Chapter 4: Round Two
David lay pinned beneath her, chest heaving, his face buried in the damp sheets. The taste of cotton and salt filled his mouth. Nicole’s weight was a solid, demanding warmth on his lower back, her thighs bracketing his hips. Her breath rasped in his ear, a harsh counterpoint to his own labored gasps. The city lights painted shifting patterns on the ceiling, blurry through his sweat-stung eyes. Every muscle screamed in protest, a deep, satisfying ache from the grappling and the relentless fucking that followed. His cock, miraculously, throbbed against the mattress, still semi-hard despite the brutal emptying mere minutes ago.
He felt the mattress dip as Nicole shifted. Her hand, strong and calloused from years of nursing and the mats, slid down the slick channel of his spine. Her touch wasn’t gentle; it was possessive, exploratory. It traced the knobs of his vertebrae, skimmed over the curve of his ass. A low hum vibrated in her chest, pressed against his back.
"Still breathing, David?" Her voice was a low rasp, thick with exertion and something darker, hungrier. It wasn’t a question needing an answer. It was a statement of ownership.
He managed a choked grunt into the sheets. "Barely."
She chuckled, the sound dry and predatory. "Good." Her hand flattened on his ass cheek, fingers digging into the firm muscle. "Because I’m not done with you. Not by a fucking mile." Her other hand joined the first, both palms spreading him wide, exposing him entirely. The cool air from the room hit his asshole, making him tense instinctively.
"Relax," she commanded, her voice dropping an octave. "Don’t make me force it." Her thumbs pressed, not inside, but firmly on either side, emphasizing his vulnerability. "You lost, remember? You stepped onto my mat. You thought you could handle this… handle me." She leaned down, her lips brushing the shell of his ear. Her breath was hot. "You thought wrong, papi."
David shuddered. The endearment, twisted by her dominance, sparked a confusing mix of shame and electric arousal deep in his gut. His cock twitched, thickening further against the mattress despite his exhaustion. "Nicole…" he started, a plea or a protest, he wasn't sure.
She cut him off. "Shut up. Just feel." Her hips shifted higher, settling her weight fully on his lower back. Then she began to move. Not mounting him yet. No. She rocked forward, the heat of her core pressing against the base of his spine. He felt the slick, swollen lips of her pussy glide over his skin, leaving a hot, wet trail.
"Fuck," he gasped, the word muffled.
"Exactly," she purred. She rocked again, slower this time, deliberately dragging the soft, plump folds of her cunt over the curve of his ass. The sensation was shockingly intimate, degrading, and unbelievably erotic. Her wetness slicked his skin, cooling quickly in the air. He could smell her arousal, rich and musky, mixed with their sweat. She pressed down harder, grinding her clit against the firm muscle of his lower back, seeking friction for herself now. A low moan escaped her.
"Goddamn, your skin feels good," she muttered, more to herself than him. She shifted her hips, positioning herself lower. Now the hot, wet slide of her pussy was directly over the cleft of his ass. She paused, letting the heat of her core radiate against his most private opening. The implicit threat, the raw intimacy of it, made his balls draw up tight.
"Nicole," he breathed, the name a choked mixture of shock and desperate need.
"Shh," she soothed, her voice thick with dark promise. She pressed forward again, her mound grinding firmly across his asshole. The pressure wasn't invasive, but it was undeniable, claiming territory. She rocked, her hips moving with a slow, sensual roll. The wet smack of her lips against his skin was obscenely loud in the quiet room. She moaned again, lower, guttural. "Fuck yes. That’s it. Take it."
He could feel her arousal coating him, a slick, possessive sheen. She felt impossibly hot, impossibly wet against him. Her hands gripped his hips hard, nails digging in, pulling him back against her grinding motions. She was using his body, his ass, utterly, shamelessly. Her breathing grew more ragged, her thrusts more urgent. She was chasing her own peak, using his flesh as a tool.
"Feel how fucking wet you make me?" she demanded, her voice tight. "Feel that? That's yours. Dripping for you. Claiming you." She slammed her hips down hard, grinding herself roughly against his cleft. He felt the swollen nub of her clit catch against his skin, making her cry out. "Gonna ride this ass until I come all over it. Until it’s soaked. Then," she gasped, her rhythm becoming frantic, short, hard thrusts, "then I'm gonna shove that thick cock back inside me and ride you until you fill me up again. You hear me? You're not done until I can feel your fucking cum dripping down my thighs!"
Her words were fire in his veins. The degradation, the sheer power of her need, the visceral feeling of her grinding against him – it was too much. He felt a surge of heat, a desperate ache in his cock, a terrifying need to submit completely. "Yes," he groaned into the sheets, the word barely audible. "Yes, champion. Fuck."
She snarled, a sound of pure, feral triumph, and pressed down one last time, grinding herself hard against his ass as a shudder ripped through her, her inner muscles clenching on nothing, her release sharp and sudden against his skin. Her wetness flooded over him, hot and slick. She collapsed forward slightly, her forehead resting between his shoulder blades for a brief moment, her breath coming in harsh pants against his sweat-slicked skin.