Chapter 10: Sex Part 2
Dakota slumped against the wall, her breath still coming in ragged pulls, her skin slick with sweat that mingled with the dust on the plaster. Damian leaned beside her, bracing a trembling forearm against the faded KISS poster, the thumping bass from the party vibrating through the wall into his bones. The air hung thick with the scent of their sex – musky, sharp, and utterly undeniable. Silence stretched, punctuated only by their breathing and the muffled chaos outside the thin door. It wasn’t comfortable.
Then, a small sound. A whimper, almost lost beneath the distant thud of the bassline. Damian glanced down. Dakota was looking up at him through her lashes, her pupils still blown wide, dark pools swallowing the brown. Her lips, swollen and reddened from his kisses and bites, parted slightly.
"Damian?" Her voice was a husky scrape, barely audible.
He grunted, a non-committal sound. Exhaustion warred with the lingering, restless energy thrumming in his veins. Seeing her like this – hair wild, cheeks flushed, his come probably still leaking down her inner thigh – reignited the possessive heat that had driven him to drag her in here.
"Again." The word was weak, almost plaintive, yet it landed like a detonation in the small space. Her eyes held his, pleading, demanding. "Please. Fuck me again. Need it." Her hand, trembling slightly, drifted down her stomach, fingers brushing the damp, dark curls at the apex of her thighs. "Still so empty. Need you filling me."
A jolt went through him, straight to his groin. He’d barely softened, the memory of her tight, wet heat around him still vivid, the primal satisfaction of marking her, claiming her against the wall, still fresh. The jealousy that had ignited this hadn't vanished; it smoldered, banked but ready. This was surrender, but on her terms this time? Or just insatiable hunger?
He pushed off the wall, his shadow falling over her. "You can barely stand."
"I don't need to stand," she breathed, a flicker of her earlier defiance sparking. She pushed herself upright, wincing only slightly. Her ripped jeans were still tangled around her ankles. With deliberate slowness, she stepped out of them, kicking the denim aside. She stood naked from the waist down, her smooth skin gleaming in the dim light, the curve of her ass hypnotic. "Lie down."
The command, delivered in that wrecked, needy voice, was absurdly powerful. Damian found himself obeying, lowering himself awkwardly onto the gritty, beer-stained carpet. The smell of mold and old dust filled his nostrils, mingling unpleasantly with their own intimate scents. He propped his back against the wall, legs spread. His cock, thick and already re-hardening, jutted towards her, glistening with remnants of their last coupling.
Dakota didn’t hesitate. She moved over him, her movements fluid despite the trembling in her limbs. She straddled his hips, her knees sinking into the rough carpet on either side of his thighs. Her eyes locked on his as she reached down, fingers wrapping around his shaft. Her touch was electric, sending sparks up his spine. She guided him, the swollen head nudging against her slick, swollen folds. She was soaked, her arousal obvious, coating his skin.
"Look at me," she commanded, her voice gaining strength. "Look at me while I ride your cock."
Her gaze held his, intense, challenging. Then, with a low moan ripped from her chest, she sank down. Slowly, inexorably, she impaled herself on him, taking his length deep inside her hot, clutching channel. Damian gasped, his head thudding back against the wall. Fuck. She was so tight, still stretched from before but gripping him with incredible pressure, impossibly wet. She bottomed out, taking him to the hilt, her ass pressing against his thighs. She let out a shuddering breath, her eyes fluttering closed for a second before snapping back open to pin him.
"All of you," she whispered, a triumphant little smile touching her lips. "Mine."
Then she moved. Rolling her hips in a slow, deliberate grind, she began to rise. Up, almost letting him slip free, then sinking back down with deliberate, devastating slowness. Her inner muscles clenched rhythmically, milking him, pulling him deeper with every descent. Damian groaned, his hands flying to her hips, fingers digging into the pliant flesh of her ass. He tried to thrust upwards, to meet her, to regain some control, but she tightened her thighs, pinning him down.
"No," she panted, her rhythm never faltering. "My turn. Just feel it. Feel me taking what I need from you." Her gaze was molten, possessive. She leaned forward slightly, placing her palms flat on his chest for leverage. The shift made her tits, those perfect, perky handfuls with their stiff, dark nipples, bounce with every rise and fall.
Damian could only watch, mesmerized, possessed himself by the sight. Her long black hair cascaded over her shoulders, sweat beading on her forehead and upper lip. The freckles across her nose stood out against her flushed skin. She rode him with increasing urgency, her pace shifting from that slow, grinding torture to faster, harder bounces. Her tits jiggled wildly, hypnotic arcs of flesh in the dim light, slapping lightly against her chest with each downward plunge.
"Fuck, Dakota," Damian gritted out, hips straining upwards despite her command, desperate for more friction, deeper penetration. His cock throbbed inside her, overwhelmed by the slick, rhythmic squeezing. "Christ, you're fucking incredible. So goddamn tight... riding me like a fucking slut..."
"Your slut," she gasped, her voice breaking as she increased her tempo. Her breath hitched with every hard downward stroke. "Only yours... fuck... Damian... you feel so good... so fucking deep..." Her eyes glazed over, losing focus for a moment as sensation overtook her. "Need your come... fill me up again... mark me inside... make me yours..."
Her words, filthy and desperate, shattered his last shreds of restraint. He bucked his hips fiercely off the floor, driving up into her as she slammed down. The wet, rhythmic slapping of flesh against flesh filled the room, louder than the distant music now, a raw, obscene soundtrack to their furious coupling. Dakota cried out, a high, keening sound, her head thrown back, throat arching. Her body clenched around him like a fist, spasming violently. Her cunt gripped him, pulsing, trying to suck him deeper as her orgasm tore through her.
Feeling her convulse, Damian roared. He pistoned up into her slick, convulsing heat with brutal, uncontrolled thrusts. His release erupted, white-hot and blinding, surging up his shaft and pumping deep inside her in thick, pulsing jets. He held her hips down, grinding her against him as he emptied himself, feeling his come flood her depths, marking her just as she’d demanded.
Dakota collapsed forward onto his chest, her body trembling uncontrollably, her breath coming in ragged sobs against his skin. His cock, still buried deep within her pulsating warmth, twitched with the fading echoes of his climax. They lay tangled on the filthy floor, utterly spent, the only sound their harsh breathing and the relentless, distant thump of the party. A party that felt galaxies away. The heat between them was a tangible thing, a living residue of their collision. Dakota's trembling gradually subsided, replaced by a heavy languor. She nuzzled against his damp collarbone, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his sweat-slicked chest. Damian stared blankly at the water-stained ceiling, the rhythmic pulse of the bass felt more than heard through the floorboards. His thoughts were a tangled mess – the visceral memory of her body clenching around him, the possessive fury that had started this, the bizarre, impossible reality of her existence springing from a stupid book.
"Still jealous?" she murmured, her voice a low rasp muffled against his skin. There was a smirk in it, faint but unmistakable.
He didn't answer immediately. His hand, seemingly of its own accord, slid up her back, fingers threading into the damp silk of her hair. It was an intimate gesture, contradicting the harshness of their joining. "Shut up," he muttered, but it lacked any bite. The heat of her body on his, the weight of her, the scent of sex and sweat and her... it was anchoring, somehow, in the absurdity.
A beat of silence stretched. Then, faintly, a different sound intruded – a sharp laugh, too loud, right outside the door. A doorknob rattled.
"Fuck, locked? Seriously?" a muffled male voice complained. "Bathroom's gotta be free somewhere else, man."
Reality, crude and mundane, crashed back in. Dakota tensed against him. Damian froze, every muscle locking. The fragile, sweat-slicked bubble they’d existed in for the last who-knew-how-long popped. They weren't alone in the universe. They were in a grimy storage room at a chaotic party, half-naked, reeking of sex. Panic, cold and sharp, sliced through Damian's post-coital haze.