Chapter 2: The Taking
The heavy thud of the apartment door closing echoed like a gunshot in the small foyer, sealing them in silence. The familiar scent of vanilla and old paper was instantly overwhelmed by Jarkko’s presence – sweat, aggression, and raw male intent. Tarja stood frozen, clutching her useless clutch, her back to him. The soft jazz drifting from the living room sounded obscenely trivial.
She didn’t hear him move. One moment the space behind her was empty air, the next, his heat pressed against her, massive and undeniable. Hard hands clamped onto her shoulders, spinning her around. Her startled gasp was cut off as his mouth crashed down onto hers. It wasn’t a kiss; it was conquest. His lips crushed hers, his tongue forcing past her teeth in a hot, wet invasion. Gin, whiskey, and pure, untamed lust flooded her senses. She shoved weakly against his chest, her knuckles meeting unyielding muscle. He pressed her back, pinning her against the cool wall of the entryway, grinding the thick ridge of his erection against her belly. His hand slid down, fingers digging into the curve of her ass through the taut leather, kneading possessively.
“Could smell your cunt from the hallway,” he growled against her mouth, his breath hot. His other hand fisted in her hair, tilting her head back painfully. “Dripping for me already, weren’t you? Filthy slut.” The crude word sent a jolt straight to her core, warring with the burst of indignation.
“Jarkko, wait—” she managed, twisting her head away.
“Done waiting,” he snarled. He released her hair, his hand snaking under her top, calloused fingers finding the clasp of her bra with unnerving speed. A flick, a snap, and her large breasts spilled free, heavy and suddenly vulnerable in the dim light. His rough palm closed over one, squeezing hard, thumb grinding the stiffening nipple. A sharp cry tore from her throat – pain and unwelcome pleasure twisting together. “Fuck, these tits,” he groaned, lowering his head to take the abused peak into his mouth. He sucked hard, teeth grazing, sending shockwaves through her. His other hand worked frantically at her waistband, finding the button, the zip. He yanked, the cheap leather protesting, biting into her hips.
Tarja whimpered, her head lolling back against the wall. This was madness. He was a force of nature, dismantling her, piece by piece. Logic screamed run, but her body pulsed, molten and liquid between her legs.
He pulled his mouth from her breast with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting him to her swollen nipple. “Bedroom. Now.” It wasn’t a request. He grabbed her wrist, his grip like iron manacles, and hauled her away from the wall, dragging her through the small living room past the softly playing record player, its smooth saxophone notes a mocking counterpoint to the violence of his pull.
Her bedroom sanctuary – the warm ochre walls, the velvet-draped four-poster bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp – felt violated before he even crossed the threshold. He didn’t pause.
Tarja tells that now she has to poop. Jarkko follows as she lowers down her pants and G-string. "Damn I love your ass."
Tarja poops very embarassed and wipes. Then she lifts her G-string between ass cheeks and starts to lift her leather pants up but Jarkko stops, "your G-string is more than enough". Now they go to bedroom.
Tarja feels very umcomfortable and dirty, Jarkko is so excited. "I am so horny that my girls poops for me, just to get room for dick"
Tarja says blushed that you are so dirty. Do you really want my asshole? Jarkko says that nothing else so much.