Page 9 of The Wrong Monster

“Make me,” I bite out, an automatic response that only gets me in deeper trouble.

His smile now is dangerous. Truly dangerous. I realize just what I’ve gotten myself into.

He can do whatever he wants to me.

But then I remember his promise from earlier: You’ll leave here satisfied.

My legs fall open in a desperate bid to bring him closer again. I need to feel him, need to feel how he’ll stretch me, and he leans forward like it’s a gift. A reward.

Drags himself up my entrance again, taps the head of his dick on my clit. Swirls it in a way that makes me shake with pleasure-pain.

“I’m going to use you,” he tells me in a flat voice, pressing himself just inside. My pussy muscles try to strangle the inch of him teasing me, try to find friction and grip. “And you’re going to like it.”

I’m nodding along like an idiot. My free hand is at my breast, tweaking a nipple. He notices and grunts approvingly. It’s the only thing I can think to do to distract myself from this overwhelming feeling. I’m already on edge as he pulls back, presses in again, just barely, pulls back, pumps himself against me in quick strokes.

No, no, no.

I don’t want some careful situation where he cums all over me and leaves me here throbbing with want. I try to raise my hips again, and this time he grips them hard with one hand and slams them back onto the mattress…

…before slamming his cock into me.

It hurts in a burning, stretching sensation that almost feels like too much, but then the pleasure breaks through and my eyes roll back as I moan.

“Fuck yes.”

“Good girl,” he pants, pulling out and driving into me again hard and fast. Over and over. Relentless.

There’s nothing I can do. I can’t press a hand to his chest, turn the tables, and straddle him for control. I can’t even hold on to him with more than one hand as he holds me down and fucks into me over and over, his cock stretching me as my tits jiggle with each thrust.

In seconds the orgasm washes over me. I pull my legs up tight, wanting to go taut, but I can’t. He holds one thigh down flat on the bed and keeps fucking me.

It’s like stars being blitzed out. The entire world goes white, and I can’t feel anything beyond the twinging painful bliss wave after wave.

He’s swearing again in Russian. I don’t recognize the mumbled and garbled words. His thrusts start to get messy and urgent. I feel a hot, pulsing throb as he buries himself deep with a grunt.

God, I shouldn’t like this man, this stranger, cumming inside me, but I do. So much.

Thank God for the implant in my arm. At least one part of me came here with a sensible plan.

Head dropping back, I try to ignore the way my legs are shaking. He lifts himself up carefully, balancing on his knees and grabbing his shirt to cover his glossy, twitching dick. Quickly, he wipes himself off before pressing the shirt to my pussy.

That expensive shirt. It’s soaking up his cum and I know my mouth is hanging open because he glances up at me and then away, almost as if he’s ashamed.

Taking my hand, he presses it to the shirt and heaves himself off the bed. After a second of riffling through his pants, he pulls out a key then unlocks the cuff. He looks my wrist over quickly before releasing me and stepping away.

There’s a bathroom in the corner of the room I didn’t notice before. That’s where he disappears to, leaving me with his shirt clutched to my pussy and my chest heaving.

I’ve never been fucked like that before.

A part of me should feel embarrassed by how much I liked being fucked like that. But all I can do is stand on shaky legs, clean myself up as much as possible, and slip back into the thong and bottoms. I leave the jumper straps down, struggling into my top quickly and hoping he doesn’t come out to see this mess.

The shower turns on.

I pause, glancing over my shoulder.

Did you really expect anything less?

Embarrassed heat floods my cheeks. Of course. Whoever he is, after all, he is a criminal. No way he’s coming out to⁠—