Chapter 3: The Ruining: Taking What's His
His grip was iron, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips hard enough to bruise. He held himself deep inside her, a searing, impossible fullness that stole the air from her lungs.
“Fuck,” he grunted against her ear, the word rough with strain. “You’re so goddamn tight.”
Then he pulled back, a slow, excruciating drag that made her see stars, and slammed back into her with a force that drove her forehead against the plaster. A choked scream caught in her throat. He didn’t wait, setting a brutal, punishing rhythm right from the start. Each thrust was a claim, a violent rearrangement of her insides. The initial sting melted into a raw, spreading heat, a pleasurable burn that began to drown out everything else.
“Sound carries,” Jarkko rasped, his breath hot and ragged. One of his massive hands slid from her hip, around her stomach, and clamped over her mouth. The taste of his skin, salt and leather, filled her senses. His other hand remained anchored on her, pulling her back onto his cock with every driving motion. “You scream, and everyone in that bar hears the elegant Ms. Bentley getting her ass fucking ruined.”
The obscenity, the sheer filth of it, spoken against her ear while he held her mouth, sent a new, shocking bolt of pleasure through her core. She moaned against his palm, the sound vibrating back into her own skull. Her body, against all expectation, began to open for him, to welcome the harsh, deep strokes. The stretch was agonizing and exquisite, a filling so complete it felt like truth.
“Take it,” he commanded, his voice guttural. His thrusts became shorter, harder, a focused piston driving into her most forbidden place. The wet, filthy sound of their coupling echoed softly in the alcove, a secret rhythm under the distant music. “You wanted this. You begged for it. This is what you are now. A woman getting her asshole fucked in a hallway.”
She couldn’t speak, could only nod frantically against his hand, her eyes screwed shut. Tears of overwhelm and intense sensation leaked from the corners. Her own hands flattened against the wall, bracing as he pounded into her. Every nerve was alive, screaming. The rough texture of the plaster under her palms, the cold air on her exposed backside, the scorching heat of him impaling her—it coalesced into a single, overwhelming point of reality.
Jarkko’s control began to fracture. His thrusts lost their measured brutality, turning jagged and desperate. The hand over her mouth slid down, fingers wrapping around her throat, not squeezing but holding, a possessive collar. His other hand snaked between her legs from behind, his calloused fingers finding her clit, slick from her own arousal.
The dual assault was too much. A sharp, keening cry escaped her lips as he rubbed rough, tight circles against her sensitive flesh while his cock hammered into her ass. The tension coiled in her belly, tight and hot, and then shattered. Her orgasm ripped through her with a violence that matched his, a silent, convulsing wave that clamped around him, milking his length deep inside her.
Feeling her convulse around him tore a raw, animal sound from Jarkko’s throat. “Christ, Maria,” he snarled, his hips stuttering. He buried himself to the root one final time, and she felt the hot, pulsing surge of his release flooding into her. He held her there, locked together, both of them shuddering, their ragged breaths the only sound in the dimness.
For a long moment, there was only the hammering of two hearts and the slow, sticky trickle of their joining down the inside of her thigh. His grip on her throat softened, becoming almost a caress. He leaned his forehead against the back of her head, his sweat cooling against her skin.
Slowly, carefully, he withdrew. The emptiness he left behind was a vast, aching thing. She slumped forward, her forehead resting on the wall, her skirt still bunched at her waist. Her legs trembled, barely holding her.
She heard him adjusting his clothing, the soft click of his belt buckle. Then his hands were on her again, but different now. Gentle. He tugged her tights and panties back up, his fingers brushing her oversensitive skin, making her flinch. He smoothed her skirt down, his touch almost reverent.
He turned her around to face him. In the faint light, his face was all stark planes and shadow, his eyes darker than the alcove.