Page 112 of Glorious Ruin
He nodded frantically. “Yes. Green for fine. Red for stop.”
I kissed him again, harder this time, my hand sliding down to grip his hip. “And you’re absolutely, completely sure this is really what you want tonight?”
“Yes.” His fingers dug into my shoulders. “Yes, god, please, I need it. I need you in control right now. Completely.”
I kept him at the sofa, at my mercy over the armrest. I unbuckled my belt, throwing my jeans and boxers to the floor, my cock springing free. I grabbed the bottle of lube from the table, pouring a massive, cold puddle of it directly over his flushed hole, the contrast making him jolt against the cushion.
Standing in front of him, I tugged the leash, wrapping the chain tightly around my hand. “Mouth open,” I commanded.
I lined my cock up with his face, shoving myself deep into his throat without any prelude, forcing him to take the thick length of me while his eyes watered and saliva ran down the sides of his jaw. I face-fucked him right there on the arm of the sofa, a deliberate, and punishing rhythm that completely stripped away the last remaining threads of control. He was gagging, his chest heaving, his hands clawing uselessly at my thighs. He was chasing the submission, letting the physical intensity quiet the burning static in his brain.
I pulled out with the mix of spit and pre-cum coating his lips, and pushed him backward. His back collided with the cushions.
“On your stomach” I ordered.
He flipped onto his stomach as told, pushing his chest flat against the cushions. I hauled his hips up into the air, leaving his thick ass elevated and exposed.
The white lace thong was stretched to its limits, the thin fabric cutting a sharp line between his cheeks while the thigh-high fishnets framed the flexing muscles of his thighs.
I pulled the thin string to the side as I lined myself up with his tight, heated hole. With one swift thrust of my hips, I drove myself into him, my pelvis slamming against his ass with a loud, resounding sound that echoed through the quiet hotel room.
Silas screamed. It was a loud, high-pitched, and completely shattered wail of pure, blinding, and unholy pleasure that tore through his vocal cords. His fingers dug deep into the stitching of the couch cushions, his back arching into a violent curve. The tightness was incredible, his internal muscles clenching around my length in a series of frantic, suffocating spasms that milked me with every single movement.
I pounded into him with a ruthless, punishing cadence. I didn’t give him a second to breathe or to think. I became consumed by pure, possessive destruction, my hips slamming against his bare skin with brutal speed.
“Look at you,” I growled, my hand reaching around to grip his thick cock, stroking him at a firm, slippery pace that matched my thrusts. “Look at how dirty you are for me, Si. The champion. The golden boy. Backstage you’re a legend, but in this room, you’re nothing but my personal fucking whore. You take my cock so well. Look at how open you are for your husband.”
He let out a broken, high-pitched moan against the cushion, his head thrashing from side to side. “Fuck—yesMore. Please,harder—use me.”
The sensation was intoxicating, the scent of sweat and sex filling the small room. I didn’t slow down. I drove into him deeper, my cock bottoming out against his prostate with every single downward slam of my hips, completely claiming every coordinate of his internal anatomy.
I paused for a fraction of a second, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs as I leaned down, sweat dripping off my forehead and landing on his shoulder blades. I looked down at the visual under me, the collar, theleash wrapped around my hand, the white lace cutting into his skin, the fishnets framing his trembling legs. It was downright filthy.
“You okay, baby?” I rasped out. “Am I hurting you?”
“Harder!” he groaned, his voice cracking violently. “Fucking drive into me! Iwant it harder”
“I don’t think I can go harder without hurting you, baby,” I warned, my jaw clenched so tight it ached.
“Do it.” He whimpered, a desperate sound tearing from his throat. “Hurt me. I don’t give a fuck.”
That was all the permission needed.
My remaining restraint entirely evaporated. I pulled back, my hands gripped his waist like a pair of iron clamps, my thumbs digging deep into his hip bones to leave bruising marks he would wear like badges of honor for a week. I threw my entire weight into the movement, pounding into him with a punishing force that made the sofa slide an inch across the floorboards with every single impact.
He was literally screaming.
The sound was loud, echoing sharply off the hotel walls, filled with a blinding, terrifyingly intense combination of physical pain and overwhelming, soul-shattering pleasure. He was unraveled, his internal walls collapsing as I claimed him over and over again, leaving no part of his mind untouched by the truth of who owned him. He couldn’t think about Rico. He couldn’t think about the belt. He could only think about the relentless force driving into his depth, shattering the darkness under his skull until there was nothing left but me.
His internal muscles clenched down around my cock in a series of rapid, involuntary contractions that milked every single drop of cum out of my body. He let out one final, high-pitched, and completely broken moan as he climaxed hands-free, his release shooting out in messy ropes that splattered the cushions. Seconds later, I followed him over the edge. My hips snapping forward one final, deep time as I poured my own explosive release inside of him, my vision spotting with brilliant white stars as my legs completely gave out.
I collapsed flat against his back, a dead weight, my chest heaving violently against his shoulder blades. I slowly pulled out of him. Si let out a soft, exhausted whine against the cushion. His legs were visibly, violently trembling, the muscles in his thighs twitching uncontrollably beneath the fishnet stockings. He looked completely ruined, entirely used, and beautifully at peace for the first time in months.
I knelt down on the floor beside the couch, unclipping the heavy steel leash from his collar but leaving the black leather band securely around his throat. I grabbed a warm, damp towel from the bathroom, gently wiping the worst of the sweat and fluids from his skin.
He slowly righted himself, sitting up on the sofa, his long limbs completely loose and heavy with blissful exhaustion. He looked down at his own chest, then looked at me, his eyes clear, focused, and filled with quiet, untouchable adoration.
“I’ve got you,” I murmured, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips.
