Sexual Bliss 2

Adela waited by the window, that lithe body of hers practically vibrating. She kept checking the street below like a junkie waiting for a fix. Chriss Tom—he’d told her to call him just Chris, but she liked how his whole name tasted when she moaned it—would show up any minute to fuck the tension out of her. His texts had left nothing to imagination: how deep he’d push, how hard he’d grip those sharp hipbones until she bruised, and the exact sounds she’d make when he made her come so many times she couldn’t remember her own name. When the knock finally hit, Adela’s breath caught in her throat like she’d been punched. She opened the door and there he stood, smirk already sliding across his mouth, that look in his eye saying he planned to wreck her and loved the fact she knew it. He stepped inside without a word, kicked the door shut, and grabbed the back of her neck, pulling her in until her mouth smashed against his. The kiss was teeth and heat and the sharp taste of cigarettes. He didn’t ask permission; he simply spun her, palms sliding under her shirt, dragging up until fabric snagged on her nipples. Adela gasped, back arching, hips pressing back to feel the hard line of him already fighting the front of his jeans. Chris shoved her jeans low, past her thighs, and found her wet with nothing but his presence—slick, throbbing, slick enough to coat his fingers in one greedy stroke. He plunged two inside her without preamble, curling up, ruthless, drawing that broken moan he loved hearing rip from her. Her hands braced on the wall; her teeth caught her own lip as the pressure built. She begged without words, grinding against his palm, legs trembling. Chris’s breath hitched as he yanked open his fly. He dragged the swollen head of his cock through the mess he’d made of her, teasing her entrance, holding her hips still so she couldn’t rush him. When he finally drove in—one rough, perfect thrust—Adela’s knees buckled. He didn’t let her fall. He pinned her harder, fucking her with short, angry strokes, each one bottoming out so deep she saw stars. The slap of skin and her wrecked little cries filled the narrow hallway; every time she tried to speak, Chris slammed in harder until words dissolved into gibberish. He found her clit with callused fingers, circling fast, forcing the orgasm to crest before she was ready. She came shaking, mouth open, walls pulsing around him like she wanted to keep him trapped inside. Chris rode it, cursing low, pushing through the tight grip until his own release boiled over. He buried his face in her neck, teeth sinking into skin, hips jerking as he filled her in hot, rhythmic pulses that left her dripping down her own thighs. Only then did he ease up, stroking the bruised marks he’d left on her hip like he was proud of the evidence. Adela sagged against the wall, breathing shattered, already hungry for the next time he’d ruin her.