable turn of events was somehow… normal to her.
What the hell is going on? he thought for a thousandth time, his mind racing as he tried to make sense of it all. He felt like he was in some alternate reality, where up was down and nothing made sense.
Desperate to break the awkward silence, Mark blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
"Nice room," he said, then immediately cringed. Really? Nice room?
"Thanks," she replied, a smile still dancing at the corner of her lips.
He mentally kicked himself. Why did I say that?
"Is it… uh… yours?" he asked, then instantly regretted the question. What the fuck is wrong with me? His face felt hot with embarrassment, and he wished he could just disappear. This was not how he imagined this going at all.
Her laughter as she turned towards him was as melodic, and oddly unsettling. There was something about her— that distinct calmness beneath the lingering heat of those golden-amber eyes—that both baffled and inexplicably excited him
"You seem nervous," she observed, her voice light and teasing.
"A bit rattled, yeah," Mark admitted, running a hand through his hair. "This isn't exactly…. what I had in mind for today."
"Right," she said, her tone still playful. She studied him for a moment, her head tilting slightly as if reassessing him.
"Is there… something wrong?" He asked.
"No, not at all. It's just… kinda cute, actually. You were like a wild animal before, and now you're all mellow"
Mark's mouth opened and closed, no words coming out as he processed her description. Cute? Mellow? He couldn't decide whether to be relieved or mortified. His mind scrambled for an appropriate response, but all that came out was a strangled, "Oh."
She seemed to enjoy his flustered state, taking a step closer and placing a hand on his arm. "Why are you so tense?"
"Well, it's just… a bit overwhelming, I guess."
Suddenly, she shifted the topic, leaning in close and tracing a finger along his jawline. "You have a really nice face," she murmured, her eyes sparkling with amusement.
He felt like he had stumbled into some strange alternate reality where the rules of logic and normalcy no longer applied.
"Uhh… thanks," he mumbled, his brain short-circuiting.
She threw her head back and laughed. "God, don't be so flustered," she teased. "If someone walked in right now, they'd think I was the one who screwed you senseless."
He chuckled nervously, still feeling the heat of her stare on him. "Well technically not wrong."
"Relax, dude. Seriously." Her laughter as she backed away was tinged with an affection that felt both intoxicating and a little… dangerous. "You look like you're gonna pass out."
"Right…" He cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of composure. "So, uh… would you maybe want to grab some coffee sometime?"
She paused, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "Nah, I should probably talk to my parents," she replied, picking up her phone.
"Right," he mumbled, unsure how to respond. What a weird thing to say… right now…, he thought, his confusion growing by the second. Her parents? Really? He shook his head slightly, trying to make sense of the situation, but everything about this encounter was just too bizarre.
"They're not going to be happy that I've bonded," she added, her voice taking on a serious tone.
"What? Are they… against you, uh… you know…having sex or something?"
"They're not against that, exactly." She raised a challenging eyebrow. "Look, maybe we can… speed this up a bit? The 'innocent act?' It was kinda cute at first… not so much anymore."
Mark blinked, taken aback. "Uh, okay. So, what do you mean by 'bonded'?" he asked, trying to keep up with the sudden shift in conversation.
She sighed, as if explaining something obvious. "It means we're connected now. And my parents are going to have opinions about it."
"Connected… like, emotionally?"
"Among other things," she replied cryptically. "But yeah, let's just say they're not going to be thrilled. So, coffee is probably not the best idea right now. And again drop this act, it's getting annoying."
What the hell just happened? Bonded? Connected? I have no idea what's going on.
Mark choked on his confusion, his attempt at playing it cool, as usual, backfiring. This was like a dream on overdrive, one of those bad trip nightmares that usually resulted in him bolting upright in bed at three AM.
"Wait, one sec, back up a bit," he said, holding up a hand. "What do you mean 'bonded'?"
"Well…" she muttered, annoyance briefly replacing her earlier amusement, "…. in layman's terms, it means we're married," she explained as if it were the most natural conclusion in the world.
"WHAT?"