Chapter 34: Claiming the Bride
The taste of her still coated my lips, my chin, a sticky-sweet reminder of her surrender. Her violet eyes, glazed and satisfied, tracked my movements as I rose over her, fumbling with the button of my trousers. My fingers, usually so deft with climbing ropes and tent zippers, felt thick, clumsy with the animal need roaring through my veins. The cabin air, thick with woodsmoke and the heady musk of our coupling, filled my lungs like fuel.
"Look at you," I rasped, my voice scraped raw. The button finally gave. "Spread out like a fucking feast." I shoved the rough canvas trousers and underwear down my thighs in one frantic motion, kicking them off onto the floorboards. The cool air hit my wet cunt, making me shudder. I was dripping, swollen, aching. The sight of her beneath me, flushed and breathing hard, the ivory chiffon bunched around her waist, her dark curls glistening… it was unbearable.
I didn't kneel. I dropped. My hips slammed down onto hers, grinding my slick heat against the wet mess I’d made of her. Her gasp was sharp, delicious. The friction was immediate, electric. A strangled groan tore from my throat. Her hands flew to my hips, nails biting into my skin through my thin shirt. "Amy... fuck..."
"Yeah," I growled, sinking my weight onto her. My short, sweat-dampened red hair brushed against her heaving breasts. I could feel her soft flesh yield, feel the hard points of her nipples against my sternum even through the fabric. I needed more. Needed her filled. Needed that tight heat claiming me.
My hand slid between our grinding bodies. Found her soaked slit, swollen and hot. My fingers, calloused from years of gripping rock and axe handles, slid through her slick folds. Easy. Too easy. She was open, wanting. I pressed two fingers deep inside her cunt in one brutal thrust.
"Christ!" she cried out, her back arching violently, forcing her breasts harder against me. Her inner walls clamped down on my knuckles, a pulsing, velvet vise. "God, yes! So deep!"
"You take me so fucking well," I snarled, my mouth finding the curve of her neck again, biting, sucking another mark into her skin. My thumb found her clit, a hard, throbbing nub, and ground down with the same relentless pressure I’d use to crush a stubborn root. At the same time, I curled my fingers hard inside her, knuckles pressing firmly against that spongy ridge deep within.
Her whole body seized. A high, keening wail ripped from her throat. Her thighs shook violently against my sides, muscles clenching and releasing in frantic spasms. Her cunt convulsed around my fingers, rhythmic pulses of heat gripping me, trying to milk me deeper. I fucked her through it, my fingers pistoning relentlessly, my thumb relentless on her clit, riding each clenching wave as she shattered.
"Fuck! Fuck! Fucking hell, Amy! Don't stop! Oh God, don't stop!" Her voice was a ragged sob, lost in the pounding of blood in my own ears. Her nails raked down my back, sharp lines of fire through my shirt. I felt her hips lift off the bed, driving herself harder onto my hand, fucking herself on my fingers, desperate for every impossible inch.
I watched her face contort in ecstasy, a beautiful, agonized mask. Her violet eyes were wide, unseeing, fixed on some point beyond the cabin roof. Sweat slicked her temples, mingling with the glistening dampness coating her skin. The silver ring on my finger felt cold against the inferno of her skin as my other hand gripped her hip, holding her down, forcing her to take it.
Her climax seemed endless, wave after crashing wave tearing through her. I kept my fingers buried deep, my thumb a constant, demanding pressure, feeling every pulse, every flutter, every gush of wet heat against my knuckles. Only when the tremors began to subside, when her frantic bucking slowed to exhausted shudders, when her cries softened to broken whimpers, did I slowly withdraw my fingers.
They glistened thickly in the firelight. I brought them to my mouth, never breaking eye contact with her dazed, wrecked expression. I sucked them clean, one by one, tasting her essence mixed with my own sweat. Salt, musk, the iron tang of her arousal. Pure fucking ambrosia.
Her chest was heaving, her skin flushed a deep rose. She looked utterly ravaged, completely mine. The thought sent another jolt of desperate need through me, centering low in my belly. My own arousal hadn't lessened; it was a throbbing, insistent ache, a void screaming to be filled.
"Good girl," I breathed, the words rough with possession. I shifted my weight, grinding my wet, swollen cunt hard against her hip bone. The pressure was maddening, not enough. Nowhere near enough. I needed her inside me. Now.
My hand shot down again, not to her, but to myself. I plunged two fingers deep into my own aching cunt. A ragged gasp escaped me. Fuck, I was tight, swollen, hypersensitive. But I needed the stretch, needed the promise. I fucked myself hard with my fingers, staring down at her, watching her eyes darken as she watched me. Her hand moved sluggishly, sliding over her stomach, down towards her own glistening heat.
"No," I commanded, my voice cracking. I withdrew my fingers, slick and glistening, and grabbed her wrist, pinning it to the quilt beside her head. "Mine. You touch only me." I lowered myself, aligning our bodies. I could feel the swollen lips of her cunt against my own. "Fuck me," I demanded, grinding against her. "Use that pretty cunt. Fuck me now, Gena."