Bride of War (18+)

14

Slade is larger than life, he always is. He engulfs me, as if to hide me from the world, the sun at his back, as he kissed my face, his lips tracking their way down my body to my pussy, already wet and aching for him.

His lips tug up, as his eyes raise to mine. "I thought you were tired."

My cheeks heat. "I told you I changed my mind."

He chuckles, his hands under my behind, pulling me roughly toward his mouth. I push at his head, his dark hair flopping into his eyes.

"You can't...men aren't supposed to," I whispered, looking away.

He frowns. "I like to eat, Monika. Are you denying me my breakfast?"

Oh my goodness why is he doing this? My face is so hot I can't think. I was always told it was improper for a lady to receive pleasure.

He doesn't wait for my response, his head diving down between my thighs, his lips pressing against my aching cunt.

The sensation sends me jilting upwards away from the wetness of his lips. He pulls me back, glancing up at me.

"Keep still," he growls lowly, pulling me even closer. My head falls back, as I sling my arm over my eyes, unable to look at the obscene sight before me.

His fingers pry me open, making me clench down, trying to hide my insides from his searing gaze.

For a moment, he's just looking. And then he's devouring me, pulling me closer and closer as if he wants to swallow me whole, leave no trace of me.

I'm overwhelmed, my hand gripping his hair.

His chest rumbles.

"Are you still tired," he asked, his chest rising and falling with the effort. He closed his eyes, licking his fingers.

I glance away. "Only a little."

Slade smiles, lifting me up, and placing me on his waist.

"Do you want to taste the nectar of a goddess?" He murmurs, pressing his lips against mine.

That's what I taste like? It's not dirty like everyone said.

"Delicious, isn't it?" He coaxes me, his hardness poking at my entrance. "Since my little wife is still tired, I'll let you set the pace."

Slade holds me up and raises his brow as if to ask me what I was doing. I shift, setting myself down on his length. It goes in easier than before but he's still stretching me, making me conform to his shape.

His muscles flex as I do, his face screwing up in pain. I slowly take him in, his back against the wall, face to the sky.

His hands squeeze my waist, trying to control himself, trying not to pull me down and force me to take all of him.

"It's hard for me...to wait...you feel so good," he groans, dropping his head onto my shoulder.

"You can—"

"No," he growls. "You're already tired. Just..." his hands tighten even more on my hips. I know they'll bruise tomorrow.

I like it. A moan escapes my lips. He fills me completely, and I'm not even halfway down his length

Slade groans, murmuring incomprehensible words. A god is under me, losing his mind. I shiver at the thought.

"Please," he rasped. "I need to be inside you."

"Do it," I smile. "I'm yours."

He pulls me down roughly, bottoming out inside me, my eyes widening at the sudden sensation of being overly full.

"Slade!"

He moans gutturally, pulling me even closer. "Monika," he sinks his teeth into my shoulder.

My head hits the wall, my hands scratching his back desperately.

Sex with Slade is getting devoured. He devours me, with his teeth, with his hands, his growls, his dick. But I love the feeling of being devoured by him, his fangs in the junction of my neck.

"Slade, Slade, Slade," I chant his name. All I can see all I can think, and all I can feel is him.

The ball in my stomach tightens, a pressure building up inside me, once foreign now something I associate with his name.

With his touch. With his affection.

I say his name once more, the pressure releasing, my toes curling, fingers digging into his back.

He pulls his teeth from my neck, sighing, twitching inside me. He floods my insides with his cum, hot inside, almost scorching, bulging my belly even as he pulls out of me.

He doesn't move, holding me close, pulling me from the wall, and stumbling back onto the bed. His large hand is on the back of my head, pulling me into his shoulder as he laid back.

He says nothing, but the tightness of his grip says everything.